What Belongs to Her (Harlequin Superromance)

by Rachel Brimble

  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, that was just the sort of perilous miscalculation that occurred when a parent vanished, leaving their children to drift through life without them.

  John smiled. One way or another he’d right his father’s wrongs...while royally screwing Kyle over and leaving the son of a bitch without a penny to his damn name.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SITTING ON THE balcony of her apartment in one of two ancient patio chairs, Sasha scowled at the view. The temperature was above average for July, but a slight breeze cut through the warmth and she pulled her pashmina tighter around her shoulders. The flickering lights of her beloved fairground taunted her in the distance, the sounds of laughter and rock music ringing in her ears. She wanted to punch something.

  Kyle Jordon’s son was there right now, no doubt parading around like he already owned the place. She cursed. He does own it, you numbskull.

  Leaning forward, she picked up her wineglass from the upturned crate beside her. The cabernet sauvignon, warm and fruity, slid down her throat, ever so slightly mellowing her fraught nerves and barely controlled need to vent some serious anger.

  Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling John Jordon was about as happy to be there as she was about his arrival.

  Sasha struggled to get her emotions under control. She had to resist her instinct to worry about every damn thing before it happened. Her primal need to prevent evil before it could strike. Who was to say the guy wasn’t there under duress? She glanced at her cell phone sitting on the table. Either way, she had a right to know why she hadn’t been warned about his unwanted entrance. She had a right to demand some background information on the handsome enigma known as John Jordon.

  Snatching up her phone, she punched in Freddy’s cell number and focused once more on the fairground lights. Her heart beat hard as the tone rang ominously in her ear. She was just about to end the call when the line picked up.

  “Freddy Campton’s phone.”

  Sasha froze. Damn it. It was him. John-bloody-Jordon. What were the chances of him answering? She cleared her throat and sat up straight. Hell would freeze over before she’d let him get the better of her. “Is Freddy around?”

  “Not right now. Can I take a message?”

  “No. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”

  “You know, if you’re calling to ask about me, you could just come straight to the source. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Todd?”

  She narrowed her gaze. The man’s voice sounded more uppity and posh than ever. “My name’s Sasha. Can we drop the Miss Todd? We tend to work on a first-name basis at the fairground. You know, circa the twenty-first century.”

  There was a pause before his breath rasped down the line. “I see.”

  Sasha glared. Was that a whiff of laugher or disdain in his tone? She’d bet a hundred British pounds on the former. “Are you laughing at me...Mr. Jordon?”

  “John, please.” This time he definitely laughed.

  Her stomach knotted as a blush dared to warm her cheeks. She steadfastly bit back her smile. “Clearly, there are some things we need to get straight if we’re going to start off as civilized individuals tomorrow.”

  “Meaning we’re likely to get uncivil?”

  The heat at her cheeks hitched up a notch. His voice was like liquid velvet, making the suggestion of incivility almost sexual. She shifted in her seat. “Fine. If you want our working relationship to start off on the wrong foot, who am I to argue? Could you just let Freddy know I called and that I’d appreciate a call back?”

  “So you’d still rather ask him rather than me why I’m here?”

  Damn it. She stared at the fair again. This man, with his smooth voice, handsome looks and, though she hated to admit it, masculine charm, was making her feel the need to fully arm herself before she set a single foot inside the fairground office tomorrow morning.

  “Miss...Sasha? You still there?”

  “Of course. I’m going nowhere.” She picked up her wineglass and drained it before reaching for the bottle. Strength in grapes.

  He cleared his throat. “I need you to work with me. This isn’t a fight to the death.”

  She sniffed. “That’s what you think.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Her hand stilled around the wine bottle before she released it and drove her clawed fingers into her hair instead. Clearly, more alcohol was not advisable. Her damn tongue was running away with her.

  “Look, tomorrow’s another day.” She sighed and focused on dragging up a little dignity to battle her desire to poke out the man’s eyes. “I’m just put out I wasn’t told about your arrival. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be as onerous as I’m thinking it will be right now.”

  “I’m quite a nice guy...sometimes.”

  She scowled. “And I’m quite a nice woman...s
ometimes.”

  He laughed and her stomach knotted again. Damn it, why were her guts going all stupid every time this man laughed?

  “I need your help.” He inhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t particularly like that fact, but I’m man enough to admit it. Kyle told me you know the fair better than anyone. I can’t do anything without you.”

  The humor in his tone had vanished, leaving behind a rough, masculine assurance that conflicted with his words.

  Slow and steady wins the race, Sasha. Slow and steady wins the race.

  She rose from her chair and approached the barrier surrounding the balcony. The swish of the tide lapping the beach a mile down the road drifted to her ears on the gathering breeze, and she inhaled. “And what is it you want to do exactly?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Sasha closed her eyes as her heart turned to lead. Once again, she was fighting. The threat of another battle clinked like crossing swords in her head. “You know something, John?”

  “What?”

  “If anyone, including your father, had any respect for how long I’ve worked at the fair or what it means to me, they would’ve given me a heads-up about you coming. That didn’t happen, so I’m wondering what you want from me. If you intend to do something with my...the fair, you should at least have the decency to tell me about it.”

  Her heart beat out the seconds of silence, broken only by his heavy exhalation. “Nobody knew I was coming.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Nobody knew.”

  “Was this Kyle’s idea? You turning up like a phantom menace?” She snapped her eyes open and choked out a wry laugh. “Stupid question. Even from behind prison walls, the guy likes to play the great puppet master.”

  “I am not Kyle’s puppet.”

  His ice-cold tone sent an involuntary shiver down her back. The knee-jerk reaction to apologize lingered on her tongue, but she decided against it. The silence stretched until she was forced to say something. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a little more amicable. Let’s just say good-night, shall we?”

  “How well do you know my father, Sasha Todd?”

  The soft, British upper-class way he said her name rolled down the phone line and licked softly over her skin. Why the hell did the man have to talk that way? Why couldn’t he talk with the rough abrasion of some of the dock workers she knew at the harbor?

  She pushed away from the barrier. “Not very well.”

  “Yet you’ve worked at the fair your entire life. He bought it from your grandfather. How could you not know him?”

  Her heart hitched into her throat. “You know about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know my granddad sold the fair to him? Do you know for how much?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Nausea whirled hot and heavy in her stomach and she stumbled toward her vacant chair and collapsed onto it. “That matters to me more than anything.”

  “Why?”

  Frustration surged through her. “All I’ve ever wanted is to get the fairground back where it belongs. It was in my family for generations and then my grandfather had a complete change of heart and let Kyle buy it for a song. Now you turn up and—”

  “That’s not strictly true, is it?”

  “What isn’t?” Her body trembled with suppressed rage.

  “Your parents didn’t want the fair. Your mother, your grandfather’s daughter, is ashamed of it, isn’t she? So, whether or not you ever get the fair back, it would’ve skipped a generation anyhow.”

  She gripped the phone until blood pulsed through her fingers. “So?”

  “So what is it about the fair that makes you want it so badly? Does the need come from you or your family?”

  “That’s none of your business. I want it and, one way or another, I’ll get it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to care about nothing else in the world but for the one thing out of reach? I really, really don’t want to have to fight you, but if you refuse my offer tomorrow—”

  “Your offer?”

  “Yes, Mr. Snooty Nose, my offer.”

  Silence.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she trembled some more.

  “Fine. I’ll listen to your offer.” He blew out a breath. “And then I’ll decide whether or not you still have a job.”

  The phone line went dead.

  Sasha swallowed the hard lump of panic in her throat. Whether or not I still have a job? Is this guy insane? She snapped her phone closed and struggled to fight the horrible sense of foreboding stealing over her. She’d been aggressive, angry, dismissive and disrespectful—all things she’d been careful to avoid with Kyle and his cronies.

  Stupid, stupid woman.

  With an infinite amount of self-control, she’d bided her time and waited. Saved her money and kept a smile on her face so Kyle had no reason to push her out.

  Now she’d snapped and a complete stranger had splintered her facade. He held the ability to rip away everything she wanted in one fell swoop. Why did John Jordon care why the fair meant so much to her? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know Templeton. He knew nothing.

  She slowly stood on shaking legs and snatched the wineglass and bottle from the table. Even Kyle held a quiet, if not misplaced, fondness for the fair. The man was a criminal mastermind. A drug pusher and money-laundering bastard who’d finally been caught and thrown in jail, yet at least something inside him made people second-guess if deep down he was a decent man.

  None of those same feelings emanated from his son. What John Jordon had in looks and physique, he lacked in warmth and understanding, which his father used unashamedly to blind people to his real motivations.

  She opened the French doors and walked inside, welcoming the warmth of her apartment as a way of combating the chill of the unknown permeating her soul.

  * * *

  JOHN STARED AT the phone, heart beating steadily and mind messed up with a million conflicting emotions. Sasha Todd was something—or someone—he hadn’t accounted for when he’d agreed to come to Templeton Cove. He hadn’t expected a woman as beautiful as her to shake the deep and unyielding barrier around his determination to expose his father for the man he really was.

  Worse, he hadn’t anticipated the stark pain of betrayal reflected in her eyes when she stood in front of him, or in her voice on the phone. The little that Kyle’s letters told John about the fair circulated in his mind on an endless reel.

  Freddy was Kyle’s trusted second-in-command, and John was aware the fairground was a legitimate cover for the crux of his father’s criminal activities. Sasha Todd had a family history with the place. He remembered his father’s words—“The chick works like a Trojan for shit pay. She should be out there living her life, not stuck in a small English seaside town like Templeton Cove. She needs to let the fair go, son. She needs to meet a decent bloke who puts a different kind of fire in her belly. Brings a damn smile to her face....”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  John blinked and pulled his expression into a scowl as Freddy wandered into the converted barn that served as the fairground’s office.

  Freddy glared. “More to the point, why are you answering my phone and sitting at my desk?”

  Irritation pulsed at John’s temple and he tossed the phone at Freddy, who caught it deftly in one hand. “Sasha Todd just called.” John stood. “I took care of it, so there’s no need to call her back.”

  He walked to what was once Kyle’s desk but was now his. The weight of Freddy’s glare on John’s back followed his progress. He whipped his jacket from the huge leather swivel chair. Even the size of Kyle’s chair reflected the size of his damn ego.

  The erratic shuffling of papers and the opening and closing of drawers made John turn and face Freddy. The man was checking over his desk in the manner of a dog hunting for blood. John shook his head as he shrugged into his jacket. “I haven’t t
ouched anything so there’s no need to have a coronary on me.”

  Freddy grunted. “I don’t like you sitting at my desk. Kyle never had any need—”

  “Kyle’s not here. I am.” They locked gazes. “I’m leaving for the night. I assume I don’t need to ask you if you’re okay to close up.”

  Silence.

  John tensed. He was more than ready for a showdown with the man who had only too clearly shown John his arrival at Templeton was as equally unwelcome as it was to a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty.

  Guilt over his harsh responses to Sasha Todd crept up his body, fuelling John’s frustration. “Well?” He snatched his keys from the desk and stared directly at Freddy.

  Freddy stared right back, his eyes bulging. “What’s the game here?”

  “Game? I’m not playing any game.”

  “I ain’t going to lie to you. When Kyle was sentenced, I assumed the baton would pass to me.”

  “Why would you think that?” John raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever known Kyle to do the decent thing? Did he regularly reward his loyal followers for their hard work?”

  Freddy straightened. “Hey, Kyle’s been good to me.”

  “Really? So when did he suggest in any way, shape or form that the fairground was coming to you?” The seconds ticked by as Freddy glowered. John shrugged. “As I thought. My father doesn’t give a crap about anyone. I would’ve thought you’d know that...being his right-hand man and all.”

  “I don’t understand why Kyle’s drafted you in to oversee things when he hasn’t seen you for years.”

  “How much do you know about my relationship with him?”

  Freddy leaned his considerable weight onto his fists on the desktop. “Not much, but—”

  “Well, then, from now on, I wouldn’t think too much if I were you. Until I know what’s what at Funland and who the people are Kyle’s got working here, I’ve no idea what will be happening in the future.”

  “What future? The fairground ain’t going nowhere. Kyle wouldn’t want anyone taking over who doesn’t know the business like he does.” Color seeped into Freddy’s cheeks, and a vein zigzagged across his temple. “I saw Kyle only last week and he never mentioned your coming. He mentioned you in passing, nothing else. I don’t buy that he’d want you turning up and changing things.”