by Caro LaFever
She wasn’t a part of this family.
She had a family of her own.
She knew right where the ring was.
Cousin Edward had grudgingly agreed a house party was the perfect time to leave undetected with the ring in hand. She’d bought herself a few more precious days, but then she’d be gone.
For good.
“Jenny?” Cam paced to her side and stared at her. “Ye aren’t getting panicky, are ye?”
Yes, she was panicked. She was leaving a place that, of all the places she’d lived since she was five, had felt like home.
A worried frown pulled the tawny brows down. “If I have to, I’ll hire another catering firm and take care of it myself.”
“No.” She took in a deep breath. The tense tilt of his head eased at her motion. “I’m sure the current team can handle this. I’ll merely triple the order of everything and throw more of your money at them.”
“Eh.” His odd eyes twinkled. “That’s what money is for.”
“It really is for you, isn’t it?”
“What?” His head tilted again, this time in a quizzical fashion. “Money’s a means to an end, lass. Not anything to get worked up about.”
Jen thought of her grandfather, who counted every pound going out the door of his mansion. She thought about Cousin Lizzy’s mania for rich men and Cousin James with his intense focus on who would inherit what. “I guess.”
“Ye don’t sound too sure.” His mouth, the mouth that floated through her dreams on a regular basis, lifted at the edge. “And there’s another something about ye that has me fascinated.”
“Money is…” Her hand came to her mouth in an instinctive gesture. “Important.”
“Hmm.” His big hand grabbed hers. “Money is to be enjoyed. Like life.”
His hand was callused from the work he’d done in the garden alongside the landscape crew. It was hot with the heated blood running through his veins. But more than anything, his hand kept hers covered, safe, accepting.
“You’ll want to remember your family, Jennet,” Cousin Edward’s voice rang from her memory. “Remember what’s important.”
“I’m going outside to play!” Robbie’s voice replaced her memories.
She yanked her hand from his paw.
Giving her a lingering, inquiring look, Cam turned to watch his boy ripping through the barrel chest. “What are ye going to dress as today?”
“A pirate.” The kid flashed them both a grin. “I’ll go outside and dig for buried treasure.”
A big hand slid to her elbow and gave her a soft tug. “We’d better leave ye to get dressed.”
The hallway smelled of fresh lemon and the paintings gleamed. The antique tables and chairs that had once littered the walls had been dragged away, replaced with a few solid oak consoles and a long bench or two.
“I hate these paintings.” He glared at a particularly ugly replica of a wigged man with a bulbous nose.
“Then I’ll tell the cleaning manager to get rid of them,” she said. “I thought perhaps they were some of your ancestors.”
He barked a laugh. “My ancestors?” Walking to another painting, he sneered at a lady dressed in golden attire. “These pompous fuddy-duddies?”
“I take it that’s a no.”
He gave her a glinting leer before strolling to the next canvas. “My ancestors were more likely to be bloodthirsty Vikings or pillaging Picts.”
“Now I know where your son gets his talents.”
That earned her a chuckle.
Robbie’s door burst open and then slammed shut behind him. “I’m off!” he shrieked before galloping down the long hallway.
“Have fun,” she called to him.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” his father added.
She threw Cam a look.
“Leaves him with lots of possibilities, right?” He grinned. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Jen realized she stood with him alone for the first time in days. Staring at him with something barely short of obsession. Knowing she wanted nothing more than to stay wherever he was for as long as he’d let her.
She swung her attention to the end of the hallway. “I’d better go see how Mrs. Rivers is coming along with the kitchen installations.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” He took a step closer, the movement drawing her attention back to him.
A test.
“I have to call the caterers and triple the order, too.”
“Boring. Very boring.” He prowled closer.
Her heart fluttered with a mixture of fear and frustrated pleasure. Not since the night by the fire had Cameron Steward made any kind of sexual move. She’d been happy and sad all at the same time. He’d saved her from going through with her decision and making an awful mistake. Yet, his withdrawal had been a painful reminder—life was only fun and games to him. Not the horrible fall into love she faced.
“Not running, I see.” He came one step closer, close enough to touch, though he didn’t. “That’s an improvement.”
“I have things to do.”
In a swift movement that shocked her, his arm circled her waist and pulled her tight to his chest. “Hmm,” he purred into her ear.
“We shouldn’t do this.” She tried to keep herself still and taut. But his warm presence and his crisp scent surrounded her, drawing her in. “You said yourself this is a mistake.”
“What, this?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and shoulders. “This touching?”
“Everything. Anything.” She squirmed in his arms, yet he wouldn’t let her go. And really, it didn’t take much of his effort. She was where she’d wanted to be for days. “Cam.”
“Jenny.” He reared his head to stare at her, his gaze sultry with sin. “Maybe you’re talking about this kissing we’re going to do.”
“We’re not.” A last valiant stab at the insanity of wanting him was the only thing she could do.
He smiled, a wicked, wily invitation. “We are.”
“Da!” A childish cry cut through the haze of desire curling between them.
Jen wrenched herself away from his loosening arms and turned to see Robbie’s head appearing at the top of the stairs.
“What?” His father’s one word sounded forced.
“Ye changed the locks on the cases with the guns and knives.” Outrage rang in the accusation. “I can’t pick them.”
“I did. And ye can’t.” Cam paced to the wall and leaned on it, his posture calm and mild. “I also locked up your granny’s room and,” his hand waved at the last door in the hall, “that one got a better lock, too.”
He’d locked up the ring.
Jen’s hands flew together in distress. Why hadn’t she taken it when she had the chance? What the heck was she going to do? Try and pick the lock herself? Climb through the window? The memory of her grandfather’s sorrowful expression filled her mind and guilt swam through her like a mud-filled moat. She’d stolen this time for herself, when all along, she should have been focused on stealing her grandfather’s ring.
His son marched down the hall, his red hat flying behind him, his red cheeks hot with anger. “I want a sword to play with.”
“No.” His father didn’t move and yet she sensed the tension escalating. “I’ve not been a good father to ye. But I aim to change that starting now.”
“Taking away my toys isn’t being a good father.”
“Guns and swords are not toys,” Cam stated, a militant look crossing his face. “And they aren’t yours. They’re mine.”
His son had inherited his temper.
He knew it was his temper and not Martine’s psychotic rage, because while Rob was mad as a crazed kelpie, there was no actual madness in his gaze. Only a fierce, cunning intelligence trying to figure out how to win this argument. Having spent the last few days asking some questions of Mrs. Rivers and doing a bit of investigating around the house and grounds, Cam had come to some conclusions.
&n
bsp; Rob had run the roost since he’d been very young.
His granny had overindulged him and coddled him.
The housekeeper ran scared every time the boy got angry—which his son used to his benefit. He was too smart for his own good and only one person on this estate could match his wits.
His father.
Too bad for his son, he’d finally met his match.
“Perhaps we could find some toy swords and guns online,” Jenny suggested.
He glanced at her. Maybe there was one other person who could make Rob do her bidding. She used a womanly touch instead of a male command.
Would it work?
“No.” His boy stared her way, painful disdain on his face. “Ye don’t understand, Jen. I’ve been playing with those swords and guns for years.”
A shudder of fear ran through him. What the hell would he have done if his son had hurt or killed himself with a collection of weapons he himself had gathered from all over the world? The thought made him furious at himself. Furious at Martine for doing what she had. Furious at his mother for telling him his son didn’t need him.
His son needed him to lay down the law.
Fear twisted through the growing fury. “You’ll not be touching any of them again.”
“You’re being selfish!” Rob’s eyes, so like his, turned wild. “You’re being mean and horrid. They’re as much mine as yours.”
“No, they aren’t. They never were.” Tension ate at the edges of his gut. He’d never minded confrontation before. He and Tre had had their share of smacks to get rid of pent-up stress. He’d roared at a producer a time or two. But that was different than this.
This kind of fight hurt his heart. “Rob, we’ll find a way—”
“I hate ye.” The boy jerked closer, his expression filled with the emotion. “I hate, hate, hate ye.”
“Robbie. Cam.” Jenny’s voice whispered between them, yet it couldn’t cut through the fog of past pain and the wretched battle happening now. “Let’s calm—”
“Do ye, then?” The pain in Cam’s heart expanded, blurring his mind. “Maybe it’s best I carry on with my plans for ye.”
“Wait.” She pushed herself into the middle of the fight, grabbing his arm, the mist in her gaze turning to pointed glass. “Don’t say this.”
“What plans?” Rob wouldn’t retreat, even as a flash of panic crossed his face. “Do whatever ye want to me. I don’t care.”
He shook her and her warning off, and paced down the hall and then back. The ache in his heart hardened, although he tried to quiet himself inside. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t what a father should do. Striking out at the kid was childish, and Jenny was right. Stopping, he leaned on the wall and closed his eyes. “Never mind.”
“No, no. Go ahead.” His son tore his flaming-red hat off and threw it at him. It landed right on Cam’s stomach like a punch. “Tell me. I hate ye and nothing ye can say to me will change that.”
“All right.” The hardness, the cold ache in his chest, tightened before blowing apart any consideration or reasoning. He opened his eyes and glared. “I’ll tell ye.”
“I think you both need to calm down—”
“You’re going to boarding school come fall,” he snarled at his boy. “You’re going to leave here and I’m going to sell this damn place.”
Rob’s face whitened and the wild look in his eyes went from dark to dazed.
He shut his eyes again because he didn’t want to see what he’d done. Something tore inside. Something he’d believed about himself—he didn’t hurt, he played; he didn’t damage, he created— tumbled apart into a sewer of disgust.
A small, solid punch into his stomach, this time from a child’s hand, woke him from his nightmare. He opened his eyes and met his son’s once more.
The brown and gold glittered with fire. “Do it then,” Rob challenged him. “I don’t care.”
The boy marched off, down the hallway, past a silent Jenny. The slam of his bedroom door echoed, lingering in the frozen air.
“Fucking hell.” Cam struggled to keep the tight hurt inside, yet it threatened to explode. “I’ve screwed this all up.”
She came to him. The woman he’d sometimes dreamed of—a quiet, soft caress of a woman. A woman who’d accept him for who he was and not ask him for more than he could give.
“Cameron.” Her average hands brushed across his fisted ones, then swept onto his bunched arms and shoulders, finally smoothing over his sweating neck. “You lost your temper and Robbie did, too.”
“He’s seven. I’m thirty-four.” He forced back his sudden tears. “There’s a big difference.”
Leaning into him, she gave her solid support without saying a word.
He gulped in a breath, and another. “I’ll need to talk to him.”
“Eventually.” Her arms circled his neck, pulling his taut body closer. “Perhaps you both need to simmer down first, though.”
He placed his cheek on the top of her head, letting the crisp ends of her hair tickle his skin. “I’m not going to send him to the boarding school.”
“I know.” Total, sincere belief rang in her words.
Cam swallowed more tears. “Ye do, eh?”
She huffed softly. “Of course. You wouldn’t do that. You know him too well, now.”
His hands spread out, unfurling. With a light, tentative touch, he moved them around her, grasping her, taking her in. “Ye believe that, huh?”
“Yes.” Instead of rejecting him, she snuggled closer. “Yes.”
They stood together, and he took it in. This center, this peace, this welcome when he didn’t deserve it. He’d never felt this, this acceptance. Not from his parents and certainly not from Martine. He got close with Tre, but this was with a woman. The other part. The other kind.
“Are you okay?”
He kept his eyes closed, soaking her in. “Maybe.”
She snuffled into his neck, a cross between a chuckle and a snort. “We can’t stand here the entire night.”
Cam opened his eyes and stared down the hallway to the circular window. Jenny was right. Dusk had fallen during the fight between he and Rob. “I’m hungry.”
“That’s a good sign.” With obvious reluctance, she pulled from his grasp. “Would you like to come to my room?”
Straightening, his aching heart began to thud.
“I mean.” A flustered look crossed her face, such an adorable sight he wanted to grab her all over again. “I thought perhaps Robbie would accept my invitation to dinner, too.”
“With me there?” He snorted. “I’m not thinking so.”
“We can try.” She caught his hand and tugged. “I’ll ask and see what he says.”
He knew he had to talk to his son. Right now, though, he felt bruised and guilty. He needed some more time to recover. However, Jenny was a determined little mouse when she wanted to be.
This was one of those times.
“Robbie?” Her gentle knock on the old oak door thudded. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Cam met her frustrated gaze with a shrug. “We men need some time to cool down.”
“I don’t need to cool down,” a young voice screeched. “I don’t need anything.”
“Well,” she said. “We’re going to go up to my room and have something to eat.”
“Who cares?”
“We’d love it if you joined us.” Patting the door as if she patted the boy, she continued. “Anytime, Robbie. Whenever you’d like.”
Her last offer was met with silence.
“So I’m still invited?” The thud of Cam’s heart escalated. He’d had dreams of that room. With Jenny in it. In the big armchair he’d picked for himself. In the simple bed he’d chosen—thinking of sleeping in peace, instead of fending off Martine’s ugly threats.
Turning, she gazed at him, the mist of her mysterious eyes lighting the grey with sparkles of light. “Yes. You’re still invited.”
The firelight danced across
his relaxed body like a loving embrace. Cam lounged in the armchair, a satisfied, sexy smile on his mouth. “You’re a good cook.”
“No.” Jen stood, taking the empty plates in her hands. “Mrs. Rivers is a good cook.”
A chuckle followed her to the small kitchenette. Abandoning her usual practice of being tidy, she dumped the plates into the sink. Tomorrow, she’d come back to reality. Tonight, she needed to steal this time and seal it in a bottle. A bottle of memories she’d take with her when she left.
“Not to my surprise,” he rumbled from behind her, “my boy is as stubborn as I am.”
Robbie hadn’t appeared. His father had sneaked a look or two at the door as they ate, but eventually had given up hope. Yet there was pride in his voice. A pride that made her smile. “Being stubborn is not a good thing, you know.”
“Hmm.” The sound wasn’t an agreement.
She came back to sit in the chair across from his. What she wanted to do was crawl into his lap and cuddle. And do more. But she shouldn’t be thinking of sex and skin and seduction when this man hurt.
His odd eyes hadn’t cleared even now.
In typical fashion, he’d thrown a grin or two her way. A tease once in a while. A dancing conversation that never strayed near the hurt. She could tell by those eyes, though, it still lurked.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.
“It?” He gave her another defensive grin. “What it would ye like to discuss?”
“We could talk about Ro—”
“I know.” Folding his hands on his stomach, he narrowed his gaze. “We could talk about your family for a change.”
She focused on breathing slowly and staring at the fire. “There’s not much to tell.”
“You’re lying again. Remember, Jenny, you’re an awful liar.”
Silence fell between them, filled by the crackle of the flames and the windstorm that had intensified as they ate.
“I know so little about ye, lass,” his rich, rolling accent encircled her. “I want to know more.”
She wanted to tell him. She wanted to climb on to him and into him and give him every one of her secrets. Except they weren’t her secrets. They were her family’s, her grandfather’s, and she owed them.