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Tomorrow morning, he mouthed the words.
“Tomorrow.” Rayne spoke into the phone. “Could you tell her I’ll stop by around ten?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” Rayne disconnected and tucked away the phone.
“We’ll take the helicopter to Chicago in the morning and rent a car at the airport,” Niko said in decisive tones, as if he was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.
Rayne nodded. It was the quickest solution. “I have a van we can use once we get to Chicago.”
“Okay.”
For the first time since she’d arrived in Kansas City, Rayne felt awkward as she lifted her hand to glance at her watch.
“I need to check into a hotel.”
“There’s no need for a hotel,” he instantly insisted. “You can stay at my condo.”
She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “I don’t want—”
“Or you can stay here,” he cut into her protest. “I use this place for out-of-town business acquaintances to stay if they spend the night. The sofa opens into a bed.” He nodded toward the opening to the bathroom. “You’ll find everything you need if you want to shower, and I can easily have dinner sent up.”
She hesitated. It was a sensible plan. She hadn’t brought an overnight bag, and it would be nice to have a fully stocked bathroom, not to mention the privacy of the secluded suite. But she wasn’t used to accepting help.
She didn’t want to be obligated. To anyone.
“Okay,” she finally forced herself to say. In part because she was just too tired to deal with locating a hotel and checking in.
Niko stepped forward, his eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t decipher as he brushed a finger down her cheek.
“It’s good to see you, Rayne. I’ve missed you.”
* * *
The next day they were back in Chicago before the morning rush hour. They drove to the hotel where Rayne had already booked a room for her brief stay in Chicago. She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a soft lemon sweater before they were back on the road, headed south.
They remained silent until they’d left behind the suburbs and were traveling down a County road that was lined by a patchwork of frozen fields. Rayne slowed, her gaze searching for the upcoming turn that would take them to the Orwell farm. The GPS on her phone wasn’t entirely dependable in such a remote location.
“So, this is the infamous van,” Niko finally broke the silence.
Rayne kept her gaze locked on the road. She was acutely aware of the large, male body settled in the seat next to her. The small span between them seemed to sizzle and snap with an unfamiliar heat. She told herself that it was because she wasn’t used to having anyone in her vehicle, but she knew that wasn’t true.
Only Niko possessed the ability to make her heart race and her stomach feel as if she’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff, freefalling to some unknown destination.
She cleared the strange lump from her throat. “Infamous?”
“I read an article in an art magazine that you travel around the country in a van until inspiration strikes,” he told her. “It sounded very mystical.”
Rayne snorted. She remembered the article. She’d been portrayed as some weird hermit who appeared from the mist with a van filled with masterpieces. If it hadn’t been for the need to earn a living, she wouldn’t bother to promote her art. She painted because she couldn’tnotpaint, not to be famous.
That was an unfortunate side effect.
“There’s nothing mystical about it,” she dryly assured him. “I drive, and occasionally I see something that captures my attention. When that happens I stop and make a quick sketch.” She shrugged. “That’s when I decide if I want to stay long enough to complete a painting.”
“Whatever your method, it produces magic,” he murmured. Heat touched her cheeks and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She hated compliments. They made her feel like a fraud. No doubt a reaction to her mother’s constant criticism. Easily sensing her discomfort, Niko smoothly changed the subject. “Did you know Brooke Orwell before you went to Austria?”
Rayne forced her muscles to relax. “My father was friends with Brooke’s parents.” She grimaced. “My real father, not Mark,” she clarified. “He brought me out to the farm a few times when I was young. I think they were the ones to suggest I go to St. Cecilia’s School for Girls after my mother remarried. Brooke was already there.”
