Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
The door across the hall opened and out stepped Paige, bundled in a fuzzy pink robe, her hair—usually constrained in a braid or a bun—falling down her back in a riot of dark, shiny curls. Her unusual light-blue eyes, icy like a husky’s with an intriguing rim of navy blue, fixed on me, and she went still. In the dim glow of the sconces, I caught pink flares of color washing across her cheeks.
She met my eyes for a split second, then looked away. “I was going to flip the breaker,” she said.
“Your power’s out too?” I asked.
She answered with a sharp nod, her eyes fixed on the floorboards at my feet.
“I’ve got it,” I said. The breaker box was in the back of a closet at the end of the hall. It would be dark and cramped with brooms and mops. “Stay right there.”
It was quick work to duck into the closet, pry open the breaker box, and feel for the two switches flipped the wrong way. Hoping this worked, I flipped them back. By the time I stepped into the hall, Paige was already disappearing into her room, her quiet “Thanks” floating behind her as her door shut with a decisive click.
I didn’t have to guess if Paige thought I’d murdered my father. The way she couldn’t meet my eyes or force out more than a word or two in my company told me all I needed to know. And why should it burn, coming from Paige? I barely knew her. I didn’t think we’d spoken more than a sentence to each other since I’d come home. Why would we?
It was better if Paige McKenna thought I was a killer. I didn’t need to know her well to know she deserved far better than me. And I had no business thinking about any woman until I figured out the rest of my life. Maybe not even then. God knew, so far, I hadn’t had much luck picking women.
I closed my door, tossed the towel into the bathroom, and slid between my sheets. Sleep didn’t come. I lay there looking at the plaster ceiling, watching the light fixture above sway in a breeze I couldn’t feel. I wanted to be free—free of the past, free of my father’s murder. I just didn’t know how to get there. Not yet. But I would. And once I was free, I could figure out what I really wanted.
The image of Paige McKenna flashed into my mind. Those dark curls that looked so soft. Her haunting ice-blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her long legs.
I tried to banish her image from my mind. I was not going to lay a finger on my brother’s nanny. I didn’t know her exact age, but the innocence in her eyes told me it didn’t matter. She was way too young for me. So many reasons I couldn’t have Paige McKenna. But as sleep finally took me under, it was her I reached for in my dreams.
Chapter Three
FORD
Ipaused outside the door to Griffen’s office, my hand raised to knock and my gut clenching in a quick pulse of nerves. Growing up, this had been my father’s office. For a brief period, before I’d gotten him exiled, our father had shared it with Griffen and me. Once Griffen was gone, my father knew he had me exactly where he wanted me. After all, I’d gotten rid of my only ally. And if I wanted to keep all I’d gained, I needed Prentice’s goodwill. Unfortunate that I hadn’t seen the trap until I’d walked into it. Over the years, I’d learned to hate this room.
Now, this office was Griffen’s, Hope’s, and Royal’s. But really, it was Griffen’s. Everything was Griffen’s, as it was always meant to be. I’d once dreamed of running Sawyer Enterprises from the big desk. I didn’t want that anymore, and by all reports, Griffen, Hope, and Royal were doing a bang-up job. I was happy for them. I was. But something about walking into this office as an interloper burned, and I swallowed hard to drive the feeling away.
I knocked on the door, a quick triple rap that left my knuckles stinging and my spine a little straighter. I was not a coward. Yes, I’d fucked up, but I wasn’t running from my mistakes. It was time I took back the reins of my life. Even if I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going with it.
“Come in,” Griffen called.
I turned the handle and pushed open the heavy door, surprised to find Griffen pacing in front of the fireplace. His daughter Stella, a year old this past week, was cradled in his arms, both their faces flushed. Stella was missing her usual sweet expression, her little face twisted in a bright red scowl, eyes glassy with angry tears.