JAMES SAT IN his living room for a long time that evening, watching TV on mute. He wasn’t focusing on the television—his mind was back there in the moonlight with Isabel.
He’d most certainly crossed the line there. When George said that he expected him not to go breaking any hearts, he was pretty sure the old guy was thinking about that exact scenario, and Isabel had already warned him that George didn’t keep his business and personal as separate as he pretended.
But she’d kissed him back. That knowledge gave him a rush of elation. He didn’t know why he’d done it… It was a cocktail of things, like the fact that he’d hurt her by following her father’s orders—he’d seen it in the tremor in her chin when she’d been trying to stare him down as if she didn’t care. She had cared, and he had wounded her, and he couldn’t be the guy who stabbed her that deeply. Add to that a cool summer night, the spattering of stars that had twinkled overhead, the cool breeze pushing them closer together for warmth and the glisten of moonlight in those dewy eyes of hers… He’d been standing alone in the dark with Isabel Baxter—wasn’t that enough?
It had felt so right in the moment, and it had been the single stupidest thing he’d done so far.
He rubbed his hands over his face. He’d have to face her. That was the problem. If they’d shared a kiss in the moonlight and never had to see each other again, it would have been perfect. But they’d most certainly see each other again, and he’d have to see exactly how she really felt about him. He wasn’t sure he was up for that. A moment of weakness didn’t mean that she wouldn’t completely regret it.
He wasn’t that guy, the kind who stole kisses when the mood seemed right. That was another thing that was irritating him. He and Izzy had no future. Attraction—absolutely—but no future. So why had he jeopardized his job with George Baxter to steal a kiss with his daughter?
His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it to see that his sister had sent him another email. He touched the screen, pulling it up so he could read it. It was a link to a job page for Haggerston.
“Hint taken, Jenny,” he murmured with a wry smile.
She wanted a job. She wanted to contribute, be a part of something bigger than herself. He understood that feeling all too well. Maybe he could convince her to take a sabbatical from the job hunt—maybe to take up a hobby or something.
But the jolt back into reality brought with it a wave of guilt. Jenny was part of the package for any woman he made a life with, and he had no business twisting up people’s emotions. He knew where he stood. He knew what he needed, and he resolutely refused to be the kind of man who jerked a woman around for his own entertainment.
Isabel was probably both tougher and more vulnerable than he was giving her credit for, but Jenny wasn’t. What you saw was what you got with Jenny, and she looked to him to take care of her.
He could not kiss Isabel again.
* * *
ISABEL GOT INTO her SUV and drove out to her father’s house shortly after James left. Her heart was still pounding just a little faster after that kiss. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before, but there had been something about the way he’d held her—so gently, so firmly—that she’d never experienced. How was it even fair that a kiss like that had come from the family lawyer?
She knew better than to mix business with pleasure. She’d learned that the hard way with Andrew, and if she had to break off a relationship with James, too, it would affect more than her heart—it would affect business. She could hear her father’s opinion as if he was sitting right next to her: Izzy, keep it separate. Don’t let the man you date know anything about your money. Let him guess. Let him wonder. Just never let him know anything for a fact. And never mix romance with the legal team. Let a man do his job! Seriously, Izzy! Do I even have to tell you this?
No, he didn’t. And she’d never tell her father what had happened this evening. It wasn’t his business, anyway. Her father had asked James to take her out, and it had gone a little further than her father intended. So this one was his fault, if someone had to be blamed.
Isabel pulled into the drive and followed the curves around to the big, three-story house. The lights on the lower level were all off, but several lights glowed in the windows upstairs, so she knew that her father was still up.
The timing wasn’t convenient, though.
She parked the car and turned off the engine, uncertain if she should disturb them or not. It wasn’t like old times when it was just her father in that house, and she could come and go as she pleased. This was Britney’s home now, too.
Isabel grimaced at the thought, not that her feelings mattered at all. It was what it was.
The porch light flicked on and the front door opened, revealing her father in his bathrobe. He shaded his eyes.
“What are you doing out there?” he barked.
“Deciding if I was too late to knock,” she said, getting out of her vehicle and slamming the door behind her. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he grumbled, but he stood back and gestured her in. “Come in, come in. What’s going on?”
“I had dinner with James.”
“Oh?” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his face. He ambled into the sitting room, and they sank into their traditional spots—her father in his armchair and Isabel on the couch. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Don’t ever try to set me up again, Dad.”
“Who says I did?”
“I say you did!” she retorted. “Don’t meddle, do you hear me?”
Her father didn’t answer, and she knew better than to try to force him. Instead she added, “Maybe instead we could talk about his sister’s house. You’re very generous with my property.”
At those words, her father froze. He shut his eyes, then he heaved a deep sigh.
“Yes, that,” he said. “I should have mentioned it.”
“You gave away my house?” she asked incredulously. It wasn’t her house, exactly. The deed was still in her father’s name, but when he purchased that particular house, he’d told her that it would be hers when she got old enough. That it was to be her home to do with as she pleased.
“I didn’t give it away.” He scrubbed a hand through his sparse hair. “I simply allowed the girls to live there rent-free. You were in New York, and it didn’t look like you’d be coming back here anytime soon.”
“You couldn’t have handed over a different piece of property?” she asked. Her annoyance was petty, and she knew it, but there was more to this than a simple rental agreement.
“The others were rented already. And that one—” He cleared his throat. “Those young ladies needed to live in a safe part of town. I bought that house for you because of the location. Safety first.”
“How long ago was this?” she asked.
“Three years. Back then, you didn’t care what I was doing here. You didn’t care about that house.”
He was right. She’d been driving a Bentley, dating a funds manager for a major bank and not looking back. “I just wish you’d told me,” she said.
“I should have.” He nodded slowly. “That was about the time that I started dating Britney, and…”
She understood all too well. That had been an awkward time, and her father had hidden his new relationship for the better part of a year. When he asked Britney to marry him, he’d been forced to tell his daughter, and it had been ugly. Things had been said.
“Okay, well, apparently there are some property taxes due, and the letter was sent to the house instead of to you.”
“What?” He scowled. “Those idiots at city hall…”
“Probably some clerical error,” she agreed. “I thought I’d let you know, because James was about to pay it himself.”
“Pay my taxes?” he scoffed. “Ridiculous. I’ll take care of it.”
“That’s what I told him.” She eyed him cautiously, and silence stretched between them. Her father heaved a sigh and shot her an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said at last.
“It’s okay.” She leaned back into the soft pillows of the sofa. “A lot has changed.”
He nodded and grunted. “Life does that, Princess.”
“You know what I miss?” she asked quietly.
“Hmm?”
“That painting of you and mom that used to hang over the mantel.” She looked over at the modern monstrosity that beamed down on them. “Where is it?”
“In the attic. Do you want it?”
“I have no room for it,” she admitted grudgingly.
“That’s why you need a decent home,” her father said, shaking his head. “I have no idea why you decided to live in that…that dollhouse.”
Isabel laughed. “I like it.”
“There’s no room for anything.”
“I like that, too.”
Her father sighed. “I’ll never understand you, Izzy. It’s like you find the one thing that will drive me the craziest, and that’s what you commit to.” He waved his hand through the air in dismissal. “So are we okay now?”
Isabel nodded. “We’re fine.”
“Do you want to live in that house?” he asked. “I can relocate the renters—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine where I am. Let them stay there.”
Her father nodded, his flinty eyes locked on her. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, well…” He pushed himself forward with a grunt. “It’s late.”
“Wait.”
There was one more thing that had been nagging at Isabel, and she opened her purse and pulled out the photo of the baby that she’d found behind the picture of her parents. For some reason, she hadn’t been able to forget that little, newborn face, and she wasn’t sure why. She held out the picture.
“Whose baby is this?” she asked.
“What?” Her father took the picture between two stubby fingers, but when his gaze focused, his face turned ashen and he let his hand drop, the picture still pinched in his grip.
Isabel jumped to her feet, alarmed. Was he having a heart attack or something?
“Dad, are you okay?”
He nodded dumbly and handed back the photo. “Don’t know who that is.”
“You look sick. Should I call Britney?”
“No!” he barked.
“So you don’t know who this baby is?” she pressed. “I just wondered. I mean, this is Mom. I recognize the necklace.” She took the picture back. “Were you godparents to this baby or something?”
“Where did you find it?” he asked suspiciously.
“It was behind that picture of you and Mom that was in that silver frame. Remember? It came loose, and when I opened it, I found this picture behind it. I didn’t know why Mom would hide it back there.”
“Who says she hid it?” he retorted, anger flashing in his small eyes.
“Just a guess.” Isabel frowned. “Dad, who is this baby?”
“I said I don’t know,” he snapped. “Do you think I’m lying?”
Frankly, she did. She’d never seen her father get so rattled as when he looked at that photo, but he wasn’t about to tell her anything tonight.
“I just thought I’d ask.” She sighed. “Okay, well, I guess I should get going.”
Isabel tucked the photo back into her purse and headed for the door. She felt guilty, somehow. She’d caused something, and she couldn’t even say what it was, but her father’s reaction had scared her. This baby wasn’t just familiar to her father—this baby mattered more deeply than she’d ever guessed. But whose was it? And how many more secrets was her father harboring?
“Thanks for coming by,” her father said gruffly. “Take care.”
“Dad, I—” Isabel turned back as she reached the door, but the words caught in her throat. Standing at the top of the stairs, Britney stood in a long, white nightgown, her hand cradling the bottom of her growing belly. She stood utterly still, staring down at them nervously.
“Hi, Britney,” Isabel said. “I’m sorry to come by so late.”
Britney didn’t answer aloud, but she smiled wanly, and after a moment, Isabel pulled open the front door.
I’ve overstayed my welcome.
“Well, good night,” she said quickly, and plunged out into the cool evening.
“Good night. Drive safe, Princess.”
The door clicked shut behind her. She stood motionless for a moment on the porch, trying to sort through all of this new information, but nothing made sense. Nothing added up. Her father didn’t normally give people free rent for years on end. That wasn’t part of his nature. And that picture…
She heaved a sigh and trotted down the stairs and headed to her car. Only when she’d started her vehicle and begun to back up did the porch light flick off.
At the very least, her father had watched to make sure she got out safely. That was something.