Beware the Wicked Heir

by Mara McQueen

  “I take it you like the surprise,” Kieran said.

  Olivia nodded, not able to tear her eyes away from the ornate painting frames.

  “It’s amazing. Thank you for showing me this,” she said in a breathless voice, gliding her fingers along the ridges of the first frame.

  The painting was at least hundreds of years old, the man in it—Sir Ceolmund Bloodworth, according to the plaque—looking infuriated.

  “I see you’ve taken an interest in the founder of the Bolton line. He started construction on the manor.” Kieran came to stand behind Olivia, so close that his hot breath ghosted across the back of her neck.

  Olivia gulped. They needed to have a serious discussion about not tempting her every other second. “Old chap had eight children, all girls. The sod died yelling out for a male heir, at least according to rumors. A distant nephew wedded his eldest daughter and it became tradition for anyone who married into the family to get the Bolton name. No exceptions, which served old Bloodworth right.”

  Olive laughed and tilted her head to the side—Sir Ceolmund did have the markings of an irrational man. “Do you know all of their stories?”

  “Learned them by heart. Thought it would turn me into a proper Bolton when I was young.” Kieran moved three paintings over, standing in front of a woman with an impossibly high forehead and large nose, clad in all black. “Now, Gertrude Bolton’s famous for banning all colors in her house, and her affinity for handsome stewards. Determined woman—she expanded the property to twice its size—but loathsome.”

  Kieran moved to the next painting, of a lanky man with a protruding chin. “This was her husband, the nitwit. He thought he could make a flying machine, but was too scared to try it himself. Used to stuff late Gertrude’s finest pillow casings with hay and stones, and chuck them off the roof with wings made of straw. Suffice it to say, their marriage wasn’t a happy one.”

  Olivia laughed, the sound filling the aged space. Kieran smiled her way and went on, the details about his ancestors getting more eccentric by the second.

  “Edgar was a fierce soldier, rumored to have a general for a lover. Highly respected,” he said, pointing to the most handsome man there. “His grandson, however, was the most boring man in existence. Lived only to eat, and did quite a lot of it.”

  “Nora Bolton,” he went on, “had constant nightmares of people sneaking up on her in the middle of the night and slitting her throat. Most paranoid being you would’ve ever met.”

  “Ashford here was in charge when the whole Butcher event took place. Useless creature, afraid of his own shadow. If you would be so kind to tell the Greshams that.”

  “You could always do it yourself, you know,” Olivia said.

  “Martin irks me.”

  The stories became more and more convoluted. At one point, three Bolton generations in a row had somehow managed to marry inside the family. That had resulted in peculiar looking offspring, who didn’t amount to much, according to Kieran.

  “They were the ones who built the atrocious interior you now see dominating the manor. They also managed to lose most of the other family estates. Imbeciles.”

  Kieran stopped in front of a more recent canvas, the only one which showed two people. Both of them smiled, dressed in early twentieth-century explorer gear. “Elvira and Kane Bolton, the epitome of matrimony goals. They traveled the world together before returning to this manor once Nan was born. Didn’t bother to change anything in it, though.”

  “And neither did,” Kieran said, looking up reverently at the two figures in front of him. “My grandfather, William, and my grandmother. They spent very little time here, only coming during the summer once every few years. They mostly lived in London—what with his business, and her deadlines. Plus, the other estates are much more welcoming than this abomination could ever hope to be. Imagine my shock when Nan wanted to retire here.”

  “It was her childhood home, after all.” Olivia’s gaze darted toward the last painting in the line. She dreaded the moment.

  “And this is the man Nan claims is my father.” He tilted his chin at the painting showing an older and less handsome version of himself. While Thomas Bolton resembled him in appearance, the immature man in the painting, smiling down coyly at whoever crossed its path, was nothing like his son. “Should’ve put one up of aunt Keiko instead.”

  Should she? Would she? He might overshare. She might combust with curiosity. “The woman in your photo?”

  “Yes,” he said, a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before. His jovial attitude disappeared. Plagued by family issues, an area Olivia, and apparently, Kieran, were reluctant experts in. “And that concludes our history lesson for the day.”

  “And you mother?”

  “She didn’t want me, either.”

  “I was—I mean—asking about her painting. Where’s yours?” Olivia asked as fast as she could.

  Lord, this mouth of hers. The tips of her ears had never felt this hot.

  “Tradition says you get one after you turn thirty. I’ll be long gone from this place when that happens.”

  Olivia retraced her steps, going back to each painting. She had been so immersed in Kieran’s retellings, she had missed a few details. Like how Elvira was clutching something that looked suspiciously like an Egyptian relic that should’ve been in a museum, or Ashford’s comically lopsided mustache.

  The more she absorbed her surroundings, the more her heart shrunk. Olivia had less than ten pictures of her and her parents.

  "Why are you selling this glorious piece of history?" Olivia asked before she could stop herself.

  “Nan wants to, says she's donating all the money." He shrugged. "I’m not planning on having any children, and as the only heir, I couldn’t take care of it.”

  “You could restore it. Open it up to the public, donate all the proceeds," Olivia went on. "I can help you rent it out for films, magazine shoots, the works."

  "The manor needs too much work. All that's been keeping me here is Nan."

  "Selling might not be the right decision.”

  “But it’s ours to make.”

  Olivia narrowed her eyes, but he was right. His house, his ridiculous decisions. But he still hadn't come outright and said he was the owner.

  “However, the tour isn’t over yet. I haven’t done this in years, but...” Kieran poked around one of the paintings, trailing his long fingers behind it. “As I said, Nora was paranoid beyond comparison, and one of the major changes she requested were secret tunnels.”

  Tunnels? Olivia was one breath away from leaping with joy.

  “Shouldn’t you be looking under her painting then?”

  “That would be the logical thing to do, yes,” he said and kept exploring. “Nora’s fear was anything but.”

  The wall behind one of the paintings moved with a loud creak. Olivia jumped, much to Kieran’s amusement.

  She recovered just in time to scowl at him as he pushed the wall further, revealing a narrow passageway, completely immersed in darkness. Kieran crouched down and picked up an old-fashioned gas lamp, lighting it.

  He offered Olivia his open hand, the other holding the lamp high. “Shall we delve into the darkness together?”

  Hard Questions

  Side by side, an unspoken spark between them, Olivia and Kieran made their way down the narrow tunnel.

  The level of detail here was better suited for a museum, not a hole in the ground, despite the weird scent lingering in the air.

  Olivia had been expecting pressed dirt. Instead, granite greeted her, carefully embedded in a geometrical pattern. Precious stained glass was cramped between the rocks, depicting anything from nature to religious motifs.

  Olivia openly gawked. She grasped Kieran’s, careful not to dig her nails in too tight. “This is...”

  “The perfect representation of my family’s idiosyncrasies, all in this tight little space.” Kieran ducked his head, narrowly avoiding a lone beam, moving impossibly close to
Olivia. “Even when we’re hypothetically running for our lives, we have to do it amidst gaudy luxury.”

  Olivia threw her head back, laughing. She couldn’t remember the last intelligent conversation she had with a funny man until she met Kieran.

  “Jokes aside,” she said once she regained her wits, “this is amazing. Thank you.”

  “I thought the art historian in you would appreciate the murals.”

  “Where does the tunnel end?”

  “According to the map, somewhere three miles from here. But it’s been blocked halfway since I was a child. There are a dozen or so tunnels, leading to a neighbor’s wine cellar, the boathouse, somewhere in the forest. All of them inaccessible.”

  Olivia's inner real estate agent tingled—if the house needed to be sold, hidden tunnels made the manor a gold mine. “I’d like to see this map.”

  “As the lady wishes.” Kieran chuckled, his chest vibrating deliciously. Olivia’s palms itched to touch the pecks and abs he was hiding underneath his perfect shirts.

  This night kept getting better and better.

  Milo might’ve had the upper hand in digging up dirt on the Boltons—which only angered Olivia and would get him in trouble—but she managed to delve into their deepest secrets.

  “Milo’s going to try and kill me in my sleep when he finds out about this.”

  “He might try, but he’ll bore you with the details of how he’ll accomplish it first. You’ll have time to call the cops and go to the spa.”

  Another bubble of laughter escaped Olivia. “That’s not nice.”

  “Is it true, though?”

  Yeah, it kinda was. Milo could get very long-winded when he talked about himself.

  She took a deep breath and looked up at Kieran. She’d been waiting long enough. “Speaking of truth—I have another hard question.”

  "Of course you do. It's become our tradition whenever we're together during the night."

  A wicked part of Olivia would've preferred they started a totally different tradition during the night, but she squashed that thought down. “When were you planning on telling me Bolton Manor is actually yours?”

  Kieran frowned. “I thought that was common knowledge.”

  “The documents my firm got clearly stated Mrs. Bolton as the owner.”

  His brows furrowed deeper. “That’s a mistake. It’s been mine for…”

  Twenty years? “We’ve been negotiating with Mrs. Bolton.”

  “She grew up on this estate. The most time I’ve spent here is in the last year,” he said. “It might have my name on it, but to me, it's her house. And she wants to sell. And I did promise to look over the contract.”

  “True.” But Olivia had figured he wanted to make sure nobody would swindle his grandmother. She’d found it endearing then, but...what grandson gave his grandmother reigns on a multi-million dollar estate?

  “I have a hard question of my own.” Kieran cleared his voice as his arm tensed. “I need to know something.”

  He stopped, halting a puzzled Olivia along with him. He placed the lamp at his feet, right beneath a glass mural of the Greek spirit Lyssa, frolicking in a meadow alongside the Maniae.

  Kieran stepped closer and licked his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. That deep, piercing gaze of his made Olivia forget about duty and reason.

  “Is Milo only your coworker?” he asked.

  “Well, no. He’s also a git—who's very good at his job,” Olivia said, purposely obtuse. Her legs begged to take a step back, to distance herself, to make the sensible, professional, tame choice. Instead, she leaned forward.

  “So you're not personally involved with him?”

  "Bite your tongue." Olivia raised her chin, feeling the tentative tremors of anger at her fingertips. They’d been having such a good time. “You should try this crazy thing called asking before you assume.”

  “You should, too.”

  Olivia licked her lips. "I was worried about legality. You're worried about...Milo.”

  Wait...was he worried? His eyes darkened as he stepped impossibly close to her. Olivia wanted to drape herself over his tempting body.

  She really, really wanted to touch him. Feel every muscle and every breath. But that would complicated matters so, so much.

  Instead, she chose a method she had perfected throughout her twenty-five years—she stalled.

  “So you brought me here to ask about Milo? I don’t think you’re his type.” Her breathy voice betrayed the nervousness she wanted to hide.

  When he leaned forward, ever so slowly, she placed her hand on his shoulder, not sure if she should push him away or pull him closer.

  “Am I yours?” Kieran whispered, eyes on her lips. His fingers hovered over the contour of Olivia’s arm, not touching her. But her body felt the pull.

  Every nerve ending in her body screamed to lean in, to give up, to enjoy.

  “I can’t answer that question.” Her gaze lingered too long on his lips. She wanted them all over her.

  “Why?”

  Because she wanted to. Badly. But he was a potential client, and no man was worth endangering her finances more than she already had. “The reason I’m here makes it complicated.”

  She gathered up the relics of her determination and turned. If she dared a look at him, her resolve would crumble.

  She didn’t get far. Kieran grasped her wrist and spun her around into his arms, pressing his palm against her lower back.

  Olivia’s lips parted. The pleasurable shiver running down her spine ever since they had walked into the tunnel intensified. Damn him.

  “I’m serious. I want to beat Milo the old-fashioned way. Crush his spirit and all.”

  His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You're the owner. I can’t—” She averted her eyes. “I don’t want to win the contract on a technicality.”

  “I’m a technicality?” His laugh echoed in the pristine space. “To be fair, I’ve been called worse.”

  She playfully pushed at his chest.

  “No. I mean...” She had no idea what she meant. But Olivia Abbate, despite all her faults, always made the best out of a shitty situation. “I don’t want to influence your decision.”

  “I feel like I lost my way in this conversation. Care to point me to the exit?” His frown deepened and he took a step back. “The house is mine, the decision is mine, and it’s already been made.”

  Olivia did a double-take, her heart shrinking. “What? When?”

  “The first day,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know this type of property, Underwood doesn’t. You actually cared about what was best for Nan. And she agrees. She told me yesterday Underwood doesn’t seem like the type of person we’d want to interact with professionally. She still insists you stay here until her birthday party, she said something about showing you can keep your promises.”

  “Well...I...” Olivia stammered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Kieran rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling loudly. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Right before you left.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. So my decision can’t be swayed.”

  He took a step toward her, and she didn’t pull away, her mind still reeling. She had the listing. And it looked like it came with a very nice bonus.

  “So I got the contract.”

  “Ever since you walked in and opened your mouth, yes.”

  “So there’s no moral or ethical problem here.”

  “There never was, but yes.”

  “So I can do whatever I want.”

  Kieran nodded, keeping his face straight as if they were discussing quarterly projections. “Preferably me.”

  "I...I..."

  There were no barriers now. And that both scared and thrilled her.

  "Listen," he started, taking both her hands in his. "If you're not interested, I understand, and we won’t speak of it again. But if you are...what's making you hesitate
? Is it the barely-knowing me thing that's putting you off? I swear I'm not insane."

  Olivia laughed again, her palms warm and fidgety against his. She longed to run them up and down his body, and if he wouldn't stop touching her so innocently, she might just do it.

  "You say that now. But then you'll barge into my room in the dead of night, saying a lunatic tried to break into your room."

  Kieran’s laugh melted with hers. "Really, what's holding you back, Olivia?"

  That nagging thought in the back of her head that everything might turn to shit if she didn’t make the right choice or do the right thing. She’d been screwed over by the people closest to her. What trust could she place in a stranger?

  But, then again, trust didn’t have to be on the table.

  After all, she’d be gone in a few short days, back to her life, and him back to his.

  Whatever happened between them at Bolton manor didn’t have to be complicated.

  “Nothing.”

  She wanted him. Wanted the man who had piqued her curiosity since that first day she saw him. The man who guided her through secret tunnels. The man who tempted her far past logic.

  "Then let yourself go." He traced his thumbs against her skin. His voice dropped to a low murmur that sent rippling shivers through her. "Let yourself enjoy."

  Ripped To Shreds

  Ignoring every complaint, every reason to say no, every doubt, Olivia grasped the back of Kieran's neck, nails digging into his skin, and pulled him closer until finally—finally—she could taste those maddening lips of his.

  Her body flamed up as he groaned his surprise and pleasure, moving his lips as if he couldn’t breathe unless he was molded to her.

  This was what victory felt like. A fiery need to lick, suck, bite, and tear through clothes until no psychical or rational barrier remained.

  He encased her in his arms, pushing the doubts away into the darkness surrounding them. He drove them away with every kiss along her jawline, her neck, her collarbone.

  As she was about to thread her fingers into his hair, Kieran shook his head and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.