“I’m undercover.” He dropped the act and readopted his own posture.
“You have an awful American accent.”
He shrugged. “Huber can’t tell.”
“What are you really?”
“I’m a citizen of the world, princess.” He smirked to throw her off the fact that he had no desire to speak about his upbringing and youth.
“The more I think about it, the more I think you’re from Australia.” She frowned. “Although I wonder if you didn’t spend time somewhere like South Africa.”
She was too close to the mark, so he ratcheted up the sneer. “You’ve been thinking about me? I’m touched.”
“Don’t be.” She crossed her arms. “Tell me about this house party Ryan’s throwing.”
“No.” He dropped the act and stared at her steadily.
She shrugged. “I’ll just ask him myself.”
“Princess”—he leaned into her, his gaze brooking no argument—“you’ll stay away from him.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he almost expected her to say “Make me.”
Instead she shrugged. “Whatever the house party is, you’re going there for nefarious purposes, as part of your deceit.”
“Disguise, not deceit,” he corrected.
She shrugged again. “Same difference, isn’t it? You’re going to spy on him.”
Every chance he got. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes.” She pointed at his face. “Every time you tell me something that’s not entirely true your eyes go flat.”
They did? He frowned. “No, they don’t.”
“Yes, actually, they do. I’m a lawyer. I’m trained to read people. When you mean it, your eyes are full of emotion.”
That couldn’t be true. He frowned. “When have I meant it?”
“When you kissed me.” She blinked, her brow furrowing. “Not that I want to think about that.”
It’d been all he’d been able to think about.
“What are you going to do if you find evidence against him?” she persisted. “Not that I admit that there is any, because I think Ryan is innocent.”
“No one’s innocent, princess.”
“I’m innocent.”
“You’re something”—he crowded her against the wall—“but it’s not innocent.”
He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
He told himself that he was just trying to silence her, to distract her from asking about the party and Huber. It wasn’t at all that her lips were irresistible, temptingly plump and glistening. It wasn’t that he knew that they tasted sweet, like the most delicate confection.
It wasn’t because he’d been dreaming of kissing her again.
Although he had. In the still of night, he’d imagined holding her in his arms, just like this, and running the tip of his tongue against the seam of her lips, asking her to let him in.
Her lips parted.
He sank into her.
There was another ping, but it took him a moment to realize they’d arrived at the ground floor. There was one discreet cough and another giggle as they broke apart.
Summer touched her lips, her eyes wide. Shaking her head, she strode out without a word.
He rushed after her, not sure why, only knowing that he wasn’t finished. Also, there was the view.
Before she reached the main entrance she whirled around. “I’ve been thinking.”
He barely stopped before colliding into her. “When did you have time to think?”
“In the ten meters between the elevator and here.” She folded her arms across her attractive chest, which was nice though it didn’t hold a candle to her ass. “I should go, too.”
He knew what she meant, and he didn’t like it at all. He got in her face, knowingly intimidating her. “You should stay the hell away from Ryan Huber. I mean it, Summer. Don’t get involved in this. You’ll ruin your life.”
She went toe-to-toe with him, not budging. Her chin lifted, and her blue eyes flashed ice. “Why are you doing this? What did Ryan do to you?”
“Nothing. It’s just a job.” His last job.
“Your job is awful.”
Which was why this was his last job. “You can’t still want to marry a man who steals from other people.”
She shook her head, her jaw tight and unyielding. “I don’t believe that he steals. You have the wrong person.”
“His boss hired me to investigate him because he has a suspicion that Huber is embezzling.”
She paled. “His boss?”
“Yes.” He leaned in. “This is an important case, so stay out of my way.”
“You seem awfully invested for a man who’s just hired.”
Jon heard himself say, “I’m paying a debt to a friend.”
She was silent. He thought the conversation would be over but then she said, “Ryan’s boss is your friend, isn’t he?”
He crossed his arms and glared at her.
She pointed at his face. “The answer is yes. There’s the tell again.”
“I don’t have a tell.”
“Yes, you do.” She crossed her arms. “What if you’re wrong and you ruin a man’s life? Someone needs to defend Ryan.”
“Why don’t you let his girlfriend do that?”
She recoiled, as though he’d lashed out.
He immediately regretted saying it, but he kept his stance. Better that her feelings were hurt than her ending up in jail because she got mixed up with Huber’s embezzling schemes.
She turned on her heels and went, leaving him with that extraordinary view. A cold comfort, he thought, hands in his pockets.
Chapter Twelve
The kiss had knocked her for a loop.
Jacqueline had gone home, directly to her room after Declan’s onslaught. She hadn’t been able to talk or think. She’d crawled into bed and huddled there until the morning.
That one kiss had been a punishment.
He’d made his point, and there was no reason to belabor it. Although she doubted that the point he was trying to make was the one she got, because she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
She hadn’t been able to stop feeling it. Quite frankly, she’d let him punish her for hours if that was his choice of torture.
It was the next day and she was still contemplating what to do about Declan when a loud crash followed by a loud oath came from down the hall.
It sounded like it came from the gallery. Jacqueline frowned, hurrying down the last couple steps of the staircase. The only person who would be in the gallery was Sebastian. She winced, thinking of the row Fran would cause if Sebastian had destroyed anything, no matter how accidental.
She walked into the hall where all the Summerhill family paintings hung and stopped abruptly when she saw Sebastian kneeling on the floor next to Portia, who was laughing.
Portia had clamored the hardest for her father’s love, so naturally she’d been the most devastated by his death and betrayal. She was the most Summerhill, through and through, knowing the history of the entire line and all the artifacts by heart. Of any of the girls, Portia would be least likely to welcome Sebastian. He stole the title, after all.
To see her laughing with him was shocking to say the least. Carefully, Jacqueline asked, “Is everything all right here?”
They both looked up. Portia flushed guiltily, the way she always had, ever since she was a little girl, when she’d done something she was sure she’d be punished for. “I was just telling Sebastian about Jocelyn Summerhill.”
“Except her reenactment of Jocelyn running off with the Black Pirate got out of control,” Sebastian added, holding out shards of a broken vase to show.
Laughing, Portia stood. “Fortunately it wasn’t an heirloom.”
No, because Bea had made her sell most of their valuable belongings right after Reginald’s will had been read. Those heirlooms had saved her from having to depend on her daughters for support. Every time she passed this hall, she gave a silent thanks to all the past Summerhills, for their foresight in collecting expensive knickknacks.
She cleared her throat, bringing herself back to the miracle in front of her. “So you two have met?”
Sebastian nodded, dropping all the broken china pieces into the wastebasket her daughter held out. “Portia’s been telling me about our ancestors.”
“Sebastian doesn’t know about anyone.” Portia shook her head, eyes wide and incredulous. “Can you imagine?”
Jacqueline studied the tenth Earl of Amberlin. Either he was genuinely curious or else extremely clever about winning people over. She wagered it was a bit of both.
He winked at her and then turned to Portia. “Maybe later you can give me a tour. I’d like to hear more about the first countess.”
Portia beamed. “I’d love that.”
Jacqueline put a hand on Sebastian’s arm. “Since Portia doesn’t seem inclined to harm you, I’ll leave you two to your history lesson.”
“Mother.” Portia faced Sebastian. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
Jacqueline turned and headed for the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She frowned. The last time, it’d been the new earl. Who could it be this time?
As she turned to answer it, the door opened and Chloe stepped through. Her granddaughter smiled over her shoulder at the person behind her.
“Rowdy,” Jacqueline said with a smile. She gave Chloe a kiss on her temple and then gave her hand to the burly man.
Rowdy had no neck, a full head of hair, and so many scars that he looked frightening. Until he smiled—and then it was like heaven opening and shining on you.
He came forward and gave her a big hug and kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Duchess. How’s it hanging?”
“It’s hanging beautifully, thank you.” She looked at her granddaughter. “Is your mother out?”
Chloe’s expression darkened. “She had an appointment.”
“I told Vi I’d bring the kid here for her.” Rowdy put an arm around the teenager and rubbed his knuckles on her head. “But we stopped for ice cream first. It was good, wasn’t it, doll?”
Chloe’s face lit with pleasure. “Rowdy found a place that had different flavors. I had Earl Grey.”
For an instant, Jacqueline saw the little girl her granddaughter had been, and she was ever so grateful to Rowdy for finding her underneath the anger and teenage rebellion.
The rugby player shook his head. “If you ask me, tea flavored ice cream is just plain wrong, but whatever the kid wants.”
“This chapter isn’t finished yet, is it?” At their blank looks, Jacqueline smiled. “You can write a more delicious end to the afternoon. I think Fran has fresh treats in the kitchen.”
“Cookies?” he said, perking up. He slung his arm around Chloe. “I’m up for a little editing. How about you, doll?”
“Yes.” Chloe smiled at him with hero worship in her eyes as they walked down the hall, chattering.
Hand at her throat, Jacqueline watched them. If she didn’t know better, she’d have suspected something between Viola and Rowdy, but something told her there was nothing but friendship there. Whatever happened, she was glad Chloe had a positive male influence in her life. Her father Charles certainly wasn’t one.
She arrived before him, looking around. She went to the table where he’d been sitting the day before to wait for him there. Declan had always been a creature of habit.
He wasn’t going to appreciate her being here.
She calmly sat with her cappuccino and took out her journal and pen, positioning them in front of her like a defense. She lifted her coffee for a sip, but her stomach was so tense she wasn’t sure she could drink, so she set it back down.
She didn’t know if she was so nervous because she wanted his help so badly or because she was afraid he’d kiss her again.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, but it was the pressure of his mouth on hers that she felt. She’d felt it through every fiber of her body, down to her feet, where it’d taken root and then bloomed all the way back up. It’d been shockingly different from the kisses of their youth and still so similar. He wasn’t the boy he’d been.
The man both scared her to death and roused the most intense curiosity.
She needed to put that passion into her novel. She was making notes, jotting down feelings, when the front door opened.
Declan was here.
He saw her the second he entered. Scowling, he went to the counter and ordered his coffee, black with a surprising dollop of whipped cream. The barista chatted with him, oblivious of the tension. He replied back to her with patience and kindness even though Jacqueline could tell he was agitated by the way he tapped his red-shoed foot.
He turned, his scowl darkening like storm clouds building to crescendo. He glanced at the other tables, obviously entertaining the thought of sitting elsewhere. She watched his annoyed resolve as he walked toward her.
She shook her head. She almost felt bad for him. He’d always been more stubborn than wise.
Except she hoped there was a small part of him that looked forward to seeing her sitting there and wanted to be around her.
“Don’t you have silver to polish?” he said, setting his bag down with a thump and taking out his laptop.
“My servants do that,” she replied, lowering her head and picking up her pen. So much for hoping that a part of him would be happy to see her.
Because she felt his eyes on her, she began to write in her notebook. The words were all nonsense, strung together out of nerves and hurt. She wrote about how uncomfortable she felt and how she missed the easy camaraderie that they used to have.
It was gone, she wrote. He’d said it, and it was her fault. She wasn’t here for his friendship. It’d have been nice, but at this point she needed to work on figuring out how to finish her book and get it published. That was her second chance at life.
So she began brainstorming how to end the story.
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Declan said some time later. “You can leave now.”
Jacqueline didn’t lift her head from her journal, oddly satisfied that she’d waited him out until he’d finally had to speak. “Your permission is appreciated but not needed,” she replied carelessly.
“It’s not permission. I’m telling you to go.”
She nodded. “Does that make you happy?”
“Not as happy as if you’d leave.”
She stopped writing and gazed at him. “I’d be happy to leave as soon as you agree to look at my story.”
He shut the lid of his laptop. “You weren’t this bloody stubborn when you were a girl.”