Page 27 of Merciless Heir
“But,” he says, continuing, “Mother claims it was a symbol of true love. I’m not really going to argue. And they weren’t photographed up close or anything back then and rumor has it he locked them away when she died. Where they remained and faded into rumor. It’s not very exciting.”
“But rumor is. Stories get big and…things gain value. Especially now your father decided to posthumously release them to you all. Do you know why?”
I glance at him and he shrugs. “My father did what he wanted. And there have been stipulations.”
“Up until this last one, which has gone missing.”
“Not stolen?”
“No police record, remember? We don’t know why. We’d have to ask Jenson and your mother.” I tap my fingers against the wheel. We’re heading into the big properties outside of White Plains proper. The kind people need copious amounts of money for. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man to follow whimsical dreams, especially when they come with hoops and whips and stipulations.”
The air in the car thickens with my words and the accidental sexual undertone they carry.
“It depends on who has the whip and the safe word.”
Heat climbs my neck and his soft chuckle tells me he hasn’t missed that.
“The money,” he finally says.
“Cold, hard cash?”
“Come on, drop the censure. You’re telling me you did what you did—do what you do—for the beauty of the pieces and now the accolades?”
I pull onto a winding road and drive past manicured lawns and beautifully landscaped grounds, up to a sprawling mansion. I park and turn to him. “Fine, you got me. I like money, too.”
“But not as much as me,” he says, sliding a little closer to me in his seat and my breath catches in my throat. “Because what? You grew up poor?”
He’s touching on a nerve, on something I don’t think about if I can help it. But damned if I’m giving him a thing. “I have nothing to do with this.”
“My reasons for wanting something that’s mine do?”
I lean in to him, my blood hot and moving fast in my veins. “Not at all. Simply working this out.”
My heart thrums as he looks at me, those dark blue eyes with the gold and copper striations making something like desire whisper inside.
“Have you worked out why you kissed me if you don’t like me?”
His words streak a white heat down my bones. “I told you.”
“Curiosity. And I’m not sure I buy it. Maybe it’s because we’re so alike.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“Aren’t you?” He slides a finger over my cheek.
The touch is fleeting, and it shakes me. The Jag’s small, but somehow it’s suddenly grown smaller, tighter, and I want to close the gap. I want to run.
He shouldn’t be this observant. He shouldn’t look at me like he can see inside, and he shouldn’t be hard edged in exactly the right way. The way that turns me on.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Kingston doesn’t answer, just gets out of the car and leaves me to follow.
We’re at the door in no time, on the vast, wide verandah and there’s a hard-edged expression on his face that suggests he knows exactly who this place belongs to.
He rings the bell and after a few minutes of a strange, awkward silence between us, footsteps grow louder inside and finally, the door opens.
A blonde woman, about forty, looking maybe thirty and well dressed and familiar gives me a once over and then settles, warily, on Kingston.