Heat of the Night

by Elle Kennedy

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “She’s a week old, it takes like a month for that to happen. It was probably gas.”

  Ryan looked offended. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I told Garrett he needs to accept it—his baby likes me more than him.”

  She laughed. “Uh-huh, sure thing.”

  Ryan flopped down beside her on the bed. “So what do you want to do tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “We only have two more items on the list left.”

  “And they’ll have to wait,” she said with a sigh. “I was about to call the airline to make a flight reservation.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  The dismayed look on his face brought a smile to her lips. “I’m flying to San Francisco this afternoon. Remember the anniversary party I told you about? But I’ll be back tomorrow night, and stay here for another week or two, until Christina gets back.”

  He relaxed. “Right, I forgot about that. Are you excited to see your folks?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Leaning back on his elbows, he shot her a curious look. “You don’t talk about them much. What are they like?”

  “Come with me and see for yourself.”

  The request flew out before she could stop it, surprising them both. What was she thinking? She couldn’t bring Ryan home with her. Her parents would flip out. And it would pretty much be like waving a big sign that said “Bryce and I are over!” But they were over, and her parents had to accept it sooner or later.

  And it would be nice, having Ryan along for moral support. Her parents drove her nuts most of the time.

  “Are you serious?” Ryan said, raising one brow.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” She shifted, lying down next to him and resting her head on his chest. “Sometimes I hate going home. My parents can be really difficult.”

  “They can’t be as difficult as mine. Unless they’re both raging alcoholics too,” Ryan said dryly.

  “No, not alcoholics. Just rich snobs.”

  “How rich?”

  Discomfort rose up her chest. “My dad owns the largest shipping company in the country.” She sighed. “Last year for my mother’s birthday, he bought her an island in the Mediterranean.”

  “Liar.”

  “I wish I was lying.”

  Ryan whistled softly. “Wow. So that rich, huh?”

  “Yep.” She hesitated, then decided to tell him. “And for the sake of full disclosure here, you should know that my ex runs my dad’s company, and my parents still think we’re getting married.”

  His chest rumbled beneath her ear as he laughed. “Gee, I can’t wait to go home with you, Annie. It sounds like it’ll be a blast.”

  “You don’t have to go,” she said quickly. “I’ll manage.”

  Ryan rolled her over, so that she was on her back and he was leaning above her. His blue eyes searched her face, questioning, tender. “Do you want me to go home with you, Annabelle?”

  She swallowed. “Yes,” she finally admitted.

  “Then let’s call the airline.”

  Okay, so he was in deep trouble. Ryan tried not to react as he slid into the plush leather backseat of the limousine Annabelle’s parents had sent for them. She’d called them with their flight information, and although she insisted they could take a cab to the Holmes house, Gregory and Sandra Holmes refused to be talked out of sending her a car. Yeah, some car.

  He barely noticed the scenery whizzing past them outside, he was too busy staring at all the ridiculous luxuries in the back of the limo, like the two separate phone lines, the small plasma TV screen, oh, and the mini fridge. He’d been to the Bay Area a few times in his life, once to visit his grandmother, who’d lived there for a few years before moving to Florida, and once with some of the guys in his training class when he’d first joined the Navy. But he had a feeling Annabelle’s San Francisco was a lot different than the one he’d experienced.

  He still wasn’t certain why he’d agreed to come with her. Never in his life had he met a girl’s family. Never. And Annabelle had already warned him that one, her parents wouldn’t be thrilled to see him, and two, her ex-fiancé would be there. Yet for some stupid reason, he’d come along anyway.

  Okay, maybe not for a stupid reason. He’d come for Annabelle. Because she’d looked so panicked at the thought of coming home alone and facing Bryce, and Ryan hated seeing her in any kind of distress.

  Which meant he was in trouble.

  Usually, when he started caring too much about a woman, he cut and ran. He didn’t want a relationship—he’d seen firsthand how relationships destroyed people. His parents hated each other, they both drank themselves into a stupor just to tolerate each other’s company. Why would he ever want to put himself in that position? Yeah, maybe all relationships didn’t end up like his parents’, but why take the risk?

  And now here he was, sitting in a limo on the way to Annabelle’s parents’ home, which was a total relationship move.

  “We’re almost there,” Annabelle said, sounding unenthused as she gestured out the window.

  Ryan followed her pointed finger, his eyes widening as the limo entered a gorgeous neighborhood overlooking the bay. Annabelle’s folks lived in Pacific Heights, an area filled with ritzy shops and stately homes that had survived the earthquake and fire of 1906. The entire area screamed money, and as the limo slowed in front of an enormous mansion that looked like a museum, Ryan knew he was officially out of his element.

  Annabelle thanked the driver, while a speechless Ryan grabbed his overnight bag and followed her out of the limo. She hadn’t bothered to pack, saying all her “fancy” clothes were here at the house she’d grown up in. Now, Ryan looked at that house, unable to fathom the colossal palace before him. It was made of white limestone, and resembled a French chateau, with a pillared entrance and a million gleaming windows.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Don’t let the house intimidate you,” Annabelle said. Then she made a face. “My parents are the ones you should be scared of.”

  And what do you know, she was absolutely right. A housekeeper wearing a black dress and white apron let them in at the massive front doors, and as they stepped onto the marble floor in the front parlor, a tall brunette wearing a cocktail dress and pearls floated down a winding staircase.

  She was obviously Annabelle’s mother; the resemblance was uncanny. Only while her daughter’s eyes were full of fire and mischief, Sandra Holmes’ gaze was cool and appraising.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” Sandra said in a shrill voice, making no move to hug or kiss her daughter. “Dinner starts in an hour. You need to—” Annabelle’s mother wrinkled her nose in distaste, suddenly noticing Ryan. “And who might this be?”

  “Mom, this is Ryan Evans, a friend of mine from San Diego.” Annabelle’s voice was sugary-sweet as she added, “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited him to dinner.”

  It was amazing—although Sandra’s expression never changed, Ryan could practically feel an ice-cold wave of horror pour out of the woman and slam into him. Oh, she totally minded, and he suddenly wished he could disappear into a puff of smoke. Damn it. Why the hell did he offer to come here?

  “Oh, how nice.” Sandra’s voice was polite, but the fury under the surface was unmistakable. She flicked her gaze to the maid hovering discreetly nearby. “Magdalena, why don’t you show Mr. Evans up to one of the guest rooms so he can freshen up and get ready for dinner. I’d like a word with my daughter.”

  Ryan reluctantly followed the dark-haired maid up the spiral staircase, forcing his jaw to stay closed as he stared at his surroundings. Pieces of art, mostly oil paintings, hung on the cream-colored walls in the hallway, and he could have sworn he saw one that looked a hell of a lot like one of the Monets he’d seen in a book once. He followed the maid, and they passed nearly a dozen doors before she paused in front of one and opened it for him. “Right this way, sir,” she said politely.

  “How many rooms does this place h
ave?” he asked curiously.

  “Twenty-eight,” she said in a brisk voice. “And fifteen bathrooms.” Magdalena pointed to a door a few feet away. “The restroom is in there. Enjoy your visit, sir.”

  After the maid left, Ryan looked around the guest room in wonder. It was twice the size of his and Matt’s living room, with a huge bed, a gleaming hardwood floor and a large armoire near the window that looked like it belonged in Queen Elizabeth’s bedroom. It’s just a fucking house, a little voice said. Relax.

  Okay, he could relax. Taking a breath, Ryan headed into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He wished Annabelle would hurry the hell up and come find him, because he had no clue how to find his way back downstairs. The second floor was a freaking maze.

  Fortunately, he heard footsteps just as he left the bathroom and a moment later, Annabelle bounded in the room, looking extremely frustrated. “Let me guess,” Ryan quipped. “She’s not happy.”

  “Not happy at all,” Annabelle confirmed. “But she’s also the best actress on the planet, so don’t worry, she’ll pretend to adore you during dinner.”

  He laughed. “I can’t wait.”

  Annabelle stepped closer and lifted her arms, wrapping them around his neck. “Seriously, though, don’t worry,” she said softly. “My parents are all bark and no bite. And I’m so happy you came here with me. My mom just told me Bryce and his parents will be here in an hour.”

  “Do your families know you broke up yet?”

  She nodded. “Apparently Bryce told them last week. My mother didn’t even call me to find out what happened.”

  “Maybe she thinks it won’t last.”

  “Well, she’ll be wrong.” Annabelle stood up on her tip-toes and brushed her lips over his. “I have no interest in getting back together with that jerk.”

  Ryan kissed her back, rubbing the small of her back then pulling her closer. His groin tightened, desire rising inside him, and he forced himself to break the kiss. He needed to bring his A-game tonight, to stay alert, and Annabelle was too damn distracting sometimes.

  “I wish you’d told them I was coming,” he said ruefully. “I feel like a party crasher.”

  “You’re my date,” Annabelle said firmly. “And they’re just going to have to deal with the fact that I want to be with you.”

  Ryan’s heart nearly stopped, then sped up in sharp beats. “You want to be with me?” he echoed. A pang of discomfort filled his body, along with a strange jolt of pleasure. He didn’t know how to react to her confession. He should’ve been scared shitless. He didn’t do relationships, never had. So why wasn’t he scared? And why were the words I want to be with you too biting at his lips?

  “I haven’t left your side in two weeks,” Annabelle said, oblivious to his distress. “Doesn’t that say something?”

  “It says…a lot.” He swallowed, then took a step backwards. “I think that suit you made me pack isn’t fancy enough, babe. Last time I wore it was to Garrett’s wedding, but that was a casual beach thing.”

  “It’s fine,” she assured him. Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll just rip it off you tonight anyway.”

  He looked around the extravagant room. “I won’t have to sleep here alone, will I?”

  “Don’t fret, I’ll sneak in here later to keep you company.” Annabelle headed for the door. “I’m going to get dressed. So should you. I’ll come back and get you in twenty minutes?”

  He nodded, then watched her go, suddenly longing for his bachelor pad in San Diego. Fuck. This was so not his scene. He’d grown up in the slums of LA, in a seedy two-bedroom apartment across the street from a liquor store that got robbed at least twice a week. His parents were pathetic excuses for human beings, and his childhood was one he wanted nothing more than to forget. Sure, his life was great now. He’d joined the Navy, found a family with the guys on his team, had his own place. But that didn’t mean he belonged here, with Annabelle’s wealthy-ass parents in their wealthy-ass castle.

  Shit, would there be ten kinds of silverware at the dinner table tonight? He suddenly felt like throwing up.

  It was a relief when Annabelle finally returned a half an hour later, taking his breath away in a long, emerald-green dress. The neckline was modest, but the skirt had a slit that revealed a lot of thigh. Her hair was swept up in a complicated-looking updo, she wore very little make-up, and her only piece of jewelry was a sparkling diamond pendant nestled in her cleavage.

  “You look like a princess,” he said hoarsely.

  She grinned. “Does that make you my prince?”

  He glanced down at his two-hundred-dollar suit, a suit that would probably make most women all mushy and hot, but would in no way impress Annabelle’s parents. “A prince I am not,” he sighed.

  “Cheer up. It’s just dinner, and tomorrow we can explore the city before we fly back to San Diego.” She mimicked the words he constantly tossed her way. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Whatever you say,” he said noncommittally, all the while knowing that what awaited them downstairs would not, in any way, shape or form, be fun.

  And he wasn’t wrong. Annabelle’s parents met them in the sitting room, which looked exactly like a living room but rich people were funny that way. Annabelle’s dad was a commanding man with a head of salt-and-pepper hair and deep wrinkles around his mouth, probably because all he did was frown. He frowned when Annabelle introduced them, frowned when Ryan shook his hand, frowned when he offered him a drink. Neither Sandra or Gregory spoke to him during the fifteen minutes the four of them spent in the sitting room, so when Gregory pulled him aside after Sandra announced it was time to congregate in the dining room, Ryan was thoroughly surprised.

  “I’d like a word with you, if you don’t mind,” Gregory said cordially.

  Ryan glanced at Annabelle, who offered a tiny shrug. So he said, “Yes, sir” and followed the older man, while the two women headed off, Annabelle’s mom chattering on about the new silverware she’d ordered from Paris.

  Gregory led him into a large study with oak-paneled walls and an expensive burgundy carpet. There was a huge stone fireplace on one side of the room, with two plush chairs in front of it. “Have a seat,” Mr. Holmes said graciously, gesturing to one of the chairs.

  Ryan didn’t want to sit, but he did, and a moment later Annabelle’s dad took the seat across from him. The older man unbuttoned his pristine navy-blue suit jacket, then clasped his hands in his lap and said, “How did you meet my daughter?”

  Ryan gulped. “Annabelle told you in the other room, sir. She’s staying in my building.”

  Gregory frowned. “And what exactly is the nature of your relationship, Mr. Evans?”

  He suddenly felt like he was in the interrogation room at a police station. He swallowed again, his mouth too dry to work. “We’re, uh, seeing each other, I guess.”

  Jeez, why the hell was he so intimidated by this man? He was a Navy SEAL, for fuck’s sake. He was good under pressure, and more than used to getting yelled at. Yet despite his training and background, he found himself extremely uneasy around Annabelle’s dad.

  “Are you aware that my daughter is engaged to be married?” Gregory asked coldly.

  “I was under the impression the engagement is off, sir.”

  “For the moment, perhaps, but there is no doubt in my mind that my daughter will marry Bryce Worthington.” Another frown, this one deeper. “This marriage was decided on when Annabelle was a child, and Bryce is a worthy match for her.”

  Ryan bristled. All right, he saw where this was going. Bryce was worthy, Ryan was not. Well, fuck that.

  “I have to disagree,” he said politely. “Annabelle was unhappy with Bryce.”

  Gregory smirked. “And she’s happy with you?”

  “Yes, sir, she is.”

  “What is it you do again?” Gregory asked, as if Ryan hadn’t just told him five minutes ago in the sitting room.

  “I’m in the Navy,” he answered through clenched teeth.

&nb
sp; “Right, the Navy. I take that to mean you travel frequently, sometimes at a moment’s notice?”

  “Sometimes,” he said warily.

  “Then how do you expect to provide my daughter with a stable, comfortable life?”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Holmes, I’ve only known your daughter two weeks. We’re not really at the point where we’re discussing our future.”

  Frown number three made an appearance. “Well, you see, I am thinking about the future. My daughter deserves a man who can support her, who can provide her with the life to which she’s accustomed, and I don’t believe that man is you. Frankly, young man, I don’t believe you are good enough for my daughter.” Gregory leaned forward, a calculated glint in his brown eyes, the same shade of brown as his daughter’s. “So, with that said, let’s get down to business. How much?”

  Ryan faltered. “What?”

  “How much, Mr. Evans?”

  Was this some kind of code? He had no fucking idea what this man was talking about, and he was tempted to unleash a right hook in the older man’s jaw. Nobody had ever spoken to Ryan this way, in such a chilly, disgusted voice, as if he were nothing more than dog shit under the guy’s shoe. Even his drill sergeant in the Navy had been nicer than this, and that guy had been a total dick.

  Gregory sighed. “How much will it cost me for you to say goodbye to my daughter and walk out the door right now?”

  It finally dawned on Ryan. The son of a bitch was trying to bribe him. Bribe him. Who the hell did this man think he was, the Godfather?

  “Nothing.” His jaw was so stiff he could barely spit out the word. “It will cost you nothing, because I’m not going anywhere.”

  Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be difficult, son. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “I’m not your son,” Ryan said coldly. He slowly rose to his feet. His hands were icy with rage, and he pressed them to his sides, resisting the urge to take his fists and pummel the other man’s jaw. “I think we’re done here.”

  As if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” Gregory barked.