do you mean, he didn’t …? Of course you’re his heir!”
Rowan’s certainty made a harsh bubble of laughter rise to catch in Nic’s throat. They were talking about a man who hadn’t spoken to his son until Nic had walked up to him at an awards gala and said, “I believe you knew my mother.”
With fresh rancor, Nic said, “We won’t know who inherits until he’s been declared dead and his will is read. Perhaps he left his fortune to Cassandra and you?”
With a shake of her head that made loose tendrils of hair catch the candlelight and glitter like an angel’s halo, Rowan said, “You’re his son. And you can build on what he’s already accomplished. Of course he would leave everything to you. Except maybe Rosedale.” Her chin hitched with challenge as she gave him a considering look.
“This land was bought as an investment property to be developed. It’s never been taken off the books as a company asset,” Nic said. “I know that much.”
“Therefore you control it as long as you’re in that chair?”
“Exactly.”
Her narrow shoulders slid a notch, but her breasts lost none of their thrust. For a skinny little thing, she had beautifully rounded breasts. All of her was a little curvier than he remembered. It was nice. Healthy.
“If I did inherit everything from Olief, I could fire you.”
Her disdainful look down her nose was the kind of entitled sassiness that had always made him want to yank her off her self-built pedestal. He reminded himself not to let her engage his emotions.
“I’ve spent the last year proving to the board I’m the right man for the job. They’re not going to switch allegiance on the whim of a spoiled brat—despite your proven ability to charm older men.”
Her chin twitched at the word ‘spoiled’ before her thick lashes came together and her most impudent smile appeared. “Don’t underestimate me. I charm the younger ones, too.”
“Yes, you always manage to get what you want, don’t you?” he said with chilly disgust. “Until now.”
As soon as he said it a vision of her feet flashed in his mind’s eye and he heard her again. I want my family. The source of hardness in him turned on its edge, pressing at an unpleasant angle against his lungs. He grimaced, wishing for her to be the diva ballerina he’d always found easy to dismiss.
“Am I really that bad, Nic?” Her white hands sifted the air. “Maybe Olief did pay my expenses, but developing as a dancer was my job. I didn’t have time to hold down a real one. And, yes, I did take things too far in the last few months, but it was the first time I’d been free to! I kept waiting for someone to set me a limit and finally realized I had to. Everyone goes through that on the way to becoming an adult. You’re making out like I’m all new cars and caviar, but what did I ever have that you didn’t?”
His laptop timed out, abruptly going black and dimming the room into a place of darkness and shadows. Thunder continued to rumble in the distance, along with the piercing wail of wind and the churn of rough waves against the shore.
“What a loaded question,” he muttered, stabbing a key to make the screen come back to life, and rising restlessly at the same time. “What did you have?” he repeated.
He rounded his desk to confront her in the cold bluish glow. He couldn’t contain the confused hurt bottled against the spurned rock that was his heart.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like to meet your father for the first time when you’re an adult? To finally be invited into his home only to watch him fawn over the daughter of his mistress—a girl who isn’t even related to him—while knowing he never once wasted affection on his real flesh and blood? Now, to be fair, my mother was only a one-night stand—not a long-term companion like your mother—but he knew about me from birth. He paid for my education, but he never so much as dropped by the boarding school to say hello. I came to believe he was incapable of fatherly warmth.” He’d had to. It had been the only way to cope. “Then I saw him with you.”
Rowan drew in a breath that seemed to shrink her lungs, making her insides feel small and tense. Olief was the one safe, reliable, loving person she could go to without being told to try harder, commit deeper, be better. That was why his disappearance was killing her. She missed him horribly. She loved him.
And apparently Nic felt she’d stolen all those precious moments at his expense.
“At least that explains why you hate me.” Nic, like everyone, had expected better of her and, like always, she didn’t know how she could have been different. All she could do was what she’d always done: apologize. “I’m sorry. I never meant to get between you.”
“Didn’t you?” he shot back, his feral energy expanding until her skin prickled with goose bumps.
She felt caught red-handed. Her old crush on him sputtered to life in neon glory, making her feel gauche. The memory of today’s kiss, which she’d managed to ignore through sheer force of will since entering this room, was released like an illicit drug in her mind—one that stole her ability to think and expanded her physical perceptions.
Betraying heat flooded into her loins while the tips of her breasts tightened. She was hyper-aware of his male power held in tight restraint. For years he’d looked at her with bored aversion. Today he was seeing her, and his gaze was full of the force of his primal nature, accusatory and personal.
And for once she understood his animosity.
The defusing explanation didn’t come easily. Her throat didn’t want to let the words out. They were too revealing.
“I know I often interrupted the two of you. Please don’t judge me too harshly for that.” She had wanted so badly to catch Nic’s attention. Being in his presence had made her heart sing—not unlike right now, she thought in an uncomfortable aside, burning on a pyre of self-conscious embarrassment. “I wanted to hear your stories,” she excused, trying to downplay what a wicked pleasure it had been to eavesdrop on his rumbling voice. His analytical intelligence with such an underlying thirst for justice had drawn her irresistibly. Her fingers tangled together in front of her. “You were traveling the world while I couldn’t steal time to climb the Eiffel Tower in my own backyard. Don’t fault me for wanting to live your adventures.”
“Adventures? I was reporting on civil wars! Crimes against humanity! Those sorts of tales aren’t fit for a woman’s ears, let alone the child you were then. The only reason I brought them up with Olief was because he’d been there. He understood the line that has to be drawn between exposing the horrors and scaring the hell out of people. You can’t do that kind of work without unloading somewhere.”
Rowan was struck by more than his words. His eyes darkened and his expression flashed with a suffering that he quickly shuttered away. Her view of his work had always been that it was genuinely glamorous and important, not just appearing that way like her own. His face was splashed on magazine covers, wasn’t it? He was no stranger to being a still, compelling presence before a camera. He had accolades galore for his efforts.
There was a toll for bringing forth the stories that held an audience rapt, though. Perhaps she was horribly self-involved, since she’d never considered what sorts of anguish and cruelty he’d witnessed in getting those stories.
