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“He thought I was Kitty,” I said in a raw voice. For some reason, I didn’t want him to see the hot tears that were ready to spill over. He’d already seen me vulnerable, and I couldn’t bear his pity, not as I mourned a man I wasn’t allowed to claim any longer.
“He’s a tough old buzzard.” There was no kindness in Ian’s voice, but no harshness either. “He’ll pull through this. He’s made it through worse.”
“I don’t think so,” I said with a muted hiccup. I was not going to cry in front of him.
“Don’t look so bereft, Bella-Beast. It’s not as if you really cared about him. You’re about to come into a hefty bit of money—we all are. No need to be hypocritical about it.”
“Go to hell, Ian!” I snapped. “Who the hell are you to tell me who I do and don’t care about?”
“Because you don’t care about anyone but yourself, not when it comes right down to it. You’re a sociopath, a classic one, and crocodile tears aren’t going to convince me otherwise.” He tilted his head, surveying me. “Of course, you may end up with nothing at all. I don’t know if Granda was as enchanted by your little girl act as my brother is. He’s old enough to know better.”
I closed my eyes, trying to close him out. “Is money all you think about? I really don’t care if he’s left me anything. If he has, I’ll turn it over to you and the farm. I don’t want it.”
I’d managed to startle him. “Why the hell would you do that? You know you hate this place.”
There was no way Bella could hate Mariposa—no way anybody could not love the beautiful old house and the surrounding land, even someone as sophisticated as Bella with her jet-setting ways. But I could hardly protest—Bella hadn’t been back here in five years. What would Bella do? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to do it.
“Just leave me alone, Ian,” I said wearily. “You can believe any damned thing you want, as long as you leave me alone.” He was standing between me and the stairs, and there was no way I could get back to my room without passing him, coming too close to him, when that was the last thing I wanted.
He didn’t move, and the moment of silence stretched between us. And then he spoke. “Maybe you do care about the old man after all.”
“And maybe I don’t give a shit what you think. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” There was no reason those words should sound so loaded—he despised me, and right then, I was on my way to a healthy dislike in return.
He started to say something, then bit it back. “Granda’s not going anywhere,” he said finally. “Get some sleep.”
I walked past him, cool and elegant as the doppelganger inside my head, when he reached out and caught my arm. His skin was cool against my heated flesh, and I had a sudden flash of what it would be like, all that cool, beautiful skin pressed against mine. On top of me, pressing me down into the bed.
I froze, staring at him in the murky light of the hallway, and he stared back, neither of us saying a word. I could lean toward him, take a small step in his direction, and I knew where it would end. Where everything with Ian had been leading since I stepped off the plane, where everything had been leading since I was Podge and he was unexpectedly kind to me.
He wasn’t kind now. And sleeping with him wouldn’t fix anything but scratch an unexpectedly powerful itch. I wasn’t going to go there, no matter how much I wanted to, and that need was more powerful than anything I could remember feeling.
“Take your hands off of me,” I said in a low voice.
If anything, his grip tightened, and we stared at each other. I don’t know who moved first—I had the depressing thought that it was me. I went into his arms, and they closed around me, firm and tight, and all I could feel was his strength, his warmth, the very solidness of his existence as his strength flowed into me.
We stayed that way for a long time, neither of us saying a word. I know I was shaking, but his warmth enveloped me, and I felt like...like I had come home.
“What the fuck is going on?” Marcus’s wrathful voice broke through my momentary daze, and I tried to tear myself away. Ian wasn’t letting me go. In fact, he turned so that my back faced his brother, and he pressed my face against his shoulder.
“Comfort,” he said briefly, but his hold was inexorable, and I didn’t really want to break free.
“Find someone else to comfort!” Marcus snarled, and I finally broke free enough to look at him. As far as I could remember, Marcus and Ian had never fought. And now they were fighting over me?
Over Bella, I reminded myself. Always Bella. “Enough,” I said sharply. “Don’t be an asshole, Marcus.”
“I don’t want anyone groping my fiancée,” he said sulkily, his anger vanishing. “Not even my brother.”
“I’m not your fiancée,” I said. “It’s a sham to make Granda happy. We’re not really getting married.”
To my amazement, Marcus’s dark, sulky expression vanished, as if it had never been there. “Of course not,” he said cheerfully enough. “Sorry about that—I just got all caveman all of a sudden.”
Ian was watching him with an odd expression on his face, and I was still standing too close to him. I wanted to move closer. The silence between them grew uncomfortable, and I finally broke it with a Bella-like laugh. “All’s forgiven,” I said lightly.
“Go to bed, Bella,” Ian growled, still watching his brother.
Marcus smiled winningly. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I know Granda will be right as rain tomorrow morning and...”
“One doesn’t recover from a stroke overnight.” Ian’s voice was low and withering.
