She scowled as anger shot through her body with the speed of a freight train. Frustration and the enormity of what this meant turned her vision pink with rage. She slowly eased her hand from his and fisted her hair back from her face. “Well?”
“I’m his son.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to maintain her equilibrium and not freak out. “As far as I was aware Kyle doesn’t have a son or a brother.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
His gaze locked on hers for a moment before it shot toward the crowds of people walking around the fair, laughing and shouting without a care in the world. “I’m his son whether you want to believe it or not.” He met her eyes. “And I’ll be here running things for the foreseeable future. So the sooner we get acquainted, the better.”
“Get acquainted?” She laughed as her shaky self-control snapped. “You have no idea, do you? No damn idea whatsoever.”
The anger dissolved from his eyes and was replaced with wary confusion. “About what? This place?”
“About everything. You need to go.”
His brow furrowed as he stared. “That won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”
Trembling, Sasha walked backward, opening the space between them. She shook her head. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this to me. Not now.”
His frown deepened. “Do what?”
She waved her hand at him. “Do this. Turn up here. Say these things. I won’t let you do this.”
“Miss Todd—”
“I’m leaving.” Her mind raced and her body felt strangely numb. “This isn’t happening.”
He put his hand out as if to touch her, hesitated and then dropped it to his side. “Wait. Just wait.” The stiff set of his shoulders slumped. “Maybe we should start—”
Sasha fled. She resolutely fought the tears that burned her eyes and blurred the crowds in front of her as she shouldered her way through. Her breathing grew labored and she rasped as if she had sharpened needles inside her chest. John Jordon. Kyle Jordon’s son. He was going to take her fair. It was his. Not hers. Never hers.
She choked back a sob as the green, wrought-iron gates of the fairground came into view. Stumbling, she gripped them, shook them, wanting to rip them from their hinges. A scream gathered momentum, burning the back of her throat, and she dropped her head against the gate. Damn you, Kyle Jordon. Damn you to hell.
The gentle, firm grip of a male hand on her shoulder spun Sasha around. Her heart thundered as she stood poised for a fight. Under the light above them, John Jordon’s eyes were soft with concern, the sculpted lines of his previously inscrutable expression somehow tamer.
She closed her eyes, stopping her traitorous tears in their tracks. “Just do me a favor and go away. Back to wherever the hell it is you came from.”
* * *
“I’M SORRY, I can’t do that.” John slipped both his hands into his back pockets. The last thing he wanted to do was touch her. Liar.
He knew she wanted the fair, but no part of him had expected the raw hurt and panic that showed so clearly in her eyes. This wasn’t a woman prepared to do whatever it takes—this was a woman who was hurt...and angry.
For a long moment, she neither moved nor spoke. Just stayed where she was. Her slender shoulders, smooth and naked, rose and fell above the fitted confines of her bright yellow halter top. He struggled to drag his eyes from the length of her jet-black hair that fell in two gloriously thick sheets over her breasts.
He’d seen her from a distance all day and felt nothing. Yet, the moment she stood close, the full impact of her stunningly dark eyes and full, smiling mouth zipped a bullet through his chest.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Todd?”
Her sigh was loud and tired. She straightened and tipped her head back and looked directly at him. The tiny smudges of makeup beneath her eyes smacked John in the chest. God damn it. She’d been crying. He pulled back his shoulders and tightened his jaw. No, he had to be stronger than this. While he was in Templeton he couldn’t be the man who looked out for everyone. He had to do what he came to do and then go home. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have delivered the news that way, but—”
“Are you here to take over from where your dad left off?” Her eyes were wide and cold. “That’s all I want to know right now. Everything else I’ll deal with tomorrow.”
John ran his hand over his face. Tomorrow, he’d be better prepared, too. Her explosion had knocked him off-kilter, making him care. Tomorrow, he’d have it under control. He crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“You’re taking over the fair?”
“Yes.”
She glanced past him toward the rides and noisy chaos of the fairground. Her jaw clenched. “I never even knew you existed.” She met his eyes. “Kyle never mentioned a son to me or anyone else, as far as I remember.”
John held her gaze, silently absorbing her unintentional insult.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him; an intelligent light flickered brighter and then faded into their gorgeous depths. “None of my business, right? How did I know that was coming?” She gave a wry laugh. “Jesus, like father like son.”
He flinched. She might as well have punched him in the gut. “I’m nothing like my father.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “So you say. From the five minutes I’ve spent with you, you’ve already managed to piss me off as much as he did every damn day he was here.” She raised her hands in defeat. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she moved to brush past him, John touched her arm, stopping her. “I’d like to see you in the office first thing.”
She looked pointedly at his hand on her forearm. He released her, and she raised her chin. “Oh, I’ll be there. I’ll be there with freaking bells on.”
She stalked away from him. He released a low whistle from between pursed lips as his gaze glued onto the soft curve of her butt encased in black denim.
John’s father had described Sasha Todd as a ballsy, tough broad in need of a firm hand. He’d warned John to be wary of her. In the blink of an eye, she could be all soft femininity with the patrons, but in reality she was a fiery, spitting alley cat. He’d said that soft side of her was an act—the real Sasha Todd was apparently a hard-nosed businesswoman.
Two personalities—that’s what Kyle had said. Two personalities, each as scary as the other.
John drew in a long breath. Well, clearly he had a fight on his hands, but that was just fine by him. After years of self-control, of conservative containment within the walls of a private boarding school, Oxford University and then his own classroom, this teacher was ready to let off some steam.
He scowled as he strode back inside the fairground. If Sasha Todd thought she could direct any of her pissiness at him and come away unscathed, she’d better think again.
Like she said, he was Kyle Jordon’s son, and even though the bastard had abandoned him years ago—and now had the gall to ask for his help—little did she or Kyle know what John intended to do about it. John glanced around his father’s domain. A fairground used as a cover for his illegal dealings—a place for kids and teenagers. The man was scum.
John scowled. Kyle might have thought it was time for a father-and-son reconciliation, but his son had other ideas. At last, John knew where Kyle was after years of speculation and silence. When his father finally made contact just six short weeks ago, he’d clearly thought the path to father/son love would be simple and John would want the riches and immorality his father thrived on. Unfortunately for Daddy Dearest,