“My grandfather put conditions in his will, and if they're not met, no one inherits. My father is trying to contest it, but I suspect he'll have little success.” He grinned.
Ice cream began to trickle over Rhonda's thumb. She opened her mouth over the cone and lapped a good dollop, still too dumbstruck by all that money to do much else. There was irony somewhere in all of this. She just wasn't getting it.
“Want to hear more?” he asked, rightfully wondering why she was staying quiet.
She nodded, taking another healthy lick. How did one spend that much money? Hell, how did someone make all that money?
“If my brother or I don't have children, then the money goes to charity and Historic Scotland.”
Rhonda choked on her ice cream. She coughed, trying to dislodge the sorbet from her lungs.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked, passing her a napkin.
Taking it, she waved him off when he leaned across the table to help. She swallowed hard and then sniffed. She used the back of the hand holding the cone to wipe the tears from her eyes and succeeded in getting ice cream in her hair. Under the table Rhonda pressed her other hand to her flat belly. “That's quite the condition. How does that work, exactly?”
Blake took another napkin and cleaned up the mess in her hair. “Girl or boy, the child inherits a bundle, but a boy, an heir, inherits more, much more. As the parents, we stand to inherit more as well. Of course, it will fall upon
our
daughter to produce an heir should a son not be born.”
Rhonda's jaw went slack. He hadn't meant
their
daughter. Of course, he hadn't. But it took a few seconds for her brain to register that he was referring to his or Colin's kid. Not hers and Blake's.
“Should Colin or I die before this great grandchild,” Blake continued “his or mine, has children, it would be upon her to get the title reinstated, should she have a son. Upon our deaths, if
no
children are conceived, especially to inherit the title, all the money, minus the trust funds, goes to Historic Scotland and the Scottish Historical Society charity. Everything is being held in trust, earning interest, until then. And if Colin doesn't perform his
duty
and can't afford the manor house, then it too goes.”
He offered her a taste of his ice cream, which she declined. “Are you sure? It's good.”
“No thanks, I'm not a fan of vanilla. Why are you so . . . calm about this?” That was a lot of money to go to charity. Her father hadn't had anything to will her but if he'd decided charity was better than her, she'd have been seeing red.
“I've had a lot of time to digest it. Even though I don't want to see Oakley Manor leave family hands, the money isn't that important to me, but Grandmother . . .”
“So, is your brother married?”
“Yes.”
“And I take it no kids?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. They miscarried a week before Christian's wedding.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry. That can't be easy,” she said, her heart hurting for a woman she'd never met. And here she was planning on giving his baby away. If there was a baby to give away.
Now Rhonda felt like a real shit. Other women might do something different and that was totally fine. But she could only do what was right for her. She had firsthand knowledge on just how hard it is to raise a child on your own. Her father had failed miserably and he had all the love in the world to give Rhonda. Not once had she felt unloved, but it wasn't enough.
“They can try again,” she said.
“I understand there are issues with that. I'm not clear on all the details. We went into hiding shortly after I'd gotten the news and didn't have time for a long conversation. Now, I don't dare call. As much as they annoy me, I can't risk their lives. How's your sorbet?”
“Good. Wanna lick?” She stretched out her arm, offering him a taste, debating whether to ask him her next question. Would he go for the money? Would he try and save his family home?
“Ask me that when we get back to the cottage.”
She withdrew her hand. He must be curious as to why all the monkey sex they'd been having had suddenly stopped. She figured he'd assume she was having her period, but now a week had passed and that excuse would no longer fly.
“We'll see,” she said as haughtily as she could manage. “So how is it legal, leaving all your money to charity when there are family members? More importantly, forcing them to produce heirs?”
“Normally it wouldn't be. But it was within his rights to leave his money to charity. And he did it to ensure the title stays alive and in the family. It was
the most
important thing to him. If he'd made it a race between my brother and me, then the will could be contested. But he didn't. He technically willed the money to his great grandchildren and more so to a great grandson.”
“Are you tempted to go for it?” Was this why he couldn't promise forever? He had to have children, but with a blue blood like him?
“No. I'll leave having the babies to Colin. He's already married and fulfilled one of the conditions. The baby has to be legitimate. Even if my grandfather wasn't old fashioned on that, an illegitimate son can't inherit this title. And that's the biggest reason for my grandfather going through all this bullshit. Are you done with that?” he asked, pointing to her dripping cone.
“Yes.” She handed it to him to toss in the garbage. She grabbed a paper napkin, wiping her hand as she stood and followed Blake out of the parlor.
“It's a lot of money not to want.” Blake could easily find a suitable wife and produce that heir. So why didn't he? Then he could give Colin the money.
“I don't need it. Colin does. It's far more important that he inherit. Now, let's talk about something else.”
Was it as simple as saving his home, or did Colin have other reasons for needing the money? She nodded. Her question would have to wait. “Thanks for sharing. I appreciate you wanting to.”
“I've put your life in danger. You have to trust me to keep you safe. That's more important than you knowing my family secrets.”
A pang of guilt made her nauseous. Here he was, trusting her with things even his friends didn't know, and she was debating what to do about a possible unwanted pregnancy, one that she could not tell him about now.
Scenario A, he'd want to keep the baby, to raise it without her. Before it had seemed unfair for a kid to grow up knowing its mother hadn't wanted any part of it. Now, she'd not only be making the kid feel unwanted but resentful. That was a lot of money to watch flush down a toilet.
Scenario B, Blake would offer to marry her. That would not go down well. If someone proposed to her, it had better be because he loved her, not because she was pregnant and could save a big old house. She deserved that much.
Scenario C, she was going to feel guilty for the rest of her life. It wasn't like he'd actually want to marry her. It wouldn't be her fault nobody inherited, that she'd taken away an opportunity for Blake to make things right for his family. So why did she feel bad?
* * *
Rhonda sat with her feet dangling in the pool. The morning sun hadn't quite reached the top of the tall hedge, but it was going to be a hot and muggy day. Living in Vegas, hot she could do. Here, muggy she could do without. She kicked her feet and watched the ripples as they fanned out inside the uniquely shaped pool. She'd snuck out of bed early this morning, not wanting to wake up next to Blake.
They'd made love last night and the sex, as always, was fantastic. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed being with him. But in the daylight, she couldn't bear seeing his face, knowing she was lying to him. Or at the very least, withholding information.
If it turned out she was pregnant, she was keeping to her plan. The baby would go to a good home. Maggie would help her. Her boss had successfully done this before with other women. For the last few hours, Rhonda had been forcing herself to look at everything logically. If she didn't, she'd get bogged down in emotion. She'd take this one-day at a time, doing as planned until something changed. Like if she was trapped in hiding for the rest of her miserable life. But even then, sooner or later, she and Blake would go their separate ways. She'd be forced to start a new life and so would heâapart.
“Hey, you're up early. Everything all right?” Blake came out onto the deck.
“I just wanted to enjoy the weather before it turned into a sauna.” That was partially true.
“We don't have many days like this in Scotland.”
“You miss Scotland, don't you?” She imagined it a beautiful place, with its hills and old castles.
“Sometimes. There's something to be said about watching the mist roll over the moors, or the sun setting and rising across a glass sheen loch. It's very beautiful. It's a hardy country, as are its people. You look out at the land and its history can be overwhelming, and at the same time it grounds you because you are a part of that history.”
She saw an expression on his face she hadn't seen before when talking about his days back home. Pride. Even his accent had changed. Deep in remembering his homeland, he'd forgotten to tone it down. She'd heard it before, but that had been in their lovemaking. She'd just assumed passion had done that, like Ella's at Heart's Desire. Piss the dancer off, and didn't matter that she was second generation, her Italian upbringing came through in every curse she'd throw at you.
“Well, enough of that,” he said, as if embarrassed by his sentimentality. “Can I get you breakfast? I'm famished.”
“Sure.” She took his outstretched hand and stood. “As long as there's no kidneys involved.”
“Where'd you come with that?”
“Isn't that what you
Irish
eat? Kidneys and pie?”
He laughed. “Steak and kidney pie,” he corrected her. “And no, that would be the Sassenach.”
“I know what that is, asshole,” she said. “I read
Outlander
.”
“Good, then I don't have to explain Scottish history to you. It can be rather tedious and bloody all at the same time.”
“Whatever. But I don't want entrails on my plate.”
“No black pudding either?”
“I don't know what that is, and if you tell me, I'll smack you.” She opened the patio door for him. “After you, my crazy highlander.”
“Someday,” he said, stopping to tuck her hair behind her ear, “I'll take you there.”
She forced the lump down her throat, her heart believing he meant it. “As long as you pay for it, your highness.” She turned and sashayed into the kitchen, when what she really wanted was to cry. He
hadn't
meant it, and she wasn't falling in love with him. She was
not
falling in love with him.
Chapter Sixteen
F
our days later, Rhonda sat in front of the laptop in the bedroom, staring at a god-awful picture of someone's pregnant belly. Yuck. Was this what she had to look forward to? She'd been googling peeing and being pregnant, and was unhappy to learn it never ended. First, some kind of stupid hormone made you pee the first trimester, then the little bundle of joy sat on your bladder, doing its best to shrink whatever room you had left to the size of a kidney bean. Yeah, all the joys she might have to look forward to. She still hadn't gotten her period. But she'd also learned that stress could do a serious number on a menstrual cycle, even make a woman skip a month.
“Rhonda.”
She stood, quickly blocking his view of the screen then casually closing the computer. “What's up?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to pack a lunch and go sailing? The boat is still docked, and I have to admit, I miss it.”
She turned and plastered a smile on her face. She might have been seasick because she was pregnant, but she doubted it. Wouldn't it have been too soon? “Miss the salt air, do you?”
“No,” he said, approaching with such a hot look in his eyes, she went to take a step back and realized there was nowhere to go.
He pressed against her. Leaning in, he put both his hands on the desk, trapping her. “I miss how your ass looks bent over the boat's wheel.”
Heat flooded her face, remembering that day. The rest of her quivered as he nibbled on her throat. Each nip sent tiny shock waves down her body, her back arching in response to every dart of his tongue. “You, umm . . . wanna go sailing? We can . . . do that again,” she said, her voice rising an octave.
“Didn't you enjoy it?”
“No, I mean lick me there again.”
Obliging her, he ran his tongue inside the hollow of her clavicle. She moaned in response.
“Is that a yes or no to sailing?” He grabbed her bottom, his fingers going under her shorts as he picked up her leg and slung it over his hip, where he pressed his erection against her.
He'd numbed her brain, because she heard herself say, “Okay.”
“Great. We can finish this there.” He bit her ear then kissed her mouth before pulling away. “I'll make us a lunch. Meet you downstairs?”
She blinked. “Were you trying to turn me on so I would say yes?”
“No.” He kissed her again. “I just wanted to let you know what we'd be doing
after
lunch. Do we have a problem?” he asked, all innocent.
“You're a sneaky bastard. And,” she pointed out, “you're not fooling anyone. You used sex to get me back on that boat.”
“Yes.” He turned and walked away. “Yes, I did.”
* * *
Together they made sandwiches from leftover chicken, and he managed to find a picnic basket in the pantry. She tossed in some fruit and a couple of water bottles, and they were off.
Twenty long minutes later, they were at the marina. Rhonda couldn't believe they were taking the boat out to have sex. It was crazy. And she couldn't wait. She wouldn't get sick, she told herself. And hopefully, she'd listen.
With a wide grin on both their faces, they boarded.
“This will be fun.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Do you want to take her out?”
“Do you want to see how fast we sink?”
“How can you sink her? Come on, it'll be fun,” he said, encouraging her.
“Excuse me.” A man came running toward them, waving his arms. “Excuse me, sir.”
Blake moved himself between her and the stranger. The muscle in his back tensed. “What can I do for you?”
“Sorry, but you'll have to sign the boat out.”
“But it's my boat.”
“Yes sir, I understand that. But you told us it would be docked. If my boss comes back and sees I don't have a release form signed by you, he'll fire me. It's for your protection, sir. How do I know it's your boat? I need to verify your signature.”
“Fine, I'm coming.” He turned to Rhonda. “Wait here.”
“No, I'd rather come.” He'd never left her alone on the boat before. While she wasn't afraid per se, she wasn't comfortable with it either.
“After all this time, you're still afraid of the boat. I thought you got over that.”
“I did. I just don't want to be alone on it.”
“How is that not being afraid?”
“It just is,” she said, shoving him forward. “Let's go or no booty popping for you.”
“You are so mean.” He held out his hand and helped her off. “Do we have that one on the list?”
“I think it was one of the first ones.” She jumped down onto the dock.
“I nailed that one.”
She punched his arm.
He rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. “Why did you do that?”
“Earning the mean. Keep it up, and I'll show you what I can do to earn the
evil
you dubbed me with.”
They'd reached the gate when a loud boom rocked the air. Before she knew it she was on the ground, Blake covering her body with his. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard the hiss of water extinguishing flame. An acrid smell filled her nose and she coughed, the sound of flying debris muffling the sound. What the hell had happened? What blew up? “Blake?”
“Stay down,” he barked.
Something was burning. Fuel? “Let me up.” Panicked, she tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge.
“Rhonda, stay,” he shouted, pinning her down.
She didn't like this. Were they in danger? Had they been discovered? “Blake, please. What's going on?”
He moved a fraction, allowing her to see the blackened sky. Smoke billowed all around them. “What the hell was that?”
“We gotta go now. Are you hurt?” He peeled himself off, cringing as he moved.
“Blake?” Alarmed, she sat up and ran her hands over his arms. “Where? Tell me where.” He was the one hurt.
“I'm okay. Can you get up?”
“You're not okay. Where are you hurt?” she asked, her voice rising.
“I'm fine,” he insisted. “We need to go.” He grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to her feet, his face in a grimace.
“You're
not
fine.”
“We don't have time for this. I wasn't ready to hit the ground like that. But I'll be fine. We have to go,” he repeated.
Sirens blasted in the distance and she understood. They couldn't get caught in whatever this was. It was then she looked. Her mouth fell open as realization set in. “Holy shit.” Tears welled in her eyes looking at the burning debris floating where their boat had been.
Blake tugged on her arm and this time she allowed him to drag her away. Several people ran toward them. In the distance a police cruiser and fire trucks drove into the marina parking lot.
“Blake?” How were they going to get away?
“Follow my lead and keep your head down.”
He wrapped both arms around her, shielding her. As the men approached he began to cough ferociously. “Boat,” he hacked. “On fire.” He pointed to where the boat had been moored. She couldn't see what was going on, but the running footsteps were headed in the opposite direction.
“Okay, now let's get lucky and see if we can get past the cops.”
Following his instructions, they ran down another boardwalk and ended up behind the marina office. Peeking around the corner, they waited until the dock filled with police and firemen, waited until the confusion would allow them to disappear into the forming herd of onlookers.
Rhonda saw the hand reach for Blake, but didn't have time to warn him.
“Okay, you two, care to tell me why you're skulking around? Or better still, why the back of your shirt looks like you were standing too close to fireworks?”
Two policemen blocked their escape. Their luck had run out.
* * *
The cops hadn't bought their “We were just passing by” routine. It hadn't helped that the manager of the marina identified them as the boat's owners, a boat that wasn't registered to either of them. But what solidly screwed them over was Blake's concealed weapon.
Rhonda drummed her short nails on the gray table, then imagining all the slimy scum that had been in this interrogation room before her, withdrew her hand. Blake hadn't been able to say much before they were separated, but the look he'd given her had been enough. Say nothing. The cops had gotten the hint after an hour or so and had decided to torture her by leaving her alone.
It sucked. And she had to pee. Squirming, she decided she'd had enough. “Hey,” she shouted. “You behind that mirror. I have to go to the bathroom.” She waited two minutes and when no one came in, she began her rant. “I know my rights. If you're not going to arrest me, you have to let me leave.” After another two minutes, she got up and headed for the door.
It wasn't locked, but there was an officer standing outside.
“Listen up, bud. Under Florida law, unless you arrest me, if I ask to leave, you have to let me leave. So, either I get to go to the bathroom, or I'm walking out the front door. Choose.” Florida had been in the news on more than one occasion, and it was one rule she remembered. Still, his acquiescence surprised her.
“To your left, three doors down.”
When she came out, Blake waited outside. Rhonda fell into his arms. She hadn't realized how much being away from him would feel wrong.
“We're free to go,” he said. “But we're going to use the back door. We were filmed, Rhonda. They'll know we survived the explosion.” He took her hand and led her past the officer still standing in the hallway.
“I don't understand. Why are they letting us go?” They couldn't keep them, but this seemed a little easy.
“We didn't do anything.”
“Butâ”
“You want to stay here?”
Did she? Would they be safer with the police? From how quickly he was dragging her through the station, she'd say not. They were met at the staircase by a plainclothes detective. Somewhere in his forties, he could easily have played football or some other he-man sport.
“My car is in the alley.” He tossed Blake a set of keys. “Your guys will bring it back to me.” It wasn't a request.
“Thanks.” Blake shook the man's hand. “We appreciate it.”
“Ryan's a good guy. Sorry about your luck. I ran into Sorrentino when he was smuggling girls out of Cuba. The guy is scum. Take care to stay low. Your faces hit the news when you were being picked up.”
Did that man have friends everywhere?
“We will and thanks again, lieutenant.”
“Good luck, you two.” He opened the exit door.
* * *
They drove thirty minutes out of town, Blake explaining how Ryan, with help from the feds, freed them. “You must be starved.”
“I guess.” She sighed, more exhausted than hungry. “I'm tired too.”
“We'll get our new car then find a hotel. We can shower, dump these clothes and I'll pick up food while you rest.”
She considered feeling guilty about sending him out for food alone, but frankly, she could use a nap.
They'd arranged to meet in the Walmart parking lot. A very tall, very cowboy guy got out of a black SUV. The two men did that man thing of smacking each other on the back and then Blake introduced her.
“This is Rhonda.”
“Howdy, ma'am,” the cowboy said, tipping his Stetson to her.
Too stunned by how tall he was, the
ma'am
didn't faze her. He must've been seven feet. She nodded.
“This is Cowboy. He was raised by a pack of wild wolves so he doesn't have a real name, but he can fly a plane blindfolded.”
“Never you mind him, Rhonda. He's an uptight asshole. Everything you need is in the back.” The men exchanged keys. “Take care of yourself and that little lady.” He winked at Rhonda. “I left something special, just for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, wondering what it was.
He tipped his hat again, shook hands with Blake and left.
In the back of the truck were three duffle bags. Inside one were fresh clothes, shoes and toiletries. She peeked as Blake opened his and was a little disturbed to see an arsenal of weapons.
“Do you know how to use one of these?”
She shrugged. “Maggie and I went to the range a couple of times.” “Good. From now on, you carry too.”
“Blakeâ” She started to object. Guns scared the crap out of her, but one look at his hard expression and she understood it would be pointless.
Also in the back was a cooler. Blake dragged it forward and opened it. He smiled. “Dozier sent you something.”
She peeked inside. On top of a supply of various food packages was a box labeled sweet potato pie. “Aw, he's so sweet.”
Blake laughed so hard tears filled his eyes.
“What's so funny?” She smacked his arm. “That was very sweet of him.”
“Yes, yes it was,” he said, wiping away a tear. “But you calling Dozier sweet is . . . honestly, it's just wrong. He could make a hungry cougar look like a gentle kitty.”
“Yeah, well, I've never seen that side of him. To me, he's sweet.”
“Okay, he's sweet.” He kept laughing even as he started the truck and didn't stop until after a good five minutes on the road. And for a short time, she nearly forgot they'd almost been blown to bits.
They drove another two hours, then chose a chain hotel. She showered first. While he cleaned up, she skipped through the television channels. There they were, for all the world to see.