Rose grabbed her sister by the arm, trying to pull her into a private corner. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Not a damn thing.” Summer shook out of her grasp.
Rose looked over her sister’s shoulder and found what looked to be an empty hallway. “Come with me.”
“You always were a bossy thing.” Summer snagged a glass of champagne and sashayed across the room, garnering male attention that Rose had no desire to bask in. She’d already done enough tonight.
Rose ran to the first door, jiggling the knob without success. “It’s locked.”
“Move, little sister.” Summer bumped her with her hip. She placed the glass of champagne on the floor and began to work at the lock. A few seconds and a small click later, Summer stood, turning the knob with a flourish. Picking up her glass, she entered first.
The lights fairly blazed in the room, one filled with floor to ceiling shelves of books. Closing the door behind her, Rose leaned against it and took as deep of a breath as her costume would allow.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Summer drained the glass and threw it at the fireplace. Glass shattered as flames leapt into the air, dancing happily.
“Of course I am.” Rose wrapped her arms around her sister, surprised at how frail Summer felt. “You need to take better care of yourself. A strong wind could blow you away.”
Quick as lightening, Summer stepped back and crossed her arms over her mostly bare chest. The black dress she’d poured herself into clung to every curve of her willowy body. “I’ve come to get Ivy. Where is she? No one was at Strawberry Grove but Blackbeard. And he wasn’t telling.”
“Right this minute?”
“Why does it matter?”
Because Rose loved Ivy as her own. “Skye’s taking care of her at Jemma Leigh’s house.”
“Give me the address and I’ll go now.”
“No.” Summer gave her a funny look and Rose quickly added, “It’s after nine and she’s asleep. Better to wait until morning.”
“I’m leaving tonight. I have an apartment in Wilmington.”
“You’re taking Ivy away from here?” Rose blindly reached behind her and grabbed hold of the door knob, her palms damp and her heart in her throat.
“Of course I am. Did you really think I’d let my daughter grow up in Holland Springs?”
Rose opened and shut her mouth a couple of times before speaking. “I’d hoped we’d all be a family.” First Skye, now Ivy and Summer. Sasha. Her knees almost gave out, but she firmed them. Despite this her legs began to shake.
Summer glanced around the room, seemingly taking stock of it. “This is pretty.” She ran a finger over an ornate vase and pushed it over. Rose jumped as it crashed, hitting the rug and not breaking into a thousand pieces, thank God.
“Are you trying to get us thrown out?” Rose snatched up the vase and placed it carefully back in its spot on the bookshelf.
“I bet Lorelei isn’t happy you’re here.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t visit Harrison to screw him in his office.”
Her sister laughed and flames shot higher in the fireplace. “Harrison Collins is capable of many things, but incest isn’t one of them.”
Rose’s mouth dropped open. “Who told you?”
“I figured it out on my own.” Summer sat down on the leather sofa, sifted her fingers through a tasseled throw and looked over her shoulder. “Well, not entirely on my own.”
She followed her sister’s line of vision and she sagged against the desk. “Is that—”
“Your great-great grand-something or another.”
“How…when?”
“Crashed one of their yearly balls. They put me in this room as punishment until the sheriff came,” Summer said. “There’s a safe in the second bookcase, third down, fifth book from the left. It’s full of money and jewelry. Or was.”
Rose couldn’t take her eyes of the enormous portrait. The woman was dressed in pale pink, her black hair piled fashionably on top of her head. Laughing, vibrant blue eyes dominated her very pretty face as a demure smile titled her lips at the corners. At the bottom was a gold placard with the engraving Rosalyn Collins, 1822.
Was that where her mother had gotten her name? Not from her birthmark like she’d thought.
“Don’t worry, Rose, everything will work out for the best. The devil will finally get his due.”
The door opened, preventing Rose from asking her sister exactly what she meant by that.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding from everyone,” Gabriel said, his dark eyes flashing.
“Only you, angel.” Summer smirked.
“Can you take Summer home for me?” Rose asked him. “I’ll get another ride home.”
Summer’s lip curled. “He’s your date?”
“Better than any other man in town.” Except for one, her heart reminded her.
“So you say.” Summer twisted her lips and raked her eyes over him. “Some would find him…lacking in certain departments.”
Rose gave Gabriel an apologetic smile. “Sorry, she’s not herself right now.”
“Oh, I am completely myself.” Summer stood, her hips swaying with purpose as she approached Gabriel. She ran a hand over one of his broad shoulders and his face flushed. “Still wearing that chastity belt, preacher boy?”
“Why are you so concerned about my private life?” The lines of his body were stiff, tense.
Rose couldn’t help but feel as if this was a renewed conversation.
Blonde hair slid over Summer’s slender shoulders like a waterfall over dangerous rocks and his indigo eyes tracked every movement. “Don’t you mean lack of one?”
“I’m not in the mood for this, Summer,” he warned, but her sister stepped closer and her smile became hypnotic.
The fire blazed higher and a bead of sweat trickled between Rose’s breasts.
Summer stood on the balls of her feet, her lips almost touching Gabriel’s. “I can get you in the mood, angel.”
“Be quiet,” Rose cried, wanting to knock them both over the head. She grabbed Gabriel’s arm and pulled him away. “Can you take Summer home or not?”
Harrison Collins had taken it upon himself to give Sasha the grand tour.
Curious as to the house’s history, Sasha had agreed. Only he’d found a painting, small and definitely not fit for public consumption, in the billiards room of the mansion. A very blond ancestor of Rose Holland reclining upon a fainting couch wearing little more than a scrap of fabric and a birthmark on her inner thigh—in the familiar shape of a rose bud.
“Every Poppy Holland bears that mark,” Harrison said, the end of his cigar bright red. “It’s to warn the men away. Women like her aren’t fit for good society.”
“Is this little speech to warn me away?”
Harrison clapped him on the back. “Why would I need to do that?”
“All my parts are in proper working order and I’m male. Two requirements for seduction of or by Poppy Holland.”
“Thought you liked men.” Harrison clamped the cigar between his teeth.
If the banker thought to insult him, he had another thing coming. “Are you flirting with me, Harrison? I’m flattered, but unfortunately my affections are engaged elsewhere.”
Harrison’s eyes grew so wide that Sasha could only see the whites. “God, no.”
Sasha stepped forward, inches from Harrison’s face. “What a shame.” He smoothed the front of Harrison’s jacket. “I’ve always had a thing for men like you: powerful, horrid dresser…”
“Tour’s over,” Harrison snapped.
“But I wasn’t finished.” Before Sasha could spook him further, Harrison sprinted from the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. “Good riddance.”
Poppy Holland’s seductive smile mocked him. “But you m’dear…oh, what plans I have for you.” He removed the painting from the wall and tucked it under his arm. He made a quick trip to his car and secured it in the back seat before heading back inside.
As he retraced Rose’s steps, he heard voices and opened the door. The trio turned in perfect sync. His jaw threatened to clench, but he forced a charming smile and let his gaze rest on Rose. Or should he call her Poppy? Her hand clutched Gabriel’s arm.
“Very bad form to have a private party and not invite me.” Sasha adjusted his stance as the trio stared at him. Though he leaned casually against the door frame, blood pounded furiously in his ears as he focused on the little witch in the middle.
Rose’s hand fell away from Gabriel and Sasha began to breathe easier. Then he noticed the woman above the fireplace. He blinked. Was this some kind of sick joke?
Sasha strode to the painting and read the placard underneath, then stared up at the portrait. Same curly black hair, same beautiful blue eyes, and same last name as the man who owned the place. Sasha’s gut clenched and a minuscule amount of fury ebbed away. That was why Harrison Collins had looked so familiar to him at Market House. What a bastard the man was to prey on his daughter’s vulnerabilities.
Honestly, should he be surprised at anything anyone did?
“You never did introduce us, Rose,” Summer purred and Sasha turned to regard the blonde.
He’d recognized Ivy’s mother as soon as she sauntered in, hell-bent on embarrassing Rose or herself, he wasn’t sure. However, two things were very clear: one, Summer was extremely beautiful, a fashion designer’s dream with her long legs, torso and arms. Two, he wouldn’t touch her with his pinky finger—not only because she was Rose’s sister, but because he’d seen that look before.
Every morning for the past five years it had stared back at him in the mirror.
“Alexander Romanov,” Rose said, gesturing toward him, then her sister. “This is my sister, Summer.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” he drawled.
Summer brushed past Gabriel, her hips saying ‘come closer’ while her eyes screamed ‘run like hell in the opposite direction’. Crimson nails tipped in black trailed down Sasha’s coat sleeve and he repressed a shudder.
She leaned closer, whispering, “Performing curses may not be in my sister’s repertoire, but it is in mine.”
Halloween really did bring out the best in people. He leaned back and looked her in the eye, pulling out the cross necklace. “Sorry, dear, but you can’t touch me.”
Summer’s lips peeled back from her teeth, but before she could curse him or bite his ear off, Gabriel pulled her away.
“Let’s go home,” Gabriel urged.
“Asking me to spend the night, angel?” Summer cooed, brown eyes wide as her lashes fluttered.
Gabriel steered her toward the door. “You think that’s the first time someone’s tried giving me that nickname? You’re starting to slip, honey.”
Summer’s smile never faltered. “I’m sure a man like you would catch me if I did. Show me the errors of my ways so I could get down on my knees for you and confess my sins. Maybe demonstrate the ones I’m most proud of.”
“Your mascara’s smeared.” Gabriel pulled a tissue from his pocket and held it out to her.
Summer stared down at his hand for a long minute before taking it from him. Her shoulders drooped a little. “Drive me home, angel.”
After the door shut behind the couple, Rose said, “I can’t believe she let him get the last word.”
What in the hell was she talking about? “Your sister ordered him to take her home.” Shimmering blue eyes met his, and he sucked in a breath. Jesus. Summer was here for Ivy. “Sweetheart, will you be all right?”
“Yes-no…I don’t know.”She dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders rigid. “I need to leave, but I can’t.”
Whatever he’d been about to say slipped from his mind as her entire body began to shake. He crossed the small distance between them and guided her to the leather sofa by the fireplace, pulling her into his lap. Rubbing her back, he waited for her to cry. But the tears never came. Instead she remained rigid as ever, even as great shudders racked her delicate frame.
After many minutes had passed, she finally relaxed against him, burying her face into his neck and rubbing the chain around it with the tips of her fingers. He wrapped a cautious arm around her, welcoming the sweet warmth of her body. “You know, you’re the first person—outside of my family—that knows the truth about me. I haven’t been able to trust anyone in a very long time.”
“I trusted you, too.”
Her words shattered him. Wounded him as they should. Thinking of the painting in his car, he said, “Not entirely.”
“I trusted you with the important things: My family and my—me.”
He wanted her trust again. He needed it. Hell, he needed her. Playing with the tendrils of hair that had escaped its confines, he trailed his lips down the line of her stubborn jaw. “I tainted the samples this afternoon—with what I’m not telling, but I swear to God my uncle can’t hurt you now.” He nibbled at her bottom lip. “No one can take away your land. The spring is worthless.”
“Don’t,” she exhaled on a ragged breath. “I can’t think straight around you.”
Cursing himself for being a million times a fool, he lifted her away from him so that she reclined against the side of the sofa.
Massive mistake.
