The Reluctant Heir

by HelenKay Dimon

  He balanced his foot on the bottom step leading up to the front porch that spanned the front of the house. “I remember, but—”

  “No.”

  He blew out a long breath, trying not to let frustration overwhelm him. “Maybe you could let me finish a sentence.”

  She nodded. Almost looked like she smiled, too, but if she did it flashed then was gone just as quickly. “Fair enough.”

  “Until ten seconds ago I wasn’t sure you were coming because, clearly, you are unfamiliar with how a phone works.” When she started to interrupt, he held up a hand to stop her. “My point being, if I had known I would have had the cottage cleaned and aired out. Since your arrival is a surprise, and a welcome one so don’t get all grumpy on me, I thought we could wait in the house while I have the place readied for you.”

  “First, I did call you.”

  She had to be kidding. “Ten minutes ago, from the front gate, but go on.”

  “Do you want me to text you a message right now?”

  That tone. She was messing with him. No question.

  “I can imagine what that message would say.” But it was tempting to let her try. Everything she did and said intrigued him, made him want to know more.

  That time she did smile. Even let it linger. “Second, I clean for a living. I can handle the cottage... I want to handle it.”

  Maybe it would make her feel closer to her father’s memory, but the idea still struck him as wrong. He wasn’t hiring her. He was trying to help her, though it was pretty clear she planned to fight him with every ounce of life inside her. “You’re not here to work.”

  “I actually am.”

  Damn, she was exasperating and he kind of loved that about her. Not many people outside of his family challenged him. Most bought into the supposed power behind the Jameson name, which was why he sometimes used a fake last name. He wanted people to know him for him, and that included her. “I mean, for me. You don’t work for me.”

  “You gave me the speech about how no one would bother me. I don’t want people skulking around the cottage.”

  He wasn’t the type to be knocked speechless but he didn’t have a comeback for that one. “Skulking?”

  She shrugged, looking disinterested...except for the way she twisted her coat in her hands. If she tightened that death grip even a fraction she’d likely rip the material. He found her reaction interesting. Here she was, all cool and annoyed on the surface. Underneath it looked like something very different was happening. Maybe it was the stress of being back or that stupid envelope. Part of him hoped she was fighting off the same attraction that threatened to overwhelm him.

  She was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Hot with all those curves and those big eyes. Her looks caught his attention, but something about her made him want to dig deeper. She wasn’t the little girl he’d once known. She’d grown up, gotten strong, acquired an attitude and that shyness, if it still existed, was firmly banked. The whole package worked for him. Which probably said something about him. Something not great about being attracted to a woman who looked at all times as if she were ready to punch him.

  The argument in his head about having people who could clean for her died in his throat. “You win.”

  She smiled again. This one was big and sunny and for a few seconds she dropped the assessing I’m-watching-you stare she’d perfected. “I’m shocked you conceded so quickly.”

  That made two of them. “I’m not unreasonable.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The way she pushed, her refusal to back down...so sexy. It was a shame so many secrets stood between them. So much history. “Then we should head to the cottage.”

  “I know where it is.”

  That stubbornness could also be annoying. He made a vow to remember that, to focus on how much she seemed to dislike him, even without knowing he slept with her dead sister.

  “Right.” He held up the key. “But I have this. I’ll escort you, run through some of the cottage’s issues, like a sticky window we’ll get fixed as soon as possible.”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  He dropped his arm to his side. “Indulge me.”

  “I already am.”

  * * *

  He’d stayed away for a full day.

  Hanna was almost impressed by Carter’s restraint. He’d left her to herself in the cottage the first night, even though she had the sense he wanted to stay and oversee everything she did.

  But looking out the window now she saw him crossing the lawn, heading in her direction. Her reprieve had ended.

  Not that the time alone had amounted to much. She’d been determined to search the place. It was a long shot, even though the cottage had sat unused after her father passed, but since she hadn’t uncovered a new angle in the decade since his death, she didn’t have anything to lose by being here.

  But she’d been sidetracked yesterday when everything touched off a memory. The blue curtains Gena insisted they hang for privacy. The beige couch with the flat cushion on the left side because that’s where her dad always sat. Then she’d found a stack of boxes in the hall closet filled with Dad’s long-sleeve shirts and baseball hats. With photographs and cancelled checks.

  At least looking through things helped her to not dwell on Carter. Getting sucked in by his charm felt like a betrayal to her mom and to her sister. The Jamesons had landed so many blows on her family and now here she was, watching Carter stalk across the lawn and not being able to look away. Those confident strides. The way his jeans sat low on his hips, highlighting his fit body. She never wanted anyone to be different from the perception she had in her head as much as she wanted that for Carter.

  Hanna sighed when she heard the knock. Since Carter owned the property, it’s not as if she had a choice about opening the door. “Hello.”

  “You haven’t left the cottage since you walked in here yesterday morning.” He held up a white bag and shook it. “So, I brought this.” Then he held up a brown bag with the logo from a local grocery chain. “And this. Nothing much. Just the basics.”

  Her stomach growled in response. Food. Man, that sounded good and the fact he thought to do it set off a tingling in her stomach. She’d eaten two breakfast bars in twenty-four hours. She might be able to eat the bag at this point.

  “The place was filthy. Not years-without-a-basic-cleaning dirty, but not good.” It also qualified as a bit more than a cottage. It was an eight-hundred-square-foot house with an open kitchen and a family room, one big bedroom and a loft, where she used to sleep with her sister. Tiny compared to the main house but then so were some hotels.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Whose fault is that?”

  “Well, I haven’t been here for about a decade, so not mine.” She took the bag out of his hands, leaving him with the groceries. “What’s in here?”

  “Does this mean I can come in?”

  “Kind of depends on your answer.”

  She saw him smile as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His face was turned away from her, but she picked up that sunny open charm that seemed innate to him.

  “Chicken and a salad.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Fruit?”

  She closed the top of the bag and stared at him. “Are you asking me? Shouldn’t you know?”

  “I didn’t make any of it.”

  He sounded horrified at the thought of cooking, which made her wonder exactly how he survived in California for all those months without his usual staff of helpers. “Who did?”

  “Lynette.”

  The fact he thought that was a full response almost made her laugh. “Who is she?”

  “She works at the house.”

  He seemed to be dancing around the answer and that made Hanna want to keep poking. “Was that so hard to admit?”

  “Since you’re judging everything I say? Yes.
”

  She had to admit she was. Sure, he had all the trappings of a rich guy. When he was younger, he had played the wealthy-boy role pretty well. Then there was the issue of her sister and what happened between them and all the strong-arming by his father. But when she dealt with Carter one-on-one she didn’t see any of that. He was charming. He didn’t make demands or act like he was better than her. He’d picked up a mop and actually seemed to know how to use it.

  But it all could be a carefully crafted act. His father excelled at games and forcing people to do what he wanted. It wasn’t hard to believe Carter learned his skills at home. Still, a nagging voice in her brain kept saying that Carter was not his father.

  Another day with him and she’d have a serious case of whiplash.

  “That’s likely fair.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on.”

  She dropped the bag on the counter and went in search of plates. It was a good thing a few of the hours she’d cleaned had been dedicated to the kitchen. Her plan for the afternoon was to figure out where to go grocery shopping. She’d do that after she saw what he’d brought with him and ate a bunch of chicken, because it sure smelled good.

  She turned around with plates in hand and there he was, sitting on one of the bar stools at the counter. He wasn’t waiting to be served. No, he had dived right into the bag and started unpacking. She liked a man who prioritized food over everything else. And she was sure there was something else. He seemed distracted, as if he wanted to talk with her.

  No, thanks.

  Verbally sparring with him, though invigorating, would bump her off track. She could not afford to spend the day thinking about him or that face or that sexy walk of his. She needed to settle in somewhere and restart, which was the plan even before she saw him again, but she had to try this first.

  “I’m sorry.” He mumbled the words as he placed a piece of chicken on each of their plates.

  Her hand froze on the lid to what looked like homemade potato salad. “For?”

  “Your sister.”

  Her whole body went numb. “What?”

  “I know she...died.”

  Hanna couldn’t say anything, couldn’t even choke out a word. Her mouth had gone dry and the words refused to form in her brain.

  She’d tried to push thoughts of Gena away because being here, on the property with him, trusting him at all, was a slam against Gena. It had been six months and Hanna no longer cried every day, but she thought about her sister all the time. Her pain. Her fear. How desperate she must have felt at the end. How lost.

  And Carter had caused Gena’s confusion. At least some of it. So, to drop a stale apology at the table while munching on chicken struck her as an insult. One she couldn’t process.

  Maybe it was the silence or the suffocating tension that suddenly filled the room, but Carter looked up. “Hanna?”

  “What exactly are you sorry for?” Her voice shook as she asked the question. That shaking was nothing compared to her muscles. They strained until she had to grab on to the edge of the counter to keep from falling down.

  “The accident.” He slowly lowered the piece of chicken to his plate. “I remember her from years ago and from...”

  “When?”

  His shoulders seemed to slump. “We saw each other more recently.”

  Saw each other. Heat raced through her body. The rage-filled-throw-things kind.

  “That’s a pretty neutral statement.” She dropped the potato salad container on the counter with a thud. “You didn’t come back from California after she died.”

  He’d committed so many sins when it came to Gena. There was so much fault and blame. Since the second she saw him, that reality did battle with the need he touched off in her. The same need she tried to stomp out but it refused to extinguish.

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “I didn’t know she passed until just recently.”

  “I tried to contact you.” And his father showed up instead. First, in writing. Then in person. Gena was barely in the ground before Eldrick demanded that Carter’s name not be associated with Gena’s in any way. There was only one way Eldrick would know about Gena and Carter—Carter had told him. Only one reason for his visit—to fix Carter’s mess.

  “I didn’t find out until after I came to your apartment in New York,” Carter said.

  She shook her head, trying to decipher what he was saying. Gena died months ago, not days ago.

  There was only one explanation. He was playing some sort of game with her and it made her feel queasy and sad. “You should leave.”

  His eyes narrowed but he didn’t hop off the bar stool. “What just happened?”

  “Please, just go.” Or she would. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried this at all. The offer had sounded too good to be true, and clearly it was.

  “You know this is my house, right?” The edge in his tone was there. As if he had a right to be ticked off. No way.

  “Then I’ll go.” Because she couldn’t sit there and try to rationalize away his lies. That sexy drawl of his, the self-assurance, even the subtle charm and little jokes...they had reeled her in. Made her lower her defenses but now reality came back and slapped her in the face.

  He wasn’t two different people, which meant the guy she’d spun teen dreams about in her head and whose voice echoed through her even now was the same guy standing in front of her, lying. This was her nightmare. He actually was just like his father.

  She hadn’t unpacked her duffel. It sat on the coffee table in the living area. She snagged the strap and threw it over her shoulder. Took a quick look around but, honestly, whatever she left here didn’t matter. She never got attached to anything, which made it easy to walk away.

  Turning around, she ran right into him. Her hand went to his chest to steady her balance. The firmness registered first. The hard muscles under her palm... Despite everything, how much she still ached to explore every inch of him. Then she dropped it, not wanting one extra second of contact with him.

  “Hold on.” He reached for her but stopped when she flinched. His hands went into the air as if he were surrendering. “Okay, I get it. You’re upset, so I’ll go.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the bag’s strap. Tightened until her palms ached.

  “We’re going to talk about this.” Backing away from her, he nodded as he headed toward the door. “You can’t keep running me off.”

  She absolutely could. So much of her life had been swallowed up by the Jamesons. Her sister. Her father. Even her mother was collateral damage. She could not invite them into her life again. “I don’t think you want to hear the truth.”

  He couldn’t miss her message. It’s not as if she was trying to be subtle.

  A nerve ticked in his cheek as he stood there. It took another minute before his jaw unclenched and he blew out a long breath. “Fine, you want space, you got it.”

  She waved in the direction of the counter. “You can take the food.”

  But he was already headed for the door. “Keep it.”

  “I don’t need your charity.”

  He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned back around to face her. “One of these days you’re going to realize I’m not my father.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  Five

  Carter tried to block out the memory of yesterday’s lunch fiasco with Hanna. He worked in the library, went for a run, but none of it helped. His gaze kept wandering to the cottage. His thoughts centered on how her mood had flipped. She’d been guarded since he’d first knocked on her apartment door in New York, but yesterday had been different. She’d shut down and he still wasn’t sure why.

  He’d been raised to be quiet, seen and not heard. He’d learned to tiptoe through disappointment and difficult situations by using a mix of acting like he didn’t care and humor. He kept most of his rela
tionships pleasant but shallow. Shallow was safe.

  All of that practice meant he could charm his way out of most situations. He’d smile and engage in unimportant chatter. His brothers joked that he was the perfect party host. He kept the conversation flowing. And for the first month after his dad kicked him out, he’d spent a lot of time partying. The alcohol flowed freely, which had allowed him to capitalize on the whole life-of-the-party thing, getting sucked in deeper and deeper.

  He’d stopped cold turkey after he blacked out. It only took that one time, that complete loss of control, to scare him. He’d realized he preferred the warm heat of scotch rolling down his throat to being with people...to doing anything. The realization was enough to turn him around.

  He refused to give his father the satisfaction of breaking him, so he’d stopped drinking. But he had the very real sense he’d been on the verge of a full-blown addiction that would have dropped him to his knees.

  But all of that was his secret and in the past. He’d refused alcohol since he’d been back home, but neither of his brothers were big drinkers, so they didn’t seem to notice. But now, looking around the small conference room table just outside Jackson’s office, Carter was tempted to dive in and tell them everything.

  His brothers and Jackson were in fine form, joking as they reviewed plans for some new commercial building project that would bring in millions of dollars. It sounded fine to him but wasn’t really his expertise. Which was why it didn’t make sense for them to have called him in from Virginia this morning. But he’d come willingly, relieved to be away from the temptation of Hanna and his plans to confront her.

  The building talk died down and Derrick spun his chair around at the head of the table so that he faced Carter head-on. “So...”

  One of the walls was all glass and faced the hallway and the desks and offices beyond. Still, Carter suddenly felt trapped. Spence, Derrick and Jackson all stared at him. Tension pressed in on him and he didn’t care for the suffocating sensation one bit.

  He also knew he needed to stop whatever nonsense was headed his way before it could start. “No. To whatever you’re going to say. The answer is no.”