Chapter Seven
Nate
She went to pull away from me, but I caught her upper arm and held her still as I studied it. Real tattoos didn’t rub off beneath a touch. Her stance changed, boots shifting on the floorboards as if she were bracing for another physical fight.
“I like tattoos, but not enough to commit to one. Is that a crime?” She tried to yank her arm away from me.
I waited for her to stop struggling. “Not as far as I know.” My joke fell flat.
Great. Smooth, Keaton. All those jokes about her being a criminal were skewing my perspective.
Silas had trusted her enough to stay. The caretaker had left her to watch the place.
I decided the drive had dulled my normal sharpness.
It could have also been the wine, although neither of us had downed more than a glass. More likely it was the lack of blood above my beltline since I’d met her. I released her arm.
She stepped back and adjusted the decorative scarf around her neck. “Thanks for dinner.”
Okay, so we’re not talking about the kiss.
She retreated another step and I stayed where I was because she looked cornered. And that was not how women reacted to a kiss from me. Breathless? Sure. Smug? Sometimes. None had ever seemed so ready to bolt.
I scratched the back of my neck. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Her eyes widened then darted around the room before she answered huskily, “No. It was nice. I’m just not in a good mental place.”
Honesty. I respected that. “You don’t have to leave. I can control myself.”
Her eyes flashed with a hunger that matched the one burning inside me, but then she looked away again. “It’s best if I go.”
Best for who? Not me. “Spend tomorrow with me.”
She shook her head. “I would, but I have so much I need to do.”
Interesting. “Anything I could help you with?”
“No. No. Just need to clean up a few things.” She crossed the room with ego-bruising speed.
“Dinner?” I followed her to the foyer.
She shrugged her coat on. “I wish I could, but. Sorry.”
Opening the door, I said, “I’m sure I’ll see you around since I’ll be here until Sunday evening.”
She stepped through the door then spun on her heel to face me. “You’re only here for the weekend?”
“That was the plan.”
I might have imagined it, but she looked relieved. Was I making her uncomfortable? She was a woman on her own. It wasn’t inconceivable.
“Hey,” I said softly, “you’re safe with me.”
Her head jerked up. “Thank you.”
I swayed toward her, drawn in a way that defied all logic. “I believe this place will go to auction, but you’re welcome to stay until then.” It felt like the right thing to offer.
She clasped her hands in front of her. Vulnerable. So damn beautiful I could barely think. “You don’t even know me.”
“No, but I’m a good judge of character.”
There was a long pause before she spoke. “I’m not good at this.”
“What is that?”
“Whatever we’re doing.”
So, she felt it too. “Apparently neither am I, because usually women find me irresistible.”
She smiled at that. “It’s your humility I find most attractive about you.”
Unabashed, I winked, “So you do find me attractive.”
“Good night, Nate,” she said softly, then turned and walked down the steps. I watched her make her way down the driveway toward the guesthouse.
I’d just asked that woman to spend time with me and she’d turned me down. In a gloriously throbbing state of arousal, I stood there, watching her.
She paused at the guesthouse door and waved.
I waved back and she disappeared inside.
My breath fogged the cold night air. I wanted to rush across the snow-packed yard, bang on the door until she opened it, and just be with her. Naked. Dressed. Talking. Silent. Didn’t matter. I needed more of her.
That wasn’t like me. I didn’t need anyone.
Forcing some sense into myself, I closed the door and made my way back to Silas’s study.
After pouring a Bushmills 21-year single malt, I pulled my tie off and tossed it on his desk.
Dad and I lived similar lifestyles. We both worked and played hard.
Companionship was a luxury we gave ourselves as a reward when we met our goals.
He’d been with so many women I didn’t even try to remember any of their names.
He invested just as little into the women I took out.
According to Aunt Claire, Silas had married early and after losing his wife as well as their unborn child during childbirth, he’d never dated again. He and my father could not have been more opposite. So, why, when my parents had divorced, had Dad sent me here instead of to Aunt Claire’s?
What was here that he thought I might need back then?
And why doesn’t he want me here now?
Walking around the office, I studied the pictures Silas had framed on the walls as well as scattered around on the shelves.
There were shots of him, much younger, with a variety of people I didn’t recognize.
There were images of him with Aunt Claire, one with my father, all of them young and a little wild looking.
There were also photos of me at various stages of my life, each had a small note tucked behind it. I picked one up and instantly recognized the handwriting. Aunt Claire. She’d kept him updated on my life.
Never a mention of Dad.
After replacing the note beside the photo, I considered calling Aunt Claire to ask her if she wanted any of Silas’s things.
I didn’t want them.
I also don’t want your farm, Silas.
There’s nothing here for me.
Feeling too restless to sleep, I reached for my laptop. I’d received a message from my team. They couldn’t find any information about a Jo Arlington. Was I certain that was her name?
Yes?
Unless she lied to me.
They requested a photo of her to scan via facial recognition. I messaged that I’d get one to them soon.
My gut told me Jo was someone in need of saving.
I’ve never been the hero type.
What’s the saying? Nice guys finish last? I’d add: but heroes don’t even make it to the finish line. They sacrifice themselves right out of the race.
I closed my laptop forcefully as I realized the jaded voice in my head was my father’s. Was that how he’d seen Silas? As someone who’d lost in the race of life? Was that why Dad had discouraged all contact with Silas after I left here?
I set the laptop aside.
I was told Silas was lost. Withdrawn. Alone.
But was that who Silas really was. Or just how my father saw him? He didn’t look lonely in the photos of him through the years.
It’s time for me to find out the truth.
About Jo.
About Silas.
Taking a healthy swig, I raised my glass in salute. “I’m not promising you anything, Silas, but if you brought me here to show me something, I’m ready to see it.”