by Wood, Vivian
She pauses. “But I must ask… what are you hoping to get out of archiving?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “If I can just get some experience, I can apply to work somewhere prestigious. It is my dream to do this job for the National Preservation Society, but there are actually a lot of jobs out there. They just go to… well… to be honest, they go to people with more experience or formal education than I have.”
Margaret makes a face. “Phooey! I have never had a formal education and I turned out to be the most well-learned of all of my siblings. Education isn’t something that I require. We can give you the experience you need.”
My eyes well up. Honestly, even a job that pays almost nothing is a thousand times better than working at a dead-end job in Seattle making coffee. I lean forward, trying to repress my excitement. “That all sounds great to me. You won’t regret hiring me.”
She smiles. “I’m already certain of that. But I must warn you… I am afraid that I don't have any access to that Inter Net that’s all the rage with you young people. Not in the main house, and not anywhere on the property.”
I consider that for a moment. I can get whatever I need off of my cell phone, I guess. “I don't think that will be a problem.”
She leans in. “What are your hobbies, then?”
I flush. “Well… I do a little yoga in the mornings. To unwind, I like to read. Oh! And I love a little dark chocolate.”
That’s an understatement. I keep at least four full bars of dark chocolate with me at all times. When I’m stressed or depressed, dark chocolate is one of the only things that can lift me out of a funky mood.
She sits back, appearing satisfied with my answer. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here, my dear.”
I purse my lips. “If I may ask, what state are your records in now?”
Margaret looks away for a moment. “They are in a rather distressing state of dysfunction, I think. It is best to show you before you agree to anything, I think.”
My brows rise. “Oh?”
She rocks back for a second, working up the momentum to get off of the sofa. I notice that her shoulders are hunched as she beckons me. “Come. You’ll see.”
Curious, I follow her out of the parlor and a short way down the hall. She rocks and she walks, hobbling toward a pair of rolling double doors. It gives me a strange type of anxiety to watch her walk; I can tell that walking hurts her fragile old bones.
When she reaches the doors, she turns to me with a grimace, leaning against the doorway. “Would you be a dear and open the doors? I can hardly manage these days.”
“Of course,” I say.
The heavy wood doors each have a brass handle in the middle to slide open. Clutching them, I roll them back with some difficulty. The doors are on a track at the top and the bottom and they definitely haven’t been well serviced in years.
When I open the doors, I suck in a breath. The room itself is huge, at least two stories tall. It has soaring ceilings, buttery hardwood floors, airy light filtering down from cobweb-covered skylights. The walls are covered in bookcases, lined with ancient-looking books.
But there are papers and books in towering stacks, covering every inch of the floor. I can see where there are paths cut into the stacks that were kept by someone small-statured at some point in the past. When I opened the doors, I disturbed a cloud of dust and now it drifts toward me.
“Oh my,” I say, coughing a little and waving my hand in front of my face.
Margaret studies my face. “Indeed.”
I look at all the piles of books and papers. They don’t make me feel daunted, but I will definitely need some assistance to get them down, a little at a time. And I don't think that Margaret will be much help in that area.
Turning to Margaret, I blow out a breath. “It is an enormous challenge.”
Her mouth turns down. “Yes. Of that, I am certain.”
“I would need help. Someone to lift anything heavy.”
She suddenly beams. “If I told you that was not a problem, would you take charge of this task?”
My heart beats a little faster. “I would be honored, Mrs. Morgan.”
I reach my hand out when she offers me hers. I find myself more than a little surprised at her strength. She leans in.
“Do call me Margaret, dear. After all, you’re going to be the family archivist.” She glances inside the library and sighs. “I’ve just hired a nice young man to help around the estate, but I don't think he would mind helping in here too. He’s actually already here, staying in the staff lodging where you will stay, if you’re amenable to it. Let me just call him…”
She shuffles off toward the front of the house again, leaving me to trail in her wake. As she goes into the parlor again, I hear heavy boots on the front porch. The front door swings open, silhouetting a tall figure.
For a second, I freeze.
That looks like…
But it can’t be…
Handsome as sin and broad as an oak tree, Aiden Moreland steps inside, his eyes finding my figure like a magnet. My heart skitters to a halt. His dark eyes widen just as Margaret steps back into the hallway.
“Olivia?” he says, puzzled.
“Aiden?” I answer.
My mouth goes dry. My heart starts pounding.
The only man I’ve ever been in love with, the one who seems to look right past me, is standing in the doorway. His brow is furrowed, his dark gaze threatening to burn me to ash.
I’m confused, because Aiden has a full-time job already. He is a park ranger, like my brother Grayson. We have known each other since I was a skinny eight-year-old and he was fourteen, already resembling the man he would one day be.
Margaret looks between us. “You two know each other, then?”
I turn crimson, although I don't know why. “I—”
“Yes,” Aiden says. “She’s my best friend’s little sister.”
I drop my gaze. There it is, stated plainly. I am forever defined in Aiden’s eyes by my older brother and the relationship Aiden and Grayson have. It’s stifling, being put in this restrictive box, but I am here nonetheless.
“Oh!” Margaret says, pleased. “You’re practically family, then. Well, it should be no problem for you two to work together for the summer. It’ll be nice, don't you think?”
My mouth is so dry that I have to swallow a couple of times before I speak. “Ummm… yes?” I mumble.
Aiden’s gaze narrows on me. “Should be fine,” he mutters.
Margaret looks between us, still beaming. “That’s splendid. We’ll take it step by step then. Does that work for you, dear?”
I nod, my cheeks still burning.
She hobbles over and clasps my hand in hers. Her skin is cool and papery against mine.
“Why don’t you show Olivia the staff quarters, Aiden?”
“Fine,” he repeats, moving back through the doorway. He waves a hand to beckon me, but his eyes don’t seem welcoming at all.
My heart hasn’t stopped thumping since Aiden opened the door. I don’t know what to think or feel about Aiden just now, though my body tenses the way it always does when he’s around. With a huge gulp, I move toward the front door, wishing like hell I knew what was going on.
Chapter Four
Aiden
The second I see Olivia, my heart starts pounding.
Fuck.
No, but seriously, fuck.
She’s not supposed to be here. She’s not even supposed to be in this state. Hot, smart, and very very off limits…
Olivia is my weakness, personified. I don’t have many hard and fast rules, but the ones I do have I stand by. Like never, ever touching Grayson’s little sister. He has warned me off of her more times than I can count.
Yet… one look at her, and I am willing to throw away my rules.
And I have to be so on my guard right now, since I am basically living on the Morgan estate under totally false pretenses. I haven’t found out anything about my parentage yet bu
t I’m going to make moves soon.
Assuming that Olivia doesn’t totally blow my cover.
“Aiden?” she asks softly, her big blue eyes imploring me.
Fuck.
“Outside,” I growl, halfway dragging her toward the door.
She could make a big deal out of my presence here. She has no way of knowing that I am here sort of undercover, to find out more about my mother’s claim that I am a Morgan.
But she just gazes at me, thoroughly surprised. I rush her out of the house as fast as I can, before she accidentally reveals something I don’t want Mrs. Morgan to know.
The rain has stopped by now, but the air is still humid. My clothes cling to me, and I notice that Olivia’s white dress is partially see-through. Yanking my gaze away, because I should definitely not be trying to see what she has on underneath, I steady myself.
I can't stop my body reacting, though. Tightening, as if I’m stupid enough to actually act on what she makes me feel.
No fucking way.
I wait until I follow Olivia down the front porch steps to question her. I’m some mixture of angry and turned on and confused, but I want to be certain that we are not in earshot of Mrs. Morgan before I start asking questions.
Olivia looks at me carefully, her eyes large and so damned blue. She has long dark hair, smooth and silky, and her eyes are rimmed with long, dark eyelashes. She blushes a little.
God, that color in her cheeks makes me crazy. I want to reach out and pull her in, give her a reason to flush so prettily. I clench my fists, because there is no way I’m doing that.
“What are you doing here, Aiden?” she asks, seeming flustered.
Her voice is low, almost raspy. It makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. I shift my gaze backward, checking that Mrs. Morgan has closed the heavy front door.
“I’m on leave from working at the National Park Service. I work here as a handyman.” I send her a pointed look. “And I’m more worried about what you are doing here. Aren’t you supposed to be finding a job in New York?”
Her eyes widen a little at my tone. She lifts her chin. “I wanted to work out here. To be closer to Grayson.”
She goes bright pink, which I’m pretty sure means that she’s lying. But I don't know what she would be lying about.
I grab her by the elbow and pull her closer as we walk around the house. She is much smaller than me, her frame slender. She may be tall for a girl but compared to my 6’3 height she is practically tiny.
“But what are you doing here?” I demand to know.
Her brows hunch. “Mrs. Morgan advertised in the Seattle Times looking for an archivist.”
“A what?”
She sighs impatiently. “An archivist, Aiden. Someone to deal with the preservation of old records and books.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve been looking for a job like this since I was in my senior year at Kean University. I told you about how I was looking for a job when I visited here last time. I swear, it’s like you haven’t ever listened to anything I’ve said.”
I am stung by that. Why would Olivia think that? “That’s not true.”
On second thought, it might be. It sounds like something I would do. But I don't have the time or patience for that conversation now.
I think about what she said, about old records. “Does that mean you will have access to a lot of family information?”
She gives me a sideways look. “I would assume so, yes.”
Maybe this could actually be a good thing, then. It could help me achieve my goal, which is to secretly find out whether or not my mom’s story could possibly have been true.
Olivia struggles a little in my grasp. “You’re hurting me.”
I ease my grip, but I don't let her go. I just wedge her more firmly under my arm and start walking across the front yard.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
I give her a determined smile. “Apparently you are staff now, so I’m taking you to the staff quarters. They are set back in the woods a bit.”
“Oh.” She looks back at the main house, then ahead to the woods as we come around the house. There is a path cut through the woods that leads to the staff housing, but you can’t see it until you’re right on top of it. She swallows, which drains away some of my anger.
“Are you actually worried that I am leading you into the woods with bad intentions?” I ask, the corners of my mouth curling up a bit.
She glances up at me, her eyes wide and her cheeks turning pink. “No…”
“Liar,” I say, huffing out a laugh.
Olivia glances at me, a shy smile showing on her lips. “Okay, maybe I was a little concerned.”
I grin at her.
She smiles back. Her eyes still look worried, though. I release her from my grip and she drifts away from me. We start to walk through the woods, me taking the lead.
I hear her clear her throat. “What are you doing here, though? And why are you on leave from the park?”
That gives me pause. I glance over my shoulder, uncertain how much to tell her. “I needed a job. This is one. And I’m on leave because my boss is a fucking asshole. Nate thinks I need therapy or something.”
Olivia cocks her head, giving me a look that says that she’s taking my measure. That look threatens to lay me low. She tucks her hair behind her ear, seeming unaware of how much her presence unsettles me.
“I see. But why are you working here? Why at the Morgan estate? There are a million other jobs you could get. Plus, I don't believe for a heartbeat that you’ve run out of money, Aiden.”
Her shrewd glance makes my skin crawl.
“Why is the sky blue? Why do the birds chirp?” I gesture at the woods around us, feigning exasperation. “Working here is my therapy of choice. It’s a super physical job and when I do a whole day of work like that, I don’t have the energy to worry about what ails me.”
I find myself hoping like hell that she can’t detect my bullshit.
Her delicate brows descend as she frowns at my non-answer. With any luck it’s not obvious that I am hiding something.
Luckily at that moment the woods fall away behind us, revealing the staff quarters. They’re not nearly as fancy as the main house, only one story high, without all the decorative gables and stuff. But somehow the gray paint still looks decent, not nearly peeling away as much here as on the main house. The roof needs a little patching, but three of the four separate quarters inside the house are basically untouched.
Each quarter has its own entrance. I point to the front left. “I’m there. There are four apartments. You can have either the right front or the back left.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Who is in the back right?”
Shaking my head a little, I hesitate. “No one, but there is some water damage back there.”
“Oh.” She starts toward the right front, the apartment next to mine. I let her sweep in front of me as I stand back and take in her slender figure. Olivia’s definitely a sight to behold, as much of a work of art from behind as she is from the front. She sucks in a deep breath. “I guess I’ll take this one? But… I am not even sure where to start. I guess I should get my suitcases out of the car…”
She looks in a window, putting her hand up to get a better view. As she does, my gaze trails down to her still-damp dress. I can't help but notice her ass in that dress. It’s plump and firm, riding high. She would look amazing wearing nothing but a silky thong.
I can almost see her underwear, which I imagine I would be a little disappointed to find exists at all. My eyes narrow on her ass. If I had to guess, I would say that she is wearing white panties, which is its own kind of a turn on.
Hell, any color panties can be exciting if you only care about what’s underneath.
When she glances back at me though, I feel chagrin. I’m not supposed to look at women in that way. Not appraisingly, like I can calculate their value by trying to figure out what they would be like in bed.
Especially not he
r. I just need to put her out of my mind, except… I find that nearly impossible with Olivia.
Though I wonder, if she was anyone else, would I already be trying to put the moves on her? She is drop dead gorgeous after all, in a quiet way. I usually like my women loud, but…
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. Maybe this is what Nate was talking about. I am kind of a dog when it comes to women.
I lick my lips. She’s expecting me to say something, I’m sure of it.
“I can help you,” I say. She raises her eyebrows. “To get your bags back here, I mean. I’m thinking that if I have to share a space with someone, at least it’s someone I already know. And someone who is immune to my charms, as it were. Being that you’re my practically family, if I were ever to so much as look at you the wrong way, Grayson would flip out.”
It’s good to get that out there, regardless of whether or not it’s true.
Olivia goes still, her face perfectly neutral. Her response is measured, when it comes. All I get from her is a vague, “Oh?”
Which really isn’t saying anything at all.
“Should we go in?” I ask, pointing at the house. “The door is open.”
She hesitates for a second, then turns to the front door of the apartment. Turning the knob, she opens the door and disappears into the house. I follow her, watching as Olivia looks around. Tall ceilings, white walls. A small sitting room, a tiny kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. All fairly spartan in the way they are furnished, and all covered with a good couple of inches of dust.
I came in this apartment a few days ago so I know that it’s essentially just the mirror image of my place. Olivia runs her hand over the table that sits between the sitting area and the kitchen, nodding her head as she looks around.
“It’s kind of cute,” she says. “The furniture all looks like it is as old as the estate.” She turns toward the kitchen, looking at the old-fashioned stove and refrigerator, a baby blue to compliment the cream-colored cabinets.
