The thought didn’t stir an ounce of emotion in Dare at all. But the line of oil paintings mounted high on the walls? They were most likely his ancestors, he thought with distaste, and they gave him the creeps. He steeled himself against the unexpected need to search out a likeness. He was nothing like these people and never would be.
It was hard to imagine his mother running around here as a child. The place might be majestic and steeped in history, but it was completely devoid of laughter and lightness. And so alien to his own impoverished upbringing. Not that the wealth of the place bothered him. He could buy it a thousand times over if he wanted to.
He checked his watch, impatient to meet the old man who had unsettled his mother’s world once more. And his own, if the truth be told.
‘I apologise for keeping you waiting, sir.’ The butler who had shown him to his room earlier tipped his head as he stepped into the parlour.
Dare smiled at the man’s cordiality, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Fed up with waiting in his room like a good little schoolboy, Dare had prowled around the house on his own, finally being shown into this room by one of the servants.
‘Forget it,’ Dare said. His quarrel wasn’t with the butler so why make his life harder by being a jerk?
‘May I fix you a pre-dinner drink, sir?’
Dare turned away from a life-sized oil painting of a man in a bad wig. ‘Scotch. Thank you.’
He had no intention of staying for dinner but the butler didn’t need to know that either.
Dare gazed around at the book-lined walls, softly lit lamps, and matching damask sofas. A tartan throw rug caught his eye, the mix of autumn colours reminding him of the pool girl’s glorious mane of hair. She’d been absolutely beautiful, wild and pagan with that long, unbound mane splayed out against the bright green grass, and then she’d opened her eyes and he’d been jolted by the greyish-green hue that reminded him of the Spanish moss that grew on many of the trees back home. The combination was startling. Then there was her skin that had been creamy and, oh, so inviting to touch.
She had reminded him of the angel he and his mother used to place on top of their Christmas tree when he was a child. Her temper, though, had definitely not been angelic and his lips quirked as he recalled how her eyes had shot sparks at him whenever he’d riled her.
Something about her had made him want to get her all hot and bothered, even when she’d insulted him. Not that he had any time for the pool girl, he reminded himself. But still...he had no doubt as to how good those sweet curves of hers would have felt in his arms.
Catching the ludicrousness of his thoughts, Dare gave himself a mental slap-down. He was thirty-two years old, long past the age of mentally drooling about how a woman would feel in his arms. How she would taste on his lips. How he might find her once this business with his grandfather was done.
He took a swig of his drink. He was long past the age of chasing after women as well. Not that he’d ever had to do much of that. He’d always been good with his hands and had a strong attention to detail and the women had loved him for it. True, they often complained that he put work ahead of them, but he’d never claimed to be perfect.
He wondered yet again who had given the pool girl the expensive bauble she’d been so afraid she’d lost. No doubt a lover, but who? His grandfather? He nearly sprayed his Scotch at the thought. As if a gorgeous woman like that would have anything to do with a decrepit, old man.
A light sound outside the door caught his attention and he looked up as a white-haired, elegantly dressed gentleman entered the room.
Finally...
Dare took his grandfather all in at once. The tall build and broad shoulders, the lined face that was both proud and strong. He’d somehow expected his grandfather to look frail and sick and the fact that he didn’t was as irritating to him as his thoughts about the redhead.
Both men took a moment to appraise the other, Dare giving nothing away beneath the old man’s regard.
Let him look, he thought, and let him understand that I am not the weak man my father was. I don’t run from my responsibilities.
‘Dare.’ His grandfather said his name with an air of familiarity that rankled. ‘I’m so very pleased to meet you at last. Please forgive my absence when you first arrived. I would have rearranged my afternoon plans had I known you were arriving earlier.’
Dare didn’t respond. He had no intention of pretending any form of civility with this man who had thrown his mother out all those years ago.
His mouth tightened, his attention drawn to a subtle movement behind the old man. When he saw it was the pool girl it took all his effort to keep his expression implacable.
His eyes moved down the length of her. The wild, pagan angel was nowhere in sight. In her place stood a very regal, very sophisticated young woman in a simple knee-length black dress and high heels, her rich red hair swept back into a tight knot at the base of her skull. Not many women could wear a hairdo that severe. She could.
Her moss-green eyes returned his regard coolly and a muscle jumped in his jaw. She wasn’t the pool girl, that was for sure, which left the only other conclusion he had arrived at front and centre in his mind.
But surely not...
His grandfather turned to acknowledge her presence, his hand hovering at the small of her back as he guided her forward. ‘Please allow me to introduce you to Carly Evans. Carly, this is my grandson, Dare James.’
She gave his grandfather a quizzical glance and Dare’s jaw clenched at the unspoken communication between the two.
But surely yes...
This was definitely his grandfather’s mystery guest.
He could barely believe it was true. He was so caught off guard he nearly missed the way her eyes dropped nervously from his as she stepped forward to greet him. ‘Mr James.’ Her smile was a little tremulous and he was somehow gratified by her nervousness. He bet she wouldn’t insult him now. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
God, she really was stunning and he didn’t like the jolt of adrenaline that coursed through his blood at the sight of her. ‘Ms Evans, it’s a delight to see you again.’
Her eyes cut back to his with surprise. So she hadn’t told his grandfather about their meeting. How very interesting.
‘You’ve already met?’ Surprise crossed his grandfather’s craggy features as well and Dare was glad he wasn’t the only one in the room who was thrown off course here.
‘We ah...met earlier,’ the goddess hedged, her face blushing prettily. ‘I didn’t realise he was your grandson at the time. For some reason I thought he’d be younger. And English instead of American.’
There was only one reason a beautiful young woman would be sleeping with an old man like his grandfather and it left a sour taste in Dare’s mouth.
He remembered one time at Harvard when a woman had been playing both he and his room-mate at the same time. They’d both ditched her as soon as they found out. Dare had laughed that she’d wanted Liam for his money and Dare for his sexual prowess. Then they’d spent hours over beers arguing the point and debating the morality of women on the make.
No need to debate this woman’s morality. It was staring him in the face. Or rather gazing adoringly at his grandfather.
‘Perhaps you would have been a little nicer if you had known who I was,’ he suggested, wanting to ruffle her smooth feathers as she had ruffled his.
Her