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The rain started coming down harder again. She cut the engine, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat and bolted for the mega-mansion’s front door before it decided to pour again. Peering up, she couldn’t see any lights on in the house, not that she expected to. Most people were asleep at this hour. Performers were a different breed.
Not wanting to wake anyone, she tried the door, even though she was sure it would be locked against the inevitable psycho with a shotgun who favored remote lake areas.
The door wasn’t locked.
Sweet Jesus, these Meyers were certifiable.
Making her way inside the house, she shut the storm out behind her, locking the door as any sensible person would, and found a switch that bathed the entry in warm light. Wow. Look at this chilly museum of a place. She tried to picture Jonas as a kid, probably not allowed to bring sand or candy inside. Feeling as if you weren’t welcome or didn’t belong in your own home sucked. She should know.
No wonder he leaned toward the conservative side. A place like this would beat the wildness out of anyone. It was a beach house, for heaven’s sake. Even her uptight parents decorated their place in the Hamptons with summery stuff. Nautical print rugs, painted buoys and model ships, seashell upholstery on the furniture, paintings of oceanscapes and sailboats on the walls. No big shock that Jonas wanted to sell. This wasn’t a house you fell in love with. He’d mentioned buying a place on Cape Cod. She could seriously get behind that concept.
Climbing the stairs, she heard a door open and saw a man stumble out into the hallway. Not Jonas. Erik, then. Drunk? Or sleepy?
“Hello?” She reached the landing in time to see him turn toward her voice.
Well. Jonas’s brother was adorable. Not that she was surprised, given his success with women. Kind of a more casual, blonder version of Jonas, carrying a few more pounds that softened him and made him seem more approachable. The kind of guy you’d slap on the back instead of shake hands with.
“I’m Sandra McKinley.”
“Sandra.” He blinked his baby blues in confusion. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
She spread her hands to say whatcha-gonna-do, adopting the South Boston persona she’d created for herself so long ago that it was nearly instinctive. “Tomorrow is today now. And I’m here.”
“What time is it?”
“Two a.m. Where’s Jonas?”
“Not coming until tomorrow. I mean today.”
“No, baby, he’s here now.”
“Hmm.” His eyes focused on her, his mouth twisted in a half grin. Cute. Definitely cute. A very boyish thirty. “Baby?”
“You don’t like it?” She shrugged. “I’ll call you something else.”
“Erik works.” He put his hands on his hips, looking swagger-confident in an old T-shirt and boxers. “I remember now, Jonas texted me about showing up early.”
“Uh-huh. Where does he sleep? East wing? West wing? North? South? How many wings you got in this place?”
He laughed easily. “The house too much for you, baby?”
“Not for me.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing’s too much for me.”
“Well, well.” He took a step closer and pointed down the hall, fully alert now. Not drunk then, just groggy. “Jonas usually sleeps in the last room there on the right. I’m sure he’d love you to join him. If you want your own room, there’s one made up for you across the hall.”
She was only mildly surprised that he thought they were still lovers. Erik and Jonas weren’t the closest of brothers. And Jonas wasn’t big on sharing personal information.
“Thanks. Anything else I need to know?”
“Bathroom’s behind me on the left. No, your right. Towels are in the closet opposite if there aren’t any in your room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off her. “Should be a robe in your room, too.”
Sandra stared back, expecting him to drop his gaze. He didn’t. “What’s the matter, you never seen a woman before?”
“Thousands.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “But Jonas didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t tell you what?” She let her arms drop to her sides, sure she’d just handed him the opportunity for one of his favorite lines.
Here it came.
“That you were so beautiful. So exotic, like Salma Hayek. And so...” He gestured toward her body. “Beautiful.”
“Ah, I see.” She pretended complete nonchalance, but deep down she was pleased even knowing his reputation as a flatterer. “Should he have told you?”
