The Firstborn. Dani Sinclair
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was inside is probably gone by now.”
“Then it should be perfectly safe for me to have a look around—even without the bulletproof hide.”
“No, that’s okay.”
Bram couldn’t have said why her abrupt dismissal annoyed him so much, but he had an irrational urge to reach over and touch her. He stood abruptly and reached for a bag to dispose of the trash.
Startled by his sudden movement, Hayley jumped. To cover her reaction, she unfolded herself from the low chair with a gracefulness few women could have managed. Her unease wasn’t due exclusively to him, he realized as her gaze wandered past the circle of light to study the darkness that surrounded them.
“It’s getting late,” she told him. “I should go.”
She handed him her paper plate and their fingers collided. Bram felt her touch all the way down to that part of him her presence had already roused to life.
Hayley went still. Her eyes widened as if she felt the charge as well. He took a small measure of satisfaction from the fact that she nearly dropped everything in her hurry to pull back from that casual contact. Her large blue eyes clearly registered consternation.
“Sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy.”
Clearly nervous now, she pushed back a strand of hair that skimmed across her cheek. The action unintentionally invited him to take a closer look. Her skin was smooth and every bit as tempting as her fascinating hair. His fingers tightened on the plate to keep from reaching out to see how both would feel.
What the devil was he thinking? She was a kid. And a scared kid at that. Besides, the last thing he wanted was an entanglement of any kind. Hayley was the sort of woman with entanglement stamped all over her. If his libido wanted sex that badly, he could always find a casual partner. She didn’t qualify.
“Have a seat and finish your wine,” he ordered sharply. “I can handle the cleanup.”
He glimpsed a flash of hurt in her eyes as she stepped back.
“I’ve had enough wine for the evening. I should go back to the house. I’m sure Marcus and his wife are home by now.”
Bram took a firm grip on his self-control. He would not let her get to him on any level. “Not fond of the stepmother, huh?”
Her chin came up quickly. “Not that it’s any of your business, but his marriage to Eden doesn’t bother me one way or another.”
Right. That was why her unpolished nails were biting into her palms and her very kissable lips were set in a thin, unhappy line. Well, tons of families were dysfunctional these days. Her problems weren’t his. Time to back off before her nails drew blood.
“You’re right. None of my business.”
“I’m sorry. That was rude. Eden can be…difficult.”
“I imagine it isn’t easy having a stepmother.”
“Oh, she’s always been that way. She was Marcus’s nurse for years.”
“I didn’t realize your father was ill.”
“He’s not. Marcus was a doctor. Eden worked for him.”
Bram raised his eyebrows. “Was a doctor?”
“I don’t think he’s practicing medicine anymore. As you must have gathered, Marcus and I don’t have much of a relationship. I’m not looking forward to this particular reunion. Marcus didn’t know I was coming.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but her fingers didn’t relax.
Bram frowned. A lot of things were starting to bother him about this situation. “So you inherited Heartskeep from your mother?”
“My grandfather, actually. Our family has owned this land since the Civil War.”
“Impressive, but I’m confused. If it belonged to your maternal grandfather, why is your father in charge?”
“He’s not. He just thinks he is.” She tossed her head, drawing his attention to her hair once more. “It’s a long story.”
“I don’t have any pressing engagements tonight.”
For a minute, he thought she’d clam up, and he found he really did want to know more about her. He told himself it was because his job might depend on it, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason. When she shrugged lightly, he relaxed. She wasn’t going to walk away quite yet.
“Family tradition has always passed the land to the firstborn child. My mother was an only child, but my grandfather didn’t like Marcus. He bypassed tradition and named my mother’s firstborn child as his primary heir.”
“That would be you?”
“Yes. Since my sister and I were minors at the time, my grandfather wrote the will so that we wouldn’t inherit until we were twenty-five.”
“Isn’t it usually twenty-one?”
“It’s whatever the person wants to make it.” She shrugged lightly. “My grandfather had a bad heart. He knew if something happened to him before we were old enough to stand up for ourselves, Marcus might create problems for us.”
Again she shrugged. Despite his best intentions, Bram found himself watching the quick rise and fall of her breasts. When he realized she’d noticed, he turned his back and made a production of cleaning away the remains of their meal.
“How did you get interested in working with wrought iron?”
“My father and his brother were both blacksmiths. I used to hang around the forge a lot as a kid, watching them.”
Since this was an uncomfortable reminder of his father’s illness, Bram quickly changed the subject. “What do you do for a living, Hayley?”
“I’m working as an assistant art buyer for a gallery in Boston.”
“Yeah?”
“What?” she demanded.
“What, what? All I said was, yeah.”
“There is nothing wrong with being an assistant art buyer. I happen to have a degree in art from Wellesley College.” She planted her fists on her hips.
“I never said there was.”
She lifted her chin. “I also have an MBA.”
“Impressive.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Nope. But for someone with two degrees, I sense a little defensiveness about being an assistant art buyer.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Marcus and Eden think I’ve wasted my education, but I’m learning the business. One day I plan to open my own gallery.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Are you an artist as well?”
“No.”
“That was an emphatic no. Did Marcus and Eden tell you that, too?”
Unexpectedly, she giggled. The strangely appealing sound filled the clearing.
“My art teachers did. They tried to be kind, but I’m utterly hopeless. Ms. Sang suggested the only canvas appropriate to my particular talents would be the outside of a building.”
“Ouch.”
Hayley grinned, unabashed. “She’s right. I’ve got a great eye for color and design, and I can spot a marketable piece of art a hundred yards away, but they have trained monkeys with more ability to create art than me.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Definitely. Did you design the front gate yourself?”
“Yes,” he said warily.
“Now that’s genuine, marketable art.”