by Jaycee Clark
Looking across to another door, he was silently thankful Tori, his eight-year-old daughter, had elected to sleep in her grandparents’ suite a few doors down the outer hall.
He hopelessly bit down on his temper and frustration at the situation, as he walked back to his room.
In fact, the whole damn mess was beyond hopeless. No matter how much he cared for Christian, how great the night with her had been, it would not happen again, and shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
So, he had looked at her in the last couple of years in more than a sisterly fashion. No harm there, she technically wasn’t his sister, regardless of what the family thought of her. Or what he told her.
Then what the hell was the problem? He stared himself down in the mirror and realized the problem was staring back at him.
She was right, he was an ass, and would probably continue to be so. He’d learned the hard way, women and commitments weren’t for him.
* * * *
Christian stood, barefoot, waiting on one of the private elevators. At least she’d remembered to grab her purse.
Come on, come on. Surely it didn’t take that long for the elevator to get up here.
The idiot! The jerk! Who the hell did the man think he was? A Kinncaid, that’s who. She’d been with them long enough to know, that whatever a Kinncaid wanted, a Kinncaid got. It wasn’t just Brayden; they were all that way--strong, arrogant, powerful men. Handsome men who were loyal to a fault.
She wiped a tear away and realized she was actually crying. God, her heart hurt. After everything, everything this was how it ended?
Last night had been.... Wonderful. Loving. Healing.
And now?
Footsteps sounded down the hallway.
Without turning around, she all but snarled, "If you think I’m changing a thing I said or meant, you are dead wrong." Silence greeted her, but the footsteps neared.
"I don’t care to talk to you right now. Leave me the hell alone!" She turned to glare at the man, her anger charged and ready to zap the blind, denying idiot, and stopped short.
Quinlan Kinncaid stood a few paces to her left looking straight at the elevator doors.
Shit. Shit. And shit again. Bring the whole damn family into it. Good God.
Christian inwardly sighed and closed her eyes. The ping of the elevator doors jerked her back.
Quinlan stared at her with those green eyes he’d inherited from his mother, his hand holding the door.
Without another look at him, let alone another word, she walked into the elevator. Stepping in beside her, he punched the lobby button, and just as the doors started to close, she saw Aiden Kinncaid walk out his suite and holler, "Wait up."
Thankfully, Quinlan let the doors shut and the elevator went down. The entire Kinncaid clan was here at their hotel, The Highland Hotel, since they’d celebrated Gavin and Taylor’s awaited wedding reception.
When the two had married several months ago, there had not been time to have a celebration. After Taylor healed, and the kids were doing better, the family threw a giant ball in honor of the new couple in the family hotel here in Washington, D.C. And the night of dancing had ended in one of love. Or so she had thought at the time.
The sunrise apparently changed the mindset of Brayden. Idiot.
Quinlan cleared his throat.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His were locked on her. She could smell the aftershave he’d always favored and that always made her think of watery forests for some reason.
"I didn’t think you’d want another one of us asking you what was wrong," he said.
Was it possible to fade into the wooden paneling?
His head cocked to the side. "Want to talk about it?"
"No."
Silence stretched between them. But then he cleared his throat again. "Not that it’s any of my business, but from the looks of things you’re rather upset. Bray being an ass again?"
She didn’t snicker at the pun. "Isn’t he always?"
"What did he do this time?"
Turning, she faced this youngest Kinncaid, who was still a few years her senior. "Do you think.... That is.... Never mind."
His tongue ran around his teeth. "You two were awfully close last night." He shoved his hands into his pockets, his dark suit jacket caught behind his wrists. "I know you left together, which isn’t really anything new. But I have to admit, seeing you barefoot, dressed in last night’s dress and your hair all a mess reflects a little close to a lover’s spat."
She felt her face heat at the words and that damn cocky grin of his slid across his face. She should have just gone to her own room, but then she still would have been in Brayden’s suite. No, she had to get out and if she looked tumbled, well....
"That and the hickey on your collarbone. I wondered how long it would take you two."
Great. This just kept getting better. "Hell," she muttered. "You know what, I don’t care. Tell me, do you think, since you obviously noticed something between us, do you think it’s only there because we’ve been playing house?" She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. It was beside the point she was beyond embarrassed, mortified more like. What if Brayden did have a valid point and she just couldn’t see it?
No, that couldn’t be right.
Russet brows rose at her question. Out of all the Kinncaid males, Quinlan was the only one to take after Mrs. Kinncaid, his mother, in coloring with his eyes, green as Ireland, and his hair as burnished as autumn leaves.
One long finger scratched the corner of his mouth. "No, I don’t think.... Playing house?" His eyes narrowed on her.
The disbelief in his words mirrored her feelings. "Never mind, you answered my question." Then an idea came to her. "Maybe I should find my own place."
"What?" His voice sharpened. "Did he say that to you?"
The more she thought about it, the more the idea bloomed. Playing house. No way. Let the man see what life without her was like. Course she might be cutting off her nose to spite her face. And she would miss Tori dreadfully, but if--and that was a giant if--Brayden was actually right, that meant he would eventually find some other woman. She couldn’t very well sit back and watch, the passive little nanny.
"Christian?" Quinlan’s voice pulled her back. "Did you hear what I said?"
She shook her head. "I need you to do me a favor and be quiet about it."
"First, answer my question. Did Brayden tell you to find your own place?" His eyes were as sharp as emeralds.
"What?" She waved her hand at him. "No. I just need you to do something for me."
"Well, that depends on what you want me to do." The elevator reached the bottom level. The elevator was hidden behind a wall of gilded mirrors. The occupants inside--the Kinncaids--could see out into the lobby, but no one could see in until the outer mirrored doors were opened. The men said that as owners of The Highland Hotel, they didn’t want to be predictable. This gave them the advantage of seeing what was going on, on the floor, without anyone the wiser.
Quinlan didn’t open the outer doors, nor did he look at the floor, his gaze was centered on her.
"What do you want me to do, Christian?"
Taking a deep breath, she said, "I want you to keep quiet about me looking for a place. I don’t need anything fancy, just an apartment, somewhere between here and Seneca. That way I’m close to the shop and close to home, too."
His eyes studied her, made her feel like squirming.
"Why?" He crossed his arms.
She raked her hands through her hair. "Because, maybe he’s right. Maybe we just got lost in the moment. No. That’s not it either. That can’t be it. I don’t know. Maybe if I was gone, he’d see that ...
that.... Hell, I don’t know. Just keep quiet, will you? Be a pal, a brother. Help me look. It doesn’t mean I’m going to actually get it, but I might."
Another moment stretched between them. "Have you thought about Tori in all this? Or Mom and Dad? I think you need to
think this through."
She loved this family, she really did, but they were all so damn protective, so--so--Kinncaid!
Reigning in her frustrations at the males of this clan, she said, "Yeah, I have. And if he’s so set that I’m not the woman for him, that means that he will one day find one. What am I supposed to do? Sit back while she starts doing all the things I’ve always done? And if that does turn out to be the case, then in long run, my moving will help Tori. I won’t be in the way for whoever, or whatever he decides he wants."
She stopped, his expression hadn’t changed. "I’m a grown woman, Quinlan. Have you ever known me to leap without looking?"
"Before this morning? Or maybe last night? No. But need I remind you why you’re concocting this brilliant plan of yours in the first place? Did you leap or look before.... Before...."
"Before what? Before I made love to your brother?"
His eyes slid closed and he pinched the bridge of his narrow nose. "I don’t want this picture in my mind."
"You’re the one that brought it up. And I don’t want it there either." Planting her hands on her hips, she said, "What do you think? I just hopped in bed for a damn one night stand?"
His head shook. "No. I’m just trying to point out--"
A shadow fell over the doors, Aiden, the eldest Kinncaid brother, stood glaring in. In seconds, the mirrors slid back.
"Why didn’t you hold the elevator? I know you heard me." He glared from one to the other, but his cobalt gaze, darker than Brayden’s, zeroed in on her. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing." She started to shove by him, but he blocked her way and turned the stare on Quinlan.
"What did you do to her?"
Quinlan’s hands rose, palms up. "I’m just trying to talk some sense into her."
"Will you both just stop!" This time, when she shoved Aiden, he moved. "I have things to do."
"You’re not wearing shoes," he muttered. And she heard his whispered, "She had a hickey on her neck!"
Rolling her eyes, she didn’t look back, but hurried across the foyer of the grand hotel and out into the warming sun. Already into September, the mornings were cool here and the cement chilled her feet.
The valet brought her Volkswagen Bug around. She climbed into the gray vehicle, cursing all males in general and left, merging with the early Sunday morning traffic.
There were things she needed to think about, things to decide.
Maybe Brayden, even in his stupidity, had been right. Maybe they did spend too much time together.
The Kinncaids had been heaven-sent to her, in her opinion, but perhaps it was time to move on. Grow up and move away.
Well, not grow up. She’d grown up one wintry night years and years ago.
But moving on, moving away was realistic. The problem was she didn’t know if she was ready. Was she ready?
The small town of Seneca, the old family Kinncaid home, the hotel, the entire family, offered and blanketed her in a security she did not take for granted. She’d known a family like theirs once, long ago, but time, events, and people changed all that.
No, she wasn’t going there, not now, not this morning.
Back to the matter at hand.
Should she get her own place? And if she tried, what excuse would she give?
What about Tori? That would be hard. No, more than hard. She was used to seeing the little girl every day. And she hadn’t lied when she said she thought of the little girl as her own.
But--and God knows she didn’t want to think about it, yet the doubt crept in anyway--what if Brayden didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about him? What if he didn’t really love her? What if he’d just said it in the heat of the moment? Then one day he would find someone and that someone would be Tori’s mom.
That hurt, hurt so bad her skin prickled and her breath caught.
Christian shook her head, blinked the sudden stupid tears away and gripped the steering wheel. No matter what, she had to know what he really felt about her.
Perhaps by putting some distance between them, she, they, he could figure it all out.
So distance it would be. A place of her own.
On her own. She hadn’t been on her own since she’d come to Washington, D.C. and Seneca, Maryland--since she’d met the Kinncaids.
The past slithered through her memories, but she shoved it aside. All that was behind her, and ghosts couldn’t hurt her. Besides, he was still in Oregon, completely across the country and he had no idea where she was.
Yes, she could live alone. She was a grown woman and it was time to stop living in fear.
CHAPTER TWO
Two months later
Oh, God, he’d found her.
Christian took a deep drag of albuterol. It had been months since she’d had to use her rescue inhaler.
Fall netted over the air, a golden, amber web chilling and promising the winter to come. The heater blew full blast in her car, and even with her long woolen coat, nothing stopped the shivers sliding through her bones.
This was not happening. Not again. Why? Why now? After all this time?
She glanced over at the passenger seat as the tightness in her chest loosened a bit from the albuterol and she could breathe. Photos today. Large glossy eight by tens in black and white. She’d found the brown envelope under her wipers when she came out of Dr. Trevor’s office. Her name was printed in bold black letters across the front.
But inside....
Inside she was caught on individual freeze frames. Frozen moments of her life stilled in photos. There were pictures of her doing everything from swimming, to laundry, going and coming to the shop, the store, her apartment. He knew everything about her. Everything she did. Where she worked. Where she lived. How she spent her time and who she spent it with. Like shopping with Tori.
Oh God, Tori! That picture pierced her heart.
She leaned back against the leather headrest, tension throbbing behind her eyes.
A chill had wrapped its cold arms around her and held her fast for the last month. These were not the first photographs she’d received, but she hoped they’d be the last. First had been the postcards. Two words scrawled in that hand she knew all too well. My Angel.
There was one in the envelope now.
My Angel.
Her high school picture, years and years old.
My Angel.
Then every few days a packet with pictures recording her activities arrived. Last night was a phone call.
All she could hear was that damn opera in the background.
The breath hitched again in her lungs. Fighting the panic back, she left the envelope in the car and got out, locking the doors. Her gaze slid over the growing and lengthening shadows.
Was he out there now?
A bell from the door jingled, pulling her attention to the shop’s entrance. Kinncaid Antiquities was written in black letters across the door and picture window.
Brayden stood there with his hands on his trim hips, dressed in a dark button down and black slacks.
"You’re late."
"I’m here, aren’t I?" Deep breath. Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, she ducked her head and passed him. Hopefully she looked all right. Sometimes he could be so perceptive.
She’d left here at noon to meet with clients in Virginia, then rushed back to D.C. for an appointment with her shrink, but Brayden didn’t need to know the last part. It was the first counseling session she’d needed in over five years.
"I-I got held up in Virginia then stopped at a few country shops to see if I could find any decent deals."
The antique industry was Brayden’s contribution to the family business. He owned this shop and supplied the Kinncaid line of hotels with either the best original antique and vintage pieces or reproductions. Christian understood antiques, she’d grown up with them. After she moved here and Brayden realized she knew what was what with the old pieces of furniture, glassware and sculptures, she’d started working here at the shop.
Christian walked around behind the counter. Antiques stood still, waiting for someone to come in and claim them like lost orphans hoping for another home. The shop smelled of musky old wood, beeswax and lemon oil, a soft familiar smell that mixed with the sandalwood spiced cologne Brayden favored.
For the first time since seeing that brown envelope on her windshield, she sighed, something calming her.
Or rather someone. Brayden.
"What took so long today?" His voice had always been deep and soothing to her, like unfathomed depths of a lake. "I was starting to worry. It’s not like you to meander back to work, or browse country stores," he said, shutting and locking the door.
She was late; it was almost six and the shop closed at five. But after seeing the envelope, she’d panicked. She’d just driven and this was where she’d ended up, even though she knew the shop was closed. Some part of her had hoped he’d still be here. Not that she could tell him anything.
Brayden walked toward her, but stayed a distance away. The same routine since that morning a couple of months ago; he got close enough to inquire, yet far enough away to run.
"So I decided to stop at a few shops. It’s not that big a deal," she lied, looking over some notes and receipts in the basket by the old fashioned register. "I’m sorry I didn’t make it back earlier."
"I don’t care about that," Brayden’s voice barely registered.
She darted a glance at window. Was she being captured in freeze frame now? There had been a photo of her here at the shop, the coffee house, her car. He knew everything! Everything. How had he found her? How? Already she was losing sleep and her appetite. The windows only showed her the busy street beyond. A man waiting on the light looked over to the shop.
Absently, she rubbed her neck. Could that be the photographer? She had no idea what her stalker looked like. The man following her, taking the pictures, documenting her life, was not the man she needed to fear. No.
The terror came from the one who hired him.
My Angel.
