Chapter 10
Ten
Talia
Dare is all grins as we pull up the long, sloping driveway of the Morgan estate.
I look behind me and watch as the town of Harwicke falls away, just as the sprawling Gothic revival breaks from the landscape and juts out boldly.
I can feel Dare’s eyes on me as we pull up the gravel drive, our tires crunching as we come to a stop.
Dare jumps out of the car, looking like he can’t wait for me to meet Remy.
I have a sour feeling in my stomach as I get out of the Porsche and run my fingers through my hair.
I can’t look anywhere but at the mansion itself, which stands alone on the top of this bluff like it owns the very air around it, like it was always destined to be here.
Without the crowds of people and the cars cluttering the driveway, the mansion itself seems to loom over everything, standing alone and separate from the rest of the town of Harwicke.
"Well?" Dare grips my arm and motions to the huge oak doorway. "Come on then, darling girl. It’s your time to shine."
For some reason, his words set my teeth on edge. I make a sour expression and pull from his grip, but he redoubles the contact, gripping my arm harder, forcing me to take his hand. He swings open the massive front door without a word, and I step through, my eyes scanning the massive foyer.
It’s all marble and slate floor tiles here. Beyond the foyer is a massive, long hallway clad in dark wood and bright red carpet.
From what I can see right now, the foyer and the hallway beyond could fit my whole tiny two-bedroom bungalow three or maybe four times.
To say that I am in awe would probably be an understatement.
I’m trying to rapidly calculate how much it must have cost to build and maintain this structure for so long, as the house itself does appear to be quite old.
Dare takes one look at me, rolls his eyes, and reaches out to close my gaping mouth. "Don’t act like you’ve never been anywhere nice before," he hisses.
I clench my jaw and fire a sharp look his way, but he is already looking in another direction. He drags me down the hallway, and I can’t help but notice the expensive velvet chairs, long side tables, and priceless art that lines the hallway as soon as we get into it.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I thought of visiting the Morgan estate for the very first time. But this certainly exceeds all my expectations. It may be a desolate old mansion on the highest bluff in town, but its design is quite exceptional, not to mention its vast size.
A man in a full tuxedo with tails appears to our left, coming out of seemingly thin air.
His burnished brown skin and close-cut dark hair, graying just at the temples, make him seem distinguished.
But when he speaks, it is his English accent that completely throws me for a loop. With a bow, he greets Dare.
"Mr. Morgan," he says. "Welcome back. May I take your coats?"
"Thank you, Clive," Dare says. He claps the man on the shoulder, which seems to give the man a jolt. "That will not be necessary. We’re just here to talk to my grandfather."
"Good," Clive says. He bows again. "Mr. Morgan is currently meeting with someone, if you don’t mind waiting."
"Really? Who?"
Clive looks at me as if he were deciding whether or not I am trustworthy. His lips press into a thin line, and then he puts his hands behind his back, his face smoothing out into a pleasant expression.
"He is with Charles Adams, Sir. The chief financial officer of Morgan Oil. Mr. Adams is also one of Mr. Morgan’s oldest friends, if I were to read between the lines of their business partnership."
The two men interact as though I no longer exist. I peer at the magnificent painting on the wall just behind me, a reproduction of one of Monet’s Water Lilies, if I am not mistaken. It’s enormous in scale and flanked by two overstuffed velvet chaises in delicate gold and amber hues.
I tilt my head, lost in thought, as I try to calculate the cost of just the painting and the chairs. Five thousand? Ten thousand? Yet these two don’t even glance at it, despite the painting looming quite largely over everything in this hallway. They have become used to the luxury, I suppose.
"Yes, I know Charles Adams. He has been by Remy’s side for ages. He is definitely an esteemed figure." Dare bobs his head, seeming a bit perplexed. "Any idea why he would be meeting with the head accountant of Morgan Oil?"
Clive shakes his head. "That I am afraid I do not know, sir. If you would like, I can take your coats. You can wait by the fire that I have laid in the living room."
"All right, all right." Dare shrugs out of his coat and hands it over.
I freeze, looking at Clive with some bewilderment. I need my coat as a kind of armor against the Morgans. Besides, my fists are balled inside my pockets. If I took the coat off, I would have to figure out what to do with my hands.
My lips twist. "I’ll keep my coat, thank you."
Clive lifts a brow but does not respond. He bows again and heads off, disappearing behind a door made of the same wood paneling in which the interior of the long hallway is clad.
Dare walks a little way down the hall, opening a door on the left. He strides through it, expecting me to follow. I frown and hurry after him into the living room. The name of the room made me think of something closed off and cozy.
But the room is vast and has a distinctly masculine energy.
There are huge, overstuffed leather couches lining the walls, wood paneling on almost every surface, and the mounted heads of deer, goats, and even a lion.
In one corner of the room stands a full-size stuffed bear, fangs and claws outstretched.
There are a few bookcases here and there, but most of the floor is taken up by plexiglass displays of smaller creatures that have been stuffed and are posed in the most menacing fashion imaginable.
Dare saunters over to a brown leather couch near the fireplace and sinks down onto it, a pout on his face. He watches me closely as I cross the room and take the seat furthest away from him on the same couch. Our gazes clash, and he raises an eyebrow.
"Would you like a drink?"
"A drink?" I shake my head. "No thanks. I’m here to do business, not have fun."
"Very well," he says. He gives me a little smirk and sits back, pursing his lips. His eyes glitter blue-green with menace.
"You know, in all my hurry to get you to agree to talk about my brother on tape, I haven’t asked you a very important question."
I cross my legs and tilt my head. I’m busy looking around, trying to guess how much the trophies that I see displayed in the room actually cost. Were they secondhand, perhaps? Or could I factor in a vacation and a hunting trip for every single one?
It would easily be in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.
"What question is that?" I ask.
"How was the sex?" He grins at me. "I have to say, Burn doesn’t seem like the kind of man who makes a satisfying lover. But I have been wrong before. So how was it?
I sputter, shocked. "What?"
"I’ve always wanted to know what women like about Burn. I mean, he is charming. But how does he even get women into bed? It cannot be very pleasant to someone so self-involved. He is verging on narcissistic, and I think it’s very telling."
"You can’t be serious. That’s very personal." Turning red as a beet, I scowl at him.
Inside, I am really beating myself up because I allowed myself to be put in this situation. Though I can’t see how I could’ve avoided it, I feel stupid.
Dare, on the other hand, seems to be thoroughly enjoying this moment. "I’m just testing the waters. You know you have to be quite explicit when I take your statement. You can’t just say that you had sex. I won't be satisfied with that."
I put a hand to my cheek, feeling like I might burst into flames from the embarrassment he is clearly causing on purpose. The knowing look in his eye makes it even worse.
Standing up, I start to pace the floor. "You know, that gives rise to another question. Why do you want to hear about your brother’s dirty laundry so badly?
You don’t seem to me as though you particularly enjoy spending time with me.
So, there must be a reason behind your insistence on getting everything on videotape. "
He puffs out his cheeks and shoots me a tiny glare. Then he shrugs, clearly irritated by the question. "What business is it of yours?"
Is it strange to say that I get a little pleasure from finding something that is so off-putting to him? I turn on my heel, trying out a smirk on him. It seems to make him fidget, his long fingers drumming rapidly on the brown leather of the couch.
Good. Turnabout is fair play, after all.
"So? Are you going to tell me? Or is it a secret?"
He snarls, jumping up off the couch with surprising speed and grace.
He moves towards me, opening his mouth to respond to the question.
But just then, I hear a distant voice. The voice is feminine, and it ends with a distinctive, tinkling laugh.
I turn my head and realize that Dare has frozen in place, his expression turning black like a thundercloud.
He gives himself a shake, and then he’s on me, grabbing me by the arms and hissing a direction at me. "Let’s go. Come with me."
I struggle against his grip, looking up into his distracted face.
He is looking over his shoulder, and I try to wrench my arms from his grip.
He looks at me then, snarling, showing me a glimpse of his perfect teeth.
But he doesn’t yell at me. Instead, he bends down, grabs me by the waist, and throws me over his shoulder.
My mouth opens and I make a garbled sound of shock, but he smacks me on the ass, hard enough to leave a mark.
My ass stings, and I release a howl of shock.
But before I say or do anything else, Dare opens a doorway that blends in with the rest of the wood paneling and docks inside a dark passageway.