To Win Her Smile

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Piper bit down on a snicker as Abigail hurried toward the bathroom off the kitchen, which happened to be the opposite direction from the angry man framed by the pale stones of the den’s archway. He stepped backward, then waited for Piper to pass by him as she entered the hallway. He matched her stride toward the front of the house and the foyer. Once there, he faced her and the frustration in his eyes was a point in his favor.

  “I apologize again. Although I can’t deny my interest in the estate still stands, especially the southern section of the shoreline I mentioned when we last spoke, I’m not a man who enjoys wasting his time.” His lips flattened as he glanced down the empty hallway. “Any more than I appreciate being played for another’s benefit.”

  Piper nodded and mentally wished Abigail a lovely ride back to the city. What she could possibly have hoped to gain by facilitating the sale of Delaney Manor, Piper wasn’t sure but, in the process, Abigail had tugged on a tiger’s tale. One whose cage she now had to share for the long one hundred-twelve kilometers between the manor and Glasgow.

  The golden glow in Broderick’s eyes softened as he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I understand completely why you aren’t anxious to part with Delaney Manor. The estate is beautiful. I’d have a difficult time letting go if it were mine.” He retrieved a business card and held it out. “The financial concerns between you and your cousin are none of my business but, if the funds you’re counting on should fall through, I hope you’ll give me a call. I can guarantee the project I have in mind for the land will be completed with care and an understanding for the distinctiveness of the area.”

  With the shake of her head, she took his card. Holding it up, she smiled. “Thank you, but please. Don’t hold your breath.” She blinked as the stern lines of his handsome face fell away with his easy laughter.

  “Ach. Have we missed ye tossin’ yer bratty cousin out the door, lass?”

  Piper was still smiling as she turned to find Angus standing behind her with Wyatt at his side. He surprised her by stepping forward and draping his arm over her shoulders.

  “Wyatt Hunter?” The land developer lifted a brow, his gaze bouncing between Wyatt and her.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  Although she was secretly thrilled at the clear possessiveness in Wyatt’s action and tone, Abigail was still in the house. Piper bit back a wince and made the introductions. The two men spent the next few minutes speaking football with Broderick admitting he had an aunt in Queens who was apparently Wyatt’s biggest fan. All the while, she chewed her bottom lip and watched the hallway for sign of her cousin.

  To Piper’s knowledge, Abigail didn’t know a thing about American sports but, bloody hell. Richard Hunter was a worldwide figure, and her cousin wasn’t stupid. Even if she didn’t recognize Wyatt physically, she was bound to put two and two together should she hear any part of the conversation between the two. As luck would have it, she emerged through the den archway just as Wyatt gave Broderick the name of a contact at the sports complex.

  “Tell Aunt Beatrice to call that number. Doug will make arrangements for her to watch the game from a Marauders’ skybox set aside for friends of the players.”

  Piper bit back a groan as Abigail headed straight for the celebrity in the manor’s foyer.

  “Why, heavens, how awful I missed the introductions.” Angus’s scowl didn’t faze her a bit. She batted her lashes and held Wyatt’s gaze. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Hunter. I’m Abigail. Piper’s cousin.”

  Angus had never suffered from a case of tact. He snorted loudly, his gaze running up and down Abigail’s steel-gray silk dress. “More like a piranha in a fancy frock.”

  God forgive her, Piper had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing as Wyatt looked down his nose at her cousin, then turned back to Broderick as if Abigail hadn’t said a word.

  “Beatrice is welcome to bring a guest, of course.”

  Angus enjoyed a healthy snicker at the flags of obvious outrage coloring Abigail’s cheekbones. As she stomped out the door without waiting for Broderick, Angus asked of no one in particular, “Was it somethin’ I said?”

  * * * *

  Five days later, Piper punched in the code and let herself inside the private lift to Wyatt’s loft condo. She tightened her fingers around the handle of the bag she carried and grinned. Before leaving the manor last Wednesday evening, she’d stood at her dresser, studying the contents of her underwear drawer as she recalled Wyatt’s reaction to her missing knickers. In the end, she hadn’t selected a single piece because, really. Why mess with a good thing? But she hadn’t been able to resist the sexy black bra and panty set she’d spotted in a window downtown, and couldn’t wait to experience Wyatt’s reaction when she modeled the matching garter belt and hose.

  Tonight was a celebration, after all. Jamal had proven an easy subject to work with. His Mr. January photo was safe and secure on the SD card in her bag. Her part in the project was nearly complete and, according to Caroline who’d seen the photos Piper had already submitted, the calendar was going to be a huge success.

  Wyatt’s Mr. February shot still remained, of course, but Piper had a few ideas on how to present him, and couldn’t wait until tomorrow afternoon to get started.

  With yesterday’s bye, the Marauders’ players didn’t have today off as they did most Mondays. She didn’t have a lot of time to prepare before Wyatt was due home from the complex, but with the sensual anticipation running through her veins, that wouldn’t be a problem. The echo of her laughter trailed her as the doors of the private elevator whooshed open beneath the metal staircase and she stepped into the loft.

  Her laughter cut off on a stilted scream, and she stumbled to a stop. Heart in her throat, she cast her mind about for a weapon to defend herself against the huge bald man leaning against the kitchen island. Nothing came to mind. Certainly nothing strong enough to take down a man who looked like he could bench press half the Marauders’ offensive line without breaking a sweat.

  “Have a seat, Baroness,” someone other than Mr. Tree Trunk Arms demanded.

  She yelped and jerked her head toward the living area. She didn’t recognize the speaker, an older man in a wrinkled suit and a bow tie.

  Baroness? What the…?

  Relief crashed into her and loosened the muscles in her legs as she spotted Wyatt sitting on the couch. Her shoulders sagged beneath her shuddering sigh. “Bloody hell, Wyatt. Your friends frightened the crap out of me.”

  The instant heat of her blush wasn’t surprising, but Wyatt wasn’t amused by her slip of the tongue as she’d expected. With his legs spread wide and his elbows braced on his knees, he jerked his chin toward the older man who had spoken.

  “Piper, this is Walter Crowley. My father’s campaign manager.”

  She blinked at the sound of her name on Wyatt’s lips. He’d spoken it so rarely, his use of it was jarring, but he’d made it clear he and his father weren’t close. She supposed the use of her nickname in this situation wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “How do you do, Mr. Crowley?”

  He said nothing in reply. No greeting. He simply watched her with intent gray eyes.

  “And Devon Jennings. He also works for the campaign.”

  She returned her gaze to Wyatt, disturbed by the flat tone of his voice, but he wasn’t looking at her. She shifted her focus to the bald guy. Jennings didn’t bother acknowledging her, either, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. She slowly dragged her gaze from the bald man’s predatory stare.

  “What’s going on, Wyatt?”

  “We have a few questions, Ms. Darrow.” Mr. Crowley indicated the chair across from the couch. “Have a seat.”

  On shaking knees, she lowered to the edge of the cushion and set the bag of underwear on the floor beside her feet.

  “Wyatt?” For a moment, he held her gaze and she silentl
y pleaded with him to tell her what was wrong. She could think of only three people he cared enough about to put that stark look in his eyes and, as he lowered his head to stare at a spot between his shoes, the bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Oh, dear God. Not Mandy?”

  Wyatt jolted as if he’d been lashed by a live wire. Before she could push to her feet to go to him, Mr. Crowley stepped in front of her. He held out a photograph.

  “The digital signature on the bottom left corner is yours, is it not?”

  Piper didn’t bother looking for the scrolling initials she knew would be there. The image itself proclaimed the photograph as hers. She snatched the 8x10 glossy from the man’s fingers as her throat threatened to close. “Where did you get this?”

  “I’m asking the questions. You’re answering.”

  She shook her head and stared at the photo of Mandy as her Unkie White read to her. “It’s mine.”

  A harsh breath heaved in her chest as she dragged her gaze back to Wyatt’s face, then wished she hadn’t. His eyes were no longer stark. They were full of heat, but not the sensual burn she’d come to know and crave. His eyes were hot with condemnation as he dropped his gaze to the photo, then lurched to his feet and crossed to the bar.

  As he slammed ice into a tumbler, she turned back to Walter Crowley. “I don’t understand. How did you obtain a copy of this?”

  “Richard Hunter’s campaign was contacted by The London Bugle News an hour ago. As a courtesy, they provided him with the photograph they’ll be running in the morning along with an article concerning his biological granddaughter.”

  She couldn’t breathe and, when she turned to Wyatt, she wasn’t sure she ever would again. His face held no emotion. Not the usual joy and pleasure for life that made him the man he was, or even fury that the prediction he’d spoken only days ago would soon come to pass.

  “Why?” He leaned both palms on the bar top, and his angry gaze bore into hers. “Damn it, I offered to transfer the funds you needed. Twice.” He shoved straight, not waiting for an answer. Self-disgust twisted his features as he turned his back on her as if he hated himself for even asking.

  Even without the numbness spreading out from her heart to her limbs, she was too shocked to stand. He thought she was responsible for the photograph finding its way into the filthy hands of the Bugle’s slimy owner?

  “Wyatt. I didn’t do this.” She shook her head and fought back the tears that demanded release. “I wouldn’t.”

  He ignored her plea as Walter Crowley slid the photograph from her lifeless fingers. The campaign manager slapped the glossy sheet against his thigh and his cold gray eyes sliced into her like knives. “I understand you owe a large sum of money through an inheritance obligation.”

  The words, spoken in accusation, slammed into her like stones. A silent cry lodged in her throat and stole what was left of her breath. Her aching heart soundly rejected the notion as a cruel joke, but there was only one place Walter Crowley could have gotten that information.

  Her horrified gaze jerked to Wyatt. She stared at the rigid lines of his back, mentally willing him to turn around and tell her this was all a mistake. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d find no refuge with Wyatt, not when he believed her capable of such a heinous act.

  Good Lord, didn’t he know her? The man had spent every spare moment of the last few weeks laughing with her or whispering darkly sensual secrets in her ear. The nights had passed with her wrapped in his arms, held so closely she’d forgotten where she ended and he began.

  But she remembered now.

  Blinded by Wyatt’s irresistible smiles, his sweet gestures, and his pretty words about moving forward, she’d forgotten that first and foremost, Wyatt Hunter was a player. A champion, just like Cody Beckett. For men like them, competition was life and winning was the only option. Everything he’d said or done had been nothing more than a means to an end. With blind focus and cold calculation, he’d easily claimed what he’d been after, getting her into his bed, while her foolish heart had been slipping ever closer toward that precarious cliff she’d rightly feared.

  A band of pain compressed her chest. How bloody stupid of her to have fallen in love with a man incapable of the emotion.

  A toxic mix of shock, humiliation, and hurt roiled in her belly. She swallowed against the noxious brew burning its way past her esophagus. The air in the condo was set at a comfortable seventy-two degrees, as usual, but chills raced over her skin as she faced Walter Crowley once more.

  He tucked the photo into a file on the counter. “I hope the one hundred thousand pounds the Bugle paid you was worth it.” The snap of his briefcase latches closing made her jump. “But you should know, making enemies with the Hunter family is not a healthy way to live.”

  She stiffened. It would be easy enough to prove she hadn’t received a shilling from London’s top gossip rag, but she didn’t bother suggesting the campaign manager check the facts. What would be the point? Wyatt’s behavior proved he didn’t think much of her integrity, a deal killer for any future they may have had. In the meantime, if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d just been threatened by the right-hand man of the possible next president.

  Fear overtook her despondency and insisted she get out of there as fast as humanly possible. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I would never threaten anyone, Baroness. Especially not in front of witnesses.” He smiled for the first time since she’d walked into the condo. It wasn’t an improvement.

  “Walter.”

  Piper jerked at the sound of Wyatt’s softly spoken admonishment.

  The campaign manager shrugged. “You will be allowed no further contact with anyone in the Hunter family, Baroness, nor will you have access to anything involving the campaign. I suggest you get on a plane and return to England with all due haste, and count yourself lucky myself or Mr. Jennings haven’t been left to mete out justice.”

  He said nothing further, and she blindly collected the bag at her feet. It took every ounce of energy Piper could call upon to stand. She couldn’t feel her legs and prayed they held her as she crossed to the elevator. Stepping inside, she turned and pressed the button for the ground level exit. Though pride insisted she not look his way, her mutinous gaze found Wyatt’s tensed profile, and the blessed numbness encasing her heart was no match for the jagged fissure of despair tearing it in two.

  Outside, she staggered to the corner and tossed the bag of underwear in a public trash can before hailing a cab. Arriving at the manor the next morning, exhausted and grimy, she was rocked by the knowledge she hadn’t actually known what a broken heart was until now.

  Chapter 23

  Piper stared at the open page on her laptop screen and dragged in practiced, even breaths. For three years, she’d been working toward the day her bank balance would top the figure needed to buy her life back. Yesterday, she’d reached that seemingly impossible goal, but only for a brief time.

  Moira had nearly had a coronary upon learning Piper had rejected Wyatt’s transfer for the balance they’d agreed upon, but she couldn’t, in good conscience, accept payment for a job she hadn’t completed. And the thought of taking money from a man who believed the worst of her left her skin crawling with shame.

  In truth, she’d been surprised to find the transaction pending in her account, and not just because of the way things had ended between them. Considering the wild frenzy of press over the last four days covering the story of Richard Hunter’s secret granddaughter, she was amazed Wyatt had time to think of anything else.

  Backing out of the page, she shut down the machine. She rolled the cord and stored both it and the laptop in the outer pocket of her largest camera bag. A glance around her bedroom brought a sigh as she pushed to her feet. Hefting the strap onto her shoulder, she snatched her jacket and a small suitcase from the chair as she left the room.

  Stealth and quite a bit of l
uck delivered her to the back walkway without the anticipated run-in with Moira or Tilly. As much as she loved them both, she was too heartsick to maintain a stiff upper lip under their constant fussing any longer. And, after today, she was going to need some time and privacy to mourn on her own.

  Angus wore a disapproving scowl as Piper slipped into the garage. She shook her head and loaded her things into her SUV. “Don’t look at me like that, Angus. I know what I’m doing.”

  He snorted. “I’m not so sure about that. Runnin’ instead of givin’ himself the chance to come around smacks of cowardice, and a coward is somethin’ ye’ve never been.”

  She blinked back the tears that remained right there at the surface. “Come around to what? To the realization he doesn’t think enough of me to know I never would have done what I’ve been accused of doing?”

  His bushy brows met over the bridge of his nose like an angry caterpillar. “I’ve known ye since you were no more than a sprite, lass. Think ye, I can’t tell ye’ve lost yer heart to the big Yank? Never once, when ye were looking at that bounder Beckett, did yer eyes come alive the way they did whenever they landed on yer American footballer.” Her eyelids slid shut, but Angus wasn’t finished. “From what ye told me, the wee girl is his heart. Can ye blame him for goin’ a bit bonkers in the circumstances?”

  With a sigh, she shook her head. “No, I can’t, but neither should I have to plead with the man I love to get him to listen or to believe in me.”

  He dragged a callused palm over his jaw. “Aye, yer right on that account.”

  She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. He accepted her squeeze with one of his own. “I’m doing what needs to be done, just as I always have.” She pulled free and slid into the SUV’s driver seat. “Tell Moira and Tilly I’ll be in touch when I know where I’ll be.”

  He nodded and squinted as she started the engine. “Ye be careful out there, and give me best to yer bitch of a cousin.”