by J. R. Ward
One dark eyebrow rose sardonically. “I don’t recall asking to meet with any teenage girls.”
His deep voice wrapped around the words, creating cynical shadows in the syllables. Carter was distracted by the sound and then realized he’d just insulted her.
Recovering quickly, she replied with a tart clip, “I can’t speak to your schedule, but I’ve been out of my teens for a decade, thank you very much.”
The eyebrow took flight again. Her tone had been every bit as commanding as his had been, and it occurred to her that he wasn’t used to being addressed in such a way. Their eyes clashed as the housekeeper left.
She took a steadying breath. “I think we should start over. Mr. Farrell, I’m—”
The door burst open and bounced off the bookcase with a slap, causing her to jerk in surprise. A teenage boy brushed past her, as if she were just another piece of furniture in the room.
Even though she’d jumped at the interruption, Nick Farrell’s expression never varied. The only change had been where his eyes were directed. The man was more self-contained than a tank.
“You can’t let her do this!” the kid exclaimed, putting both hands on the desk and pushing out his chin. He was dressed all in black, his hair styled so it stood straight up off his scalp. She wondered how he got it to stay vertical like that.
“And what has she done?” Farrell’s voice was calm, but she noticed there was a subtle tension in his body.
Maybe he wasn’t above human emotions after all.
“She says I have to wear a damned tuxedo if I’m going to eat tonight. I live here. She doesn’t. Who the hell—”
“That’s enough with the swearing and the theatrics.” The tension in Farrell came out in the muscles of his neck, tightening them into thick cords.
“I’m not wearing a tux and I’m not going to the dinner party.”
There was such defiance and anger in the kid’s face that Carter realized, like so many arguments between parents and children, the explosion wasn’t just about the topic at hand.
“I’ll speak with her.”
The kid snorted. “Like that does any good. Why do you put up with her? It’s not like you’re going to marry—”
“You can keep your thoughts concerning my relationship to yourself.”
“‘Keep it to yourself,’” the kid aped. “I keep everything to myself.”
“If that were true, I wouldn’t need my doors rehung from all the slamming,” Farrell returned dryly.
The kid turned on his heel and noticed Carter for the first time. His eyes widened with surprise.
They looked just like Farrell’s, she thought.
“Hi.” His voice changed as a lot of the hostility was lost.
“Hello.”
He glanced back at Farrell. “Who’s she?”
“I was about to find out when you came barreling in.”
The two looked at Carter expectantly.
“Carter Wessex,” she supplied.
“Are you staying for dinner?” the kid asked.
“No. I’m here to see him.” She nodded across the desk.
“Will you stay for dinner?”
“I thought you weren’t going to the party,” Farrell interjected.
The kid looked stumped, caught between rebellion and an unexpected urge to assimilate. “If she’s coming, I’ll throw the tux on.”
“I’m not coming.”
“Then I’m not wearing one.” The kid turned to Farrell. “And you’re going to talk to Blondzilla.”
Farrell shot a laconic look over at Carter. “You free for dinner?”
She glanced back and forth between them, waiting for him to take the invitation back. He didn’t.
Her eyes widened. “I’m hardly dressed appropriately if tuxedos are involved.”
“I think you look fine just as you are,” the kid remarked bashfully.
Farrell’s lips tightened as she blushed.
“Thanks for the invitation, especially if you’re serious. But I—”
“He’s always serious,” the kid muttered resentfully.
Farrell crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not true. I laughed twice last year. Now, why don’t you leave us so I can find out what this woman wants from me?”
“Dismissed like a damn dog—” the kid began grousing as he walked away.
“Watch the language.”
“One speaks it, not sees it.”
“I’ll use it correctly if you do.”
“You first,” the kid said as he shut the door, hard.
As the sound bounced around the room, Carter felt Farrell’s undivided attention come back to her.
“So what do you want?” he demanded.
“I’m an archaeologist and I—”
“No.” His eyes left her and he started rifling through papers as if she’d left the room.
Carter bristled. “Excuse me?”
“The answer is no.”
“But I haven’t asked for anything yet.”
“The operant word being yet. Letting you chatter on before you get to the asking would only be a waste of our time.” His voice was clipped and cold.
She was stunned into silence and, for a moment, all she could do was watch his eyes trace over words on some document.
“You know, you don’t have to be so rude. And you could look at me while we’re talking.”
An arrogant brow arched though he didn’t look up. “I always knew Miss Manners came with a shovel. I just assumed it was for slinging drivel, not digging up other people’s property.”
“And it’s hard for me to believe someone living in a place like this has the social skills of a cow.”
Gray eyes popped up to hers. She saw that the speculation had returned.
“Fine.” He put the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Is this better? Tell you what. I’ll even go one further and remember to say please when I ask you to leave.”
As his eyes bored into her, Carter was willing to bet the guy was more than a match for Blondzilla.
“So,” he said briskly, “will you please leave?”
“You can’t just toss me out before I have a chance—”
“I can’t? I’ve got a deed in the safe that says this is my land and I don’t think there’s any law that mandates the cheerful tolerance of trespassers.”
“Lucky for you,” she shot back. “I don’t think you could pull off cheerful to save your soul.”
Crossing his arms over his powerful chest, he looked her over once more. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Try eighteen.” He glanced at her clothes. “You look like you could be a babysitter. Or even need one.”
“It’s hard to look mature in cutoffs and a T-shirt,” she said indignantly.
“You pulled that getup out of a closet, not me.”
“I had to go to an associate’s dig before I came here.”
“Hopefully not as an image consultant.”
“I’m not here to talk about my clothes.” She glared at him defensively.
“You seem determined to talk about something. Since I’m not going to discuss your digging up my land, I figure clothes are a natural launching pad for inane conversation. Considering you’re a woman.”
She took a deep breath, trying like hell not to lose her temper.
“Look, I know Conrad Lyst found a cross that could be Reverend—”
“Perhaps I need to be more clear. I’m not discussing anybody digging on my land. Your questionable taste in sportswear is still on the table, however.”
“I didn’t wear this for you!”
“Obviously. Although I must say it made quite an impression on the teenager who just left. But then, he’s mistaking you for a contemporary.”
Carter felt like she was getting picked clean by a vulture and had to fight the urge to yell back at him again. Doing her best to regard him calmly, she forced herself to keep her voice down.
; “Mr. Farrell, all I’m asking is for you to hear me out.”
“Call me Nick and forget the speech. It won’t improve your bargaining position any more than those shorts do.”
“Are you always this nasty?”
“As a rule, yes. But sometimes I’m worse.”
She rolled her eyes. “No wonder you have to get doors rehung.”
“It’s good for the local economy.”
“How generous of you.”
“I think so.”
There was a long silence. She had the feeling she was amusing him, and that pissed her off as much as when he’d been verbally attacking her.
“I’m a professional, Mr. Farrell, not an itinerant ditch digger. You may be sitting on the answer to one of the great puzzles of the Revolutionary era. No one really knows what happened to the Winship party and the gold they were carrying. You owe it to posterity—”
“To let you come in and rescue the solution from my land?” His brow furrowed deeply. “I’ve got news for you. I don’t think it needs rescuing. As far as I’m concerned, the past is best left buried and posterity these days is far more interested in Ozzy Osbourne’s family life. They couldn’t care less about minutemen and redcoats.”
“That’s a pretty narrow view.”
“I’m a narrow kind of man.”
“I can tell.”
He chuckled. “So Miss Manners is also a behaviorist?”
“No, it’s the flashing ROYAL PAIN IN THE ASS sign over your desk.”
There was a long pause, and then Nick Farrell tilted back his head and laughed. It was a rich, rolling sound. When he focused on her again, he was smiling, and the grin lit up his austere face, pulling an unlikely dimple out of one cheek.
Somehow, now that she’d made him laugh, she wasn’t quite so angry at him.
“Do you have any idea how many people come at me each spring asking to tear into Farrell Mountain?”
“No, but I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“When you go after some company, do you worry about what all the other little raiders are doing?”
His grin disappeared. “Been doing some research on my history?”
“You’re pretty well-known.”
He shrugged but clearly wasn’t happy with her remark. “What would you do if I decided to let that Lyst guy have a go at it?”
“I’d say good luck and good riddance to both of you.” It sounded like a straight answer but she knew the anger behind her voice gave her away.
“Something tells me,” he said, getting to his feet, “you wouldn’t be quite that phlegmatic.”
She gave him a disparaging look.
“I’m wrong?”
“You think I’m underage because of my shorts. In my opinion, that doesn’t give you a whole lot of clout in the judgment department.”
Farrell came around the edge of his desk and approached her, stopping only when he was a foot away. Carter’s throat went dry. He was taller than her by at least a head and that was saying something, considering she was five-nine. As the full force of him hit her, she had to stop herself from stepping backward.
Across a desk, he was insulting and intimidating. Up close, she found him totally compelling.
Not exactly an improvement, she thought, running her tongue over her lips.
That was a mistake. Like a predator, he watched the movement, eyes sharpening on her mouth. The way he was looking at her made her body swell with something she was determined to think of as anxiety, even if it felt more like hunger. She thought about turning around and walking out. Running away, actually.
“What is it you really want?” he drawled.
“I don’t understand.” Carter’s words were mumbled, coming out fast and tense. He couldn’t possibly be insinuating that she had come for him. Right?
“Everyone has a hidden agenda. What else are you after?” His eyes traveled down her body and then came back to her face.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. “I just want to dig.”
Abruptly, almost angrily, he broke eye contact with her and returned to the papers on his desk. His voice was offhand when he addressed her again.
“I think you should put your learner’s permit to good use and drive yourself back to wherever you came from. You aren’t going to get what you want here, either in the dirt or from me. However much I wish I could be…accommodating. I like women, not schoolgirls.”
Carter’s mouth dropped open.
“Are you suggesting…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“Shut the door behind you,” he commanded before adding, “Please.”
Her breath came out in a hiss. “You insufferable, egocentric—”
“There you go with the compliments, making me blush,” he murmured, flipping a page.
“I hope you rot in hell.”
“See you there,” he said cheerfully.
On the way out, Carter slammed the door as hard as she could.
As the clap of wood reverberated through the room like a gunshot, Nick winced and put the documents down. His head was still tender from the migraine, and he massaged his temples, waiting for the sting to wear off.
That was one hell of a beautiful woman, he thought. Those crystal blue eyes so alive with defiance. That expressive face showing him every emotion she was feeling. Her mouth, with its full lips and its pink tongue.
Heat flared in his body again.
It was a damn good thing she’d left. Reeling in his impulses had been more difficult every time that tongue of hers had come out for a lick. Moves like that had been performed for him countless times before but, because they were calculated, he’d never been tantalized. The trouble with the archaeologist was that he got the sense she didn’t know how enticing she was.
Which couldn’t be possible.
Beautiful women were always willing to leverage their assets. He didn’t fault them for it. He’d made a fortune doing the same thing, only his bait was dollar bills, not the promise of sexual thrills, and his acquisitions were companies, not marriage licenses. Futile as it inevitably was for the other party, he always enjoyed bartering with women over what they wanted from him in return for their time and attention.
And that one in the cutoffs could have been a real contender. Aside from her beauty, she had a keen intelligence and a heavy dose of wit, and she wasn’t afraid of giving as good as she got. In his life, no one dared to spar with him. People either wanted something or owed him money, neither of which was breeding ground for resistance, even of the playful variety.
She’d been captivating when she was angry, he thought. A flush on those cheekbones, her breath coming in drumbeats, her mouth open, agape at his rudeness. She’d lit up like a Christmas tree. Delightful. Utterly delightful.
He looked at the door, as if he could see her through it.
Carter Wessex.
Could she be related to Wessex? he wondered suddenly.
Wouldn’t that be interesting.
Nick tried to recall what he knew about William Wessex’s family life. The man had been married but something had happened to the wife. Something tragic. Had there been a daughter? Wessex never showed up anywhere with one, never mentioned one, but Carter’s coloring was startlingly similar to his and she had the same kind of arresting good looks.
Nick picked up the phone and dialed his office in New York. It was answered on the first ring.
“Fredericka Ulrich,” his chief of staff said brusquely. Aside from having a brilliant head for business, the woman was a walking encyclopedia. She knew everything about everyone who was anyone, and what she didn’t know, she could find out.
“Freddie, does William Wessex have a daughter?”
“I think so,” she mused. “But I know who to call. Wait by the phone.”
This was Freddie at her best, Nick thought. He was still smiling when his line rang moments later.
“Late twenties. Estranged. Really estranged,” she told h
im.
“Name?”
“Carter. Lives somewhere in Vermont. Archaeologist. One of the best in the country even though she’s relatively young.”
“Does Wessex care about the split?”
“Tremendously. He’s frantic about it. Been a couple years or so, since the mother died. Apparently the daughter won’t see him or even talk to him.”
“Ms. Wessex showed up here today.”
“Not surprising considering that hill behind your house. You going to let her dig?”
“I said no.”
“And now you’re wondering what it might be worth to William Wessex if he had a shot at making nice with his little girl?”
Freddie was also a terrific strategist.
Nick smiled grimly. “You know I like to make sure my business partners are in debt to me. Financially or otherwise.”
“What’s the downside?”
“Apart from the two of them turning my peaceful retreat into a war zone if things don’t work out?” He pondered a moment. “If she digs up my damn mountain and finds the remains of any of those slaughtered men, I’m going to have even more two-bit tourists with shovels hunting for gold. Hell, look at the commotion that guy Lyst stirred up by claiming to find a cross and talking to the local paper. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing and Ivan tossed three more trespassers off my property this morning. I come up here to relax, not run a park service.”
“And if she finds the gold?”
“There isn’t any.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Hell, maybe I should leave well enough alone.”
“But if father and daughter reconcile, Wessex will owe you for life,” Freddie reasoned. “He could prove even more useful than he’s been.”
Nick mulled over his options. “And maybe if she digs around a little, we can finally put all this silliness to rest. I’m tired of guarding an empty safe.”
After hanging up the phone, he went to a window and looked out toward the lake. As he watched the sunlight reflect off the waves, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a large red-tailed hawk sitting in a tree, watching him through the glass.
He thought of the woman who had just left his home.
And found himself looking forward to seeing her again.
3
