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The moment our gazes locked, he froze.
Grey eyes.
Stern mouth.
Stare of a beast.
He shared my unfortunate sharp widow’s peak, same short dark hair, same five o’clock shadow that refused to be tamed by a razor, no matter how many times I shaved.
His jaw he’d inherited from our sadistic father, his cheekbones from an unfamiliar slave. His brows furrowed, casting his eyes in deeper shadows. His fists curled, matching mine, sensing my unwelcome without saying a word.
Neither of us spoke for the longest moment. Both assessing. Both forming conclusions on faces alone.
Finally, he said, “Elle disait la verité.” (She was telling the truth.)
I stiffened. Who was telling the truth? His mother? Some woman I’d done my best to protect, even at a personal cost?
“Je suis désolé.” (I’m sorry.) He tipped his chin, fighting for social etiquette. “Je suis désolé de faire irruption comme ça mais… je n’avais pas le choix.” (I’m sorry to barge in like this but…I didn’t have a choice.)
Suzette was right. His French was impeccable, but the faintest English accent lurked beneath. Which slave was he whelped to? Which one broke her promise and told him about me?
A headache bloomed in my temples as I tried to recall the numerous women my father kept. Some from Asia, some from Europe, others from far off continents. There’d been a couple from the United Kingdom but not many.
Prowling forward, I did my best to keep my voice civil. “You may speak in English.”
“Okay…” He never took his eyes off me as I chose one of the matching wingbacks and sat stiffly. Copying me, he took the other chair, our bodies facing one another, the empty fireplace full of shadows. “I, eh…there’s no easy way to say this so—”
“You’re the son of a slave. She told you about your origins and that my father was the cunt who created you. Am I correct?”
He stiffened. Clearing his throat, he nodded once. “That’s about the gist of it.”
“And why did you think you’d be welcome here?”
His eyes narrowed. “Because we’re blood. Because I wanted to meet my—”
“We are not brothers. We merely share the unfortunate disease of similar DNA.”
“It’s because of that DNA that I’m here.”
“In a place where you’re not wanted.”
Temper flared over his face. “Look, all I’m after is—”
“Money?”
His shoulders swooped back as if I’d offended him. “No. Fuck. Is that what you think? That I’ve come here with my hand out?”
“Didn’t you? You must’ve researched me. You must know who I am if you’ve been clever enough to find my personal address.”
The faintest tinge of embarrassment covered his cheeks. “I’ll admit, I did spend a fair deal of time learning what I could about you.”
I went deathly still. “And…what did you find out?”
He studied my coiled muscles. He read my body language correctly: understanding I was moments away from snapping and throwing him out of my home.
Would he run or would he fight?
Leaning back in the chair, doing his best to project calm, he said, “You’re successful. Beyond successful. Your company is worth billions. You own real estate globally. On paper, you’re nothing more than a bigshot corporate bastard who’s probably done his fair share of dodgy dealings but…”
