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“I’m still not sure why you dragged me out here,” Rayne said.
“I think you and Niko should meet.”
“Why? Is he an artist?”
“No. He’s the heir apparent to the family business.” Nat wrinkled her nose. “Poor guy.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s being groomed to take over the reins whether he wants to or not,” Nat explained. “Someone has to keep the rest of us rolling in cash.”
Rayne wasn’t entirely sure what Nat’s family did for their wealth. She knew they were based in Kansas City, Missouri, and it had something to do with rental cars.
“So why do you think we should meet?”
“He saw your series of paintings of the Salzach River that the nuns have hanging in the library,” Nat explained. “He thought they were brilliant.”
Rayne flushed. The pictures that captured the river during the four different seasons was some of her best work so far. She’d taken Nat’s advice, and while she still preferred to be in the background, she’d started using the emotions she kept tightly leashed to add depth and meaning to her landscapes. It had made all the difference.
“Brilliant,” she repeated the word, letting it nestle into the center of her soul.
“His exact word,” Nat assured her.
Rayne turned her head, discovering Niko’s piercing gaze studying her with a strange intensity. The world seemed to shift beneath her feet.
“Oh.”
“He’s even cuter now, isn’t he?” Nat teased.
“Maybe.”
“Come on.” Hooking their arms together, Nat pulled her toward the boy who made her heart race.
Kansas City, Missouri
Now
Niko Scantlin was pacing from one end of his Kansas City office to the other. It had been decorated by his father to resemble an English country manor house. Lots of dark wood, sturdy furnishings, and handwoven rugs. When Ingram Scantlin had started his fleet of rental cars, he’d wanted to give the impression his company had been around for a century, not a few months. The businesses who hired his services wanted solid dependability at a reasonable price. And that was what Scantlin Fleets offered. And even when Niko had taken over and expanded into real estate, he’d left the office as his father wanted it. It didn’t really matter to him. As long as he had a clear view of the downtown plaza with the large fountains and iconic Spanish-style architecture, he was happy.
After what felt like an eternity he could hear the soft sound of his secretary’s voice in the reception area before the door was pushed open and Rayne Taylor appeared.
His mouth went ridiculously dry as she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. He’d seen pictures of her over the years. Her reputation as one of America’s up-and-coming artists meant she was in the news on a regular basis. But he felt as if the air was being squeezed from his lungs as she set an object on a low coffee table and stripped off her heavy parka. She was wearing a soft sweater and a pair of jeans that clung to her curves. Her long, glossy hair was tangled from the wind and tumbled down her back with glorious abandon, and her cheeks were rosy from the chilled air. It was her eyes, however, that had always captured his attention. From the very first time he’d caught sight of them.
The misty gray held a depth of emotion that she kept fiercely hidden away. The urge to tap into those passions had haunted him since he was sixteen.
Unfortunately, Nat’s death had destroyed any hope for a future between them.
A hesitant smile touched her lips, as if unsure of her welcome. “Hello, Niko. It’s been a long time.”
“Rayne.” He moved forward, grabbing her hands to give them a gentle squeeze. The sight of her stirred a nostalgic warmth. A memory of visiting St. Cecilia’s School for Girls and watching Nat and Rayne together. His sister as bright and vivid as the sun, and at her side Rayne, as calm and mysterious as the moon. “How was the flight?”
“Quick,” she assured him. “When I called you I didn’t expect you to send a helicopter.”
He shrugged. When he’d picked up his phone to hear Rayne’s voice, he’d been stunned. He’d never expected to hear from her after he’d cornered her and demanded to know who wanted his sister dead. The poor girl had been in shock after finding Natalie’s body and his angry attack hadn’t helped.
In his defense, he’d been dealing with his own shock. And a brutal sense of loss that had never fully healed.
“It’s a short trip,” he said, referring to the private chopper he’d sent to pick up Rayne from Chicago. “And you sounded upset when you reached out to me.”
