The Golden Key Legacy Read online

  He cocked a brow, snaked an arm around her hips and jerked her close. Okay fine, he’d agreed to take her to meet the old man, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. “You’ve got a sassy mouth, you know that?”

  Batting her lashes, she gasped and placed a hand on her chest. “You offend me, sir. Never before has my character been slighted to such a degree.”

  Yeah, right. He chuckled. More like she heard the same thing from everyone she knew on a daily basis.

  He swept in for a kiss, and a hum of satisfaction vibrated his throat as she settled an arm around his shoulders. Her lips parted and he dove in full throttle, her breezy taste the perfect antidote to the frustration that had been tightening like a noose around his neck ever since he’d hung up on his father. He thrust his fingers under her hair and tugged her closer, angling her head to drink her in.

  And if anyone watched them, they could just go ahead soak up an eyeful. If his father’s lackeys recorded his activities from behind a set of tinted car windows, he really didn’t give a good god damn. Let them see how much he craved her. Let them report back how she’d shown up in his life and he’d fallen for her like a ton of bricks. Whatever details they wrote down didn’t matter. Because the moment his father had mentioned her name, the split second that rat bastard had expressed an interest in meeting his muse, Rhys had made a decision.

  From now on, Faedrah went nowhere alone.

  She pulled back from him and inhaled a shaky breath, her fingertips unsteady as she placed them on her lips. “I fear you have left me quite undone, Sir McEleod. My uncles are sure to look upon my face and immediately conclude the two of us have been about the pursuit of some illicit behavior.”

  “Good.” She was his, and the quicker everyone understood that, the better.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead and climbed off the bike, glancing up and down the street as he tugged his backpack from one of his saddle bags. None of the vehicles seemed out of place, but he tucked her to his side anyway and walked her to the front door of her uncles’ building.

  The minute the elevator slid closed, the sickening apprehension he’d been fighting all afternoon slammed into his stomach like he’d eaten a bad meal. Even though she was right. He swung the backpack onto his shoulder, the overhead numbers blinking their ascent to the seventeenth floor. Even though this was his chance to be the bigger man, accept the opportunity for what it was and try to salvage a relationship with his dad that had long since fizzled and died.

  His cheeks expanded as he exhaled a deep breath. God knew, it wasn’t Faedrah’s fault the idea of being the bigger man, especially in comparison to his father, held all the appeal of sticking his hand in a meat grinder. Or how, deep down, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he would have agreed to this sham of a dinner if she hadn’t insisted.

  He captured her hand and lifted her fingers to his lips. Christ, what a mess. Why in the hell hadn’t he kept his big trap shut? He should have never admitted the truth behind his painful childhood. His top priority should’ve been keeping her separate from the anger and hate.

  Then again, a lie of omission was still a lie, and a good chance existed she would have seen straight through his excuses. Besides, side-stepping her questions would have only named him the biggest hypocrite in the world. How could he insist she tell him everything she was hiding, only to hand her a big ol’ pile of bullshit the second she asked him the same?

  The elevator binged and the doors slid open, and he followed her lead down the hall.

  Shit. He couldn’t even blame Nate for supplying his cell number. The guy had been after him for years to call the old man, to try and reconcile their differences. Knowing Nate, he probably thought Leo showing an interest in Rhys’ work offered them the perfect opportunity to reopen a line of dialogue.

  Too bad Nate had never understood Rhys’ reluctance in showing, much less agreeing to sell, Faedrah’s pictures. Besides the obvious loss to him personally, doing so had put both of them on Leo’s radar, and that was the last place Rhys wanted them to be.

  She stopped at the front door of her uncles’ condo and slipped her key into the lock. At least he’d had the brains to keep his mouth shut about that. Once he’d confessed all the gory details—moving out of the penthouse his father paid for the moment he could afford it, the frustration that accompanied a lifetime of being overlooked and how today’s call was the first time they’d spoken in years—Faedrah had latched onto the details like a tick. Afterward, admitting the only way Leo could’ve known about her arrival was because he was having Rhys watched had seemed like a bad idea, especially once she adopted the whole fucked up mess as her personal crusade. For some screwy reason, she decided mending those broken fences was her responsibility, and said her help in rekindling the relationship could lead toward her “purpose”…though why that took precedence over the fact they belonged together, she refused to say.

  Swinging the door wide, she entered and called a greeting to her uncles. Bottom line was, he couldn’t bring himself to ruin her excitement. She hadn’t smiled as much in the past two days. Even though meeting the old man was bound to end in disappointment, he’d reluctantly agreed, but only on the condition he drive her to home to get ready. As long as Leo was sniffing around, Rhys wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

  “We’re in here, love!”

  Faedrah grabbed his hand and tugged him down the hall, backed into a swinging door and surprised him with a quick peck on the lips as they stepped into the kitchen.

  “At long last, the fair princess returns.” Forbes’ dark-haired lover turned away from stirring a pot on the stove, his eyes shifting from Faedrah to Rhys over a set of half-glasses. “And she’s brought her new beau. How nice.”

  The aroma of simmering garlic and red sauce made Rhys’ stomach grumble. He internally cursed, his focus pinned on Faedrah. He’d been so distracted by his father’s call and their ensuing discussion, he’d totally forgotten she was probably starved.

  “Good evening, my Lord Uncles.” She placed a kiss on Forbes’ cheek, rounded the table and offered the same greeting to Jon.

  “We assumed you’d be alone.” Forbes glanced at Rhys and twisted the stem of his wineglass, disrupting the red liquid against the sides. He cleared this throat. “You know, so you could bring us up to speed on everything?”

  Uh-uh. No way. Rhys crossed his arms. Whatever happened between him and Faedrah was private, and if Forbes didn’t like it that was just too damn bad. “Everything meaning what, exactly?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve not much to convey.” She slid a chair back from the table and sat, plucking a cheese cube off the silver tray in the center. “While I was given ample opportunity to examine Rhys’ portraits, they did not provide any answers other than that which I’d already suspected.” She popped the cheddar into her mouth.

  Rhys squinted. Wait, what were they talking about? “Answers to what?”

  Another glance at him, and Forbes twirled a hand, motioning Faedrah to continue. “Which is?”

  What the hell? Rhys scrubbed a hand along his five o’clock shadow. He was speaking, right? He was standing in the room? “That we belong together.”

  Everyone jerked their attention to him and he cocked a brow. There. That seemed to do the trick. He set his jaw as the seconds ticked by, daring any of them to contradict what he’d just said. Faedrah’s pink cheeks showed her surprise, but she didn’t look away from him. Even as Forbes and Jon shifted their focus to her, she kept their gazes locked. The same possession flowing through his veins emanated across the room from her, and the pressure in his chest gradually receded.

  Thank God. Of all the opinions present, hers mattered most, and the fact she didn’t outright contradict his claim gave him hope. With any luck, the hold he had on her, was steadily growing every bit as strong as the tight grip she had on him.

  “Told you.” Jon peeked at Forbes over his glasses before sinking his ladle back into the pot. He sighed and s
hook his head. “Ah, the power of love.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. Now they were quoting Huey Lewis and The News.

  “Be that as it may…” Faedrah held Rhys’ stare a second or two longer before facing Forbes. “’Twould seem Rhys’ portraits detail a chronicling of my life.”

  “Really?” He propped his elbow on the table and tapped out a rhythm with this fingertips. “That is odd.”

  Rhys grunted. Odd didn’t begin to cover it…or this conversation. Like an object just outside his reach, their discussion seemed to be anything but what it really was. As if they were all talking about something different, something they preferred not to specify as long as he stood within hearing range.

  “But, I’ve good news.” She nodded and smiled around the room. “Rhys’ father has asked us to attend him this evening at dinner.”

  “Meeting the in-laws already?” Jon swung open the oven door, waved a potholder to disperse the heat and reached inside to remove a metal pan. “Isn’t that a little quick on the uptake? It’s only been two days, love.”

  Uh-h-h try twenty years, bucko. Still, for Faedrah, the guy was right, and two days didn’t seem nearly long enough before bringing her within a hundred miles of Leo. “I tried to talk her out of it but, seeing as how Faedrah wants to go, we’re going.”

  “I do think this is the proper course, Uncle.” She stared hard at Forbes as if trying to psychically embed a message in his brain. “Given the circumstances, my aid in reestablishing Rhys’ relationship with his father seems quite sound.”

  “What circumstances are those?” No one even glanced his way. Rhys gritted his teeth and dropped his focus to his jeans, scanned his unzipped leather jacket, his white dego tee. Okay, he was definitely in the moment. He was living the now. Why was everyone ignoring him? God, they were driving him bat-shit crazy.

  “If I stay the course and follow my instincts, perchance our next steps will then be made clear.” Faedrah smiled, opening her palms to her sides.

  Rhys tossed a hand in the air. Fuck it. They weren’t going to answer his questions anyway. He snagged a piece of cheese off the tray and crammed it into his mouth.

  “All right.” Forbes nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down in a shrewd frown. “That makes sense.” He sat back and slid a calculating gaze up and down Faedrah’s body. “But you’re certainly not going to meet Chicago’s premiere real estate tycoon dressed like that.” He stood and flicked a hand toward Rhys. “Jon, be a lamb and show Rhys to the guest bedroom so he can change. The eggplant parmesan will just have to wait.”

  This sham was ridiculous. As if Leo had no clue of their location.

  Rhys thumbed Forbes’ address into his cell, sent the return text to his father and pocketed his phone inside his suit coat. Shit, at some point, McEleod Industries probably had a hand in developing this building.

  A sarcastic huff blurted from his lips. Not that arguing the point would do any good. And, hell, if dear old dad insisted on sending a car to pick them up, Rhys might as well play along. Besides, a chauffeur driven limo was better than a cab. It would save him doling out cash for the fare and spoil his girl the way she deserved.

  Pushing to his feet, he crooked a finger inside the collar of his white dress shirt and tugged at the choking stiffness of his tie. A monkey suit, of all things. Shit. If the call had been his to make, he’d have shown up at Leo’s in jeans, his rattiest t-shirt and his comfortable black boots. Dressing to impress had never worked with his father—which was the icing on the cake, considering he was such a pretentious son of a bitch. Regardless of what they wore, the asshole would make assumptions, which was just fine by Rhys. Because he wasn’t doing this for Leo. Fuck, no. Tonight’s dinner was for Faedrah. To make her happy.

  He’d try his damndest to remember that during the meal.

  He paced the living room, hands resting in his pants pockets, fingers fiddling with his keys. Dwelling wasn’t his style. In the past, stewing over his circumstances had never done him any good. But the day he’d moved into the warehouse, he’d also given up lying to himself, and he wasn’t about to start that bad habit up again now.

  A line of leather bound books filled one shelf of the entertainment center, and he tipped his head to scan the spines. The hard truth was, Faedrah’s lack of trust in him had bruised his pride. And after that conversation in the kitchen, discovering she’d shared her secrets with her uncles all while keeping him in the dark, his irritation had shot straight to the teeth-gnashing level of downright pissed.

  For Christ’s sake, she kissed him like her life depended on it. He turned and strolled toward the antique armoire stationed along the western wall. She’d not denied the fact they belonged together or corrected Jon when he’d used the word “love.” Rhys frowned. This piece of furniture was just plain weird. So what was the problem? What had he done or not done to make her so sketchy?

  He swiveled his shoulders to scan the rest of the room, all the furniture articulating the expensive quality of Forbes’ refined taste, and swung back to the armoire with a scowl. Hell, with its worn hinges, bowed sides and fire-charred edges, the thing stuck out like a sore thumb. It would’ve looked more at home at his place…or the city dump.

  The mirror hanging on the inside of the door was all fucked up. He lifted his hand and rapped a knuckle against the glass. His reflection was murky and dull, though Forbes had probably dropped a wad for the gilded frame.

  “Oh God, no.” Forbes strode up beside him, slammed the door and leaned against it with his back, crossing his arms. Faking a smile, he nodded over Rhys’ shoulder. “She’s ready.”

  He pivoted toward the hall, and all the blood in his body roared through his ears in its stampede to his groin.

  The sultry, cherry-red halter dress hugging Faedrah’s curves left little to the imagination, and the high slit showcasing her left thigh took care of the rest. Red stilettos sparkled on her feet like some sexed-up version of Dorothy’s shoes in her trip through Oz. Forbes had left her hair loose, the strands glossy and sleek, falling like a white waterfall past her bare shoulders.

  Rhys smiled and lifted his eyes to her face…and the bottom fell out of his god damn world.

  Panic danced through her eyes. Her red lips were parted in horror. She wrung her hands and glanced between Forbes and his lover. “Perchance ’twould be best if we departed?”

  “Right! Right!” The two men sprang into action, buzzing like bees around their queen, slapping a beaded bag into her hands and wrapping her in a red shawl. They spun her from the room and scooted Rhys out behind her, waving and flinging air kisses before slamming the front door.

  A second later, the deadbolt clicked into the latch.

  Rhys pinned Faedrah with an arched brow and she smiled weakly, fluttering a hand down the back of her hair. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his breast pocket to check the text. “Our ride’s downstairs.”

  “Excellent.” She bolted for the elevator without a backward glance.

  The trip to the bottom floor was quiet, and the yawning silence continued once he’d helped her into the car. He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply to get a grip on his temper. That entire scene had been complete bullshit. For Christ’s sake, the three of them had treated him like a full-blown idiot.

  “You are angry with me.”

  Damn straight, he was angry. He dropped his palm to his thigh and peered through the window, the soft light of the setting sun adding a surreal afterglow to the buildings and window shoppers strolling hand in hand down the street.

  He’d confided in her. Dammit, he’d told her things about his life he’d never shared with anyone…not even Nate. “I’m having a hard time reconciling the fact that you don’t trust me.”

  She reached across the seat for him, but he laced his fingers together between his thighs. With the way she was dressed, he had a hard enough time keeping his hands to himself. Getting lost in her kisses, exploring the temptations beneath that dress, wouldn’t solve
anything.

  Tossing her shawl and bag aside, she slid closer, and the clean scent of her skin wrapped around him like a fucking caress. The effect she had on him set his entire libido on hyper-drive.

  “Neither would I have accompanied you this evening, nor would my uncles have permitted such a thing if our trust in you was not sound.”

  He grunted. “My ego doesn’t need to be stroked, Faedrah. I’m not your pet. You can’t ignore me and expect me to be happy about it. My father used to treat me like that and I’ll be god damned if I’m going to accept the same behavior from you.”

  She eased her warm hand between his, unlocked his fingers and lifted them to her mouth. The tip of her tongue wet the end of his thumb as she nipped and rubbed it along her bottom lip.

  A thick pulse tightened his shaft. Sweat beaded along the nape of his neck, and he clenched his jaw. Christ, she was like a drug. One he would never get enough of no matter how high she made him.

  “’Tis not lack of trust which stays my tongue.” She released his hand and climbed onto his lap. The material of her shirt inched up her thighs, and a groan eked from his throat as she straddled his legs.

  He jammed his heels into the floorboards, fisting his hands to keep from grabbing her ass and forcing her back and forth over the side of his cock.

  “’Tis not disbelief in your character or a misguided conviction regarding the connection we share.” Cupping his cheeks in her palms, she lowered her forehead to his and stared him straight in the eye. “’Tis the circumstances behind my arrival, the fear you may think me daft which delays my explanation.” Her lips swept his in a kiss. “The fault lies not with you. ʼTis my weakness, the worry you may cast me aside once told. For all that your wrath wounds my heart, I would rather suffer the slings a thousand times over than to bear the torture of losing you to a tale you will surely not believe.”

  Je-sus Christ. Is that really what she thought? “Faedrah.” He tipped his head and flicked his tongue along her upper lip. “Nothing you could ever say would make me let go. Nothing.” He wrapped his hands around her knees and wrenched her higher up his thighs, centering them, seating her right where she belonged, where she ended and he began. She bit her bottom lip and whimpered, closing her eyes.