Page 34 of Beautiful Revenge

I need to make a phone call. If Devon knows where my dad is, then I did a shit job of covering my tracks.

“It’s late. I should get back to the room,” I mutter and start my way up the path we just walked in silence. And to think I demanded to know what he wanted to talk about. I would kill to return to that silence now.

Devon reaches out and has no trouble tagging me by the forearm. “I’m not done talking.”

His touch startles me in a way I don’t recognize. My pulse races, and my breath shallows despite our slow, leisurely walk.

I jerk my arm from his embrace. If I have to scream the garden down, I will. My need to call Chrissie trumps everything else. “I’m done. This was a bad idea. I never should’ve stayed with you.”

He moves in front of me and doesn’t allow me anypersonal space. “Why did you do it? Does it have to do with the rat bastard?”

I close my eyes and will the risotto in my stomach not to churn. “Please. I need to make a phone call.”

“To whom? I thought your father was incoherent,” he pressures me for information. “There’s no need to deny it, Harlow. I know where he is, and it tracks straight back to you.”

No.

I was careful. So damned careful.

My mind whirls like a tornado.

“I’m not doing this.” I put my hands to his chest and push to get by him. “I have to go.”

“Talk to me, Harlow.” He grabs my bicep this time. “Did you expect me to know this and not tell you when you’re sleeping in the next room? What you see is what you get when it comes to me. I don’t mince words or dish out bullshit.”

Tears build behind my eyes. “Then why did you look into my father in the first place? It’s none of your business.”

He pulls in a deep breath and releases my arm when I stop fighting or try to run off into the night. “Since I’ve met you, things haven’t exactly gone your way. At least that’s what it seems like from the outside. You ditched your fiancé, canceled a wedding that was supposed to play out on the world stage, and then your father went missing. That doesn’t even touch the dynamics that blew up with your stepmum. Between it all, you’ve been cool and controlled. You were angry with your stepmum, but you were never upset—not even about your father disappearing into thin air.”

“I told you,” I bite out. “My relationship with my dad is strained because of Janie. It wasn’t always that way, especially when my mother was alive.”

“So you took him,” Devon states.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, especially one about my fucked-up family or my life.” I poke him in the chest with my index finger. This is the second time I’ve touched him, but the shock has worn off from learning that the owner of The Manor at Winslet, and my new roommate, is a prior secret agent. Not only that, but he’s proven he’s not completely retired and enjoys digging up secrets. “It’s late, and my carwon’t be delivered until tomorrow. I’ll pack and find somewhere else to go.”

I step around him. This time he doesn’t stop me, but he does follow. “Dammit, Harlow?—”

My pace quickens as I make my way back through the labyrinth. “Don’tdammit, Harlowme. I just got rid of Albert. I do not need another man bossing his way into my life.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I looked into your father because I had the means to,” he growls.

Devon is at my side and has no problem keeping up. I throw him a glance. “No. You were looking into me.”

“Hell, yes,” he admits. “I looked into all of you.”

We’re almost back to the main building when I come to an abrupt stop to gape. I don’t even try to keep my tone down. “Why would you do that?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot. What he does not do is apologize. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s ... I don’t know. It’s strange and weird and creepy! Which is why I’m out of here the moment my car arrives. I needed Winslet to be a safe haven for me. I sure as hell didn’t think some dried-up James Bond would ruin every plan I made. Do you think anything I’ve done has been easy?”

His eyes narrow, and he proves what I’ve learned the hard way since the day Albert-rat-bastard-Humphries tripped over my backpack in a Costa Rican coffee shop. Men are self-centered and have the delicate egos of a glass castle—or a greenhouse turned dining room, since that’s where we’re at.

“Watch it,” he growls. “I’m hardly dried up.”

I realize where we are and who’s watching ... which is everyone.

Dinner and a show.