Sizzle in the City (15 page)

“To play doctor, I’ll bet.”

“Certainly not.” He put on a face of mock insult. “At the time I wanted to be a solicitor. I couldn’t wait to practice my cross-examination techniques.”

“Uh-huh. How cute was this girl?”

“Quite.” He crossed to her, lifting her onto the counter and moving between her legs. “A redhead as I recall.”

“Such good taste at so young an age. I don’t have to curtsy when I meet him, do I?”

“My Father? Hell, no.” Clearly, he wasn’t the only one with more on his mind than dinner and
how-was-your-day-honey?
conversation. He grasped her wrists, gliding her arms around his neck. So normal. So easy. So right. “Frankly, I can’t wait to see what the orthodox earl makes of my rebel Yank.”

“I hope, for your sake at least, we don’t come to blows. He’s going to blame you for the mess with Max, isn’t he?”

He decided not to answer her question about blame and rile her too soon. “I hope the same—for his sake.”

“Fine, so I’ll help you pat his hand, assure him everything’s peachy with his Number One Son, then ship him back across the ocean so we can get on with our dastardly plan to ruin Max.”

Trevor pulled her closer to hide his wince.
Ruin.
He was planning to ruin his own brother.

“You smell really good.” She nuzzled his neck, scattering his guilt over Max. “Last week, after you told me to get lost, I bought your cologne to remind me of you.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Did you?”

“It made me feel closer to you. Especially since I thought you’d never speak to me again, much less touch me.”

He tightened his grip around her waist. Her hips bumped his. Physical need rode high, even as everything between them rose even higher, preventing them from being truly connected. “I’d never have been able to stay away, even if you hadn’t come to me.”

“Do you feel like we’re standing on the edge of something?” she whispered. “It might be great. It might be a disaster.”

He hadn’t been scared of anything or anyone in a long, long time. But he well remembered the helpless sensation. He couldn’t go back.

She braced her hands on either side of his face. “We’ll—”

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Banfield?”

Reluctantly, Trevor let go of Shelby and crossed to the speaker. “Yes?”

“Your guest has arrived,” Fred said. “He’s coming up in elevator two.”

“Thank you.”

Trevor took a deep breath, then released it. Was he ready to placate and ultimately lie to the man who’d raised him? A man he loved and respected? All for the greater good?

With a sigh, he headed down the hall. Robin Hood would be so proud.

* * *

S
HELBY
BUSIED
HERSELF
in the kitchen while Trevor answered the door.

The chicken looked perfect, roasted to a light golden brown, the vegetables scattered around as if a stylist had arranged them for a cookbook photograph. The table was set with white china, silver and sparkling crystal.

Provided she didn’t blab out her plans to ruin the future earl, who was, in truth, a creep instead of the respected gentleman he should be, she might survive the night.

As she stripped off her chef’s jacket, she heard both men’s voices in the hall. They sounded so similar, she couldn’t tell whose was whose. She supposed she should have expected the likeness, and the idea made her feel somehow closer to the man who’d sired the man she loved.

But sad at the same time. She and Trevor had a bond, but not a likely future.

As father and son rounded the corner into the kitchen, she blinked. The resemblance didn’t stop at the way they sounded.

This is how Trevor will look in twenty-five years.

Well, except for the tweed suit.

“Sir, this is Shelby Dixon,” Trevor said.

“Good evening, Lord Westmore. How was your flight?”

“Fine. Thank you.” He glanced at his son. “I didn’t know you had company. Perhaps we should schedule our meeting for the morning.”

Trevor slid his arm around Shelby’s waist. “I wanted you to meet Shelby.”

The earl’s gaze shifted between the two of them. “I see.”

Up close, Shelby could see the differences in the two men beyond age. The earl’s mouth was smaller, tighter. His eyes weren’t as vibrant as Trevor’s, and an air of disapproval seemed to emanate from him.

“She’s an important part of our discussion.” He smiled at her. “And she’s a trained chef who offered to make dinner.”

“A cook?”

Shelby accepted the earl’s appraisal and judgment silently. She’d been too hasty with the thought that they were going to be compatible.

“A chef,” Trevor corrected, and Shelby heard the suppressed anger in his tone.

It was gonna be a long, damn night. “Why don’t you make you and your father a drink? He looks like a martini kind of guy.”

The earl’s eyes registered surprise.

“I’ll throw together a salad,” Shelby finished.

Trevor slid his hand up her back, a silent gesture of support, then escorted his father into the living room.

“Trevor, it looks like the botanical gardens in here. Don’t you have a cleaning service?”

Shelby rolled her eyes and headed for the fridge. She hoped her supplier had sent the wine she’d ordered. She opened the bottle of premium chardonnay and poured a healthy glass. With Trevor’s budget, she’d splurged, and the reward in taste and quality was well worth it.

If she and Trevor had been dating six months, if she wasn’t half out of her mind with worry for her parents, if she wasn’t hell-bent on vengeance against the great and wonderful heir, if, in other words, they were a regular couple, maybe they’d have a chance at a real relationship. Maybe his dad’s appearance wouldn’t be so difficult. She wouldn’t feel so vulnerable and defensive at the same time.

She chopped salad ingredients and tossed them with fresh varieties of lettuce. She set both the salad bowl and her half-full wineglass in the fridge.

She was going to need all her wits about her to get through dinner.

When she walked into the living room, tension lay as thick as the low-lying clouds outside the windows. A storm was brewing—both indoors and out.

Both men stood as she entered. Their manners were as engrained as their DNA, after all.

“Would you like a drink?” Trevor asked as he approached her.

“No, thanks.” She looked into the clear blue of his eyes and leaned into his caress across her cheek. “I’m good.”

They sat on the sofa with Trevor between his father and her, and the earl caught up his son on the news in London and at the manor. It was generally a list of names and accomplishments, hirings and firings, births and deaths, but there was a moment or two when a twinkle appeared in the earl’s eyes, and the charm that had developed fully in his son was evident.

During dinner, the polite conversation continued. No mention of Max the Swindler or the fact that Trevor was sleeping with a woman considered a mere domestic. The earl was politely complimentary of the food, but since bland roast beef and potatoes were the benchmark, Shelby didn’t take offense.

After polishing off a dessert of peach cobbler, which Pops ate every crumb of, the earl pushed back his chair and rose. “I suppose you’re wondering what brought me here so unexpectedly.”

Seeming calm, Trevor sipped coffee. But Shelby knew his expressions well. He was bracing himself.

“I assume you’re here because of the publicity Max has been getting lately,” he said.

“I thought you had the situation here under control, Trevor.” The earl’s hands, resting at his sides, curled into fists, and the temperature in the room dropped at least twenty degrees. “But obviously I was mistaken about the seriousness with which you regard your family. I’m here because a New York police detective called me to ask if I was aware a woman had filed a complaint against my son for fraud and did I have a comment on those potential charges.”

The earl’s eyes turned to ice. “Would
you
care to comment, Trevor?”

14

S
HELBY
SUCKED
IN
A
shocked gulp of air.

She wanted to reach across the table and grab Trevor’s hand, but his stoney expression stopped her.

Antonio? What the hell was he doing? Why was he interfering again? Supposedly oh-so-busy following her and her friends in addition to his East River homicide, he must have found a vacant spot on his crowded calendar.

The earl opened and closed his hands in silent condemnation, as he apparently struggled to gather his temper. “What are these lies about fraud and nonsense? You told me you had Max under control, Trevor.” He braced his hand on the table as he leaned toward his son. “What if this gets out? The tabloids are ruthless.”

Guess he hadn’t struggled too hard.

“We have a lot more to worry about than the press, sir,” Trevor said stoically. “The suspicion of fraud isn’t a lie.”

Shelby goggled at Trevor. Why wasn’t he defending himself? He was supposed to keep Max under control? What a joke.

“Max isn’t merely overextending himself or investing in businesses without preparation,” Trevor continued. “He’s actively swindling people.”

The earl’s face turned stark white. “He’s not. He can’t be.”

Resignation in every line of his body, Trevor rose. “He is.”

Shelby remained rooted to her chair. Even with the earl’s nasty attitude, she knew it couldn’t be easy to hear his child was a crook.

“The woman Detective Antonio referred to is one victim,” Trevor explained. “Shelby’s parents are another. And there are more.”

The earl glanced at Shelby, then dismissed her just as quickly, and she felt less sorry for him. “How could he have gotten himself into anything illegal? I thought you were watching him.”

“I can’t follow him around every minute,” Trevor returned. “And he got himself into this mess. I’ve tried to help him, tried to counsel him. On your orders, I’ve bailed him out of debt and scandal. No matter what, he keeps falling.”

“Ridiculous.” The earl lifted his chin. “He’s a Banfield. His bloodline is impeccable, his future secure. Obviously you’re not doing enough, or things would not have progressed to this level. Can you talk to the detective? Keep this development quiet?”

“This development is an illegal investment scam.” Trevor’s tone rose in disbelief. “He stole money from decent, hardworking people.”

The earl shifted his gaze to Shelby. “According to
your
parents, I suppose. And yet you seem quite close to my other son. How…convenient.”

“Convenient?” Rage coursed through Shelby as she surged to her feet. “Look here, buddy, I’m—”

Trevor grabbed her hand, giving it a long squeeze. “Shelby, please.”

Tears clogged the back of her throat as she watched the struggle in every line of Trevor’s body. Love welled up in her, taking her breath.

Her revenge wasn’t for her alone anymore. It wasn’t a furious impulse, or an act of desperation. She needed to end Max’s schemes for her parents, for the other victims and definitely for Trevor. The blame he bore was misplaced.

She nodded and let go of his hand, though she remained standing, anticipating the next blow.

“I have talked to the detective, sir,” Trevor said in an amazingly composed tone. “He’s busy doing his job, not giving press interviews. But that’s hardly—”

“While you’re distracted with your bedmate, our family name is fodder for the gossipmongers. Do you know how that makes me look? Do you understand the ramifications for your brother’s reputation? Do you care at all for the ancient and revered name you were blessed to be born with?” He jabbed his finger against the dining table. “Fix it.”

The muscle along Trevor’s jaw pulsed.

Shelby dearly hoped he didn’t grind his beautiful teeth to dust.

“I’m doing my best,” Trevor managed to say. “You didn’t need to come all the way here and reprimand me like a five-year-old.”

Disbelief radiated from the earl. “Is that what you’ve learned in America, disrespect for your father?”

Okay, that’s it.

She didn’t want to embarrass Trevor, but she was done being bullied by this pompous, overbearing
gentleman.
She marched around the table and stood nearly toe-to-toe with the earl. “Why is it Trevor’s responsibility to handle Max? He’s a grown man. It seems to me that if everybody
stopped
handling him, he’d be where he belongs—jail.”

The earl’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “The future Earl of Banfield incarcerated? Young woman, you cannot possibly understand the ramifications of that outcome.”

“Sure I do.” Shelby crossed her arms over her chest. “Every family has some relative who stole a car, or went streaking through the quad during college or drinks too much and hollers at the TV newscasters. For the Dixons it’s my crazy uncle Larry, who spends half the day sitting in a lawn chair under his carport sniffing paint thinner.”

Trevor smiled. His father looked horrified.

And Shelby felt much better. “A couple of years in prison might do Max a world of good. It would surely be cheaper for you two. Plus, when he gets out—all freshly rehabilitated—you can plan a great public relations campaign. Second Chance for Wayward Heir. A friend of mine works for the best PR firm in the city. She’ll fix you up.”

Trevor, used to her outspokenness, looked interested by her spin on the the situation, which made her feel less guilty, as well. Max deserved to pay for his crimes, but he wasn’t an evil psychopath. A little time behind bars might be the tough love he needed.

By contrast, the earl appeared incapable of speech. Which was surprising. With a kid like Max, Shelby had figured him for an expert in hostile communications.

“The press is hardly our biggest concern, sir,” Trevor said. “He’s going to need a good lawyer.”

“It won’t come to that,” the earl insisted.

Good grief. Did delusion run in the family? The man insisted Trevor manage Max’s life and mistakes, but didn’t trust his judgment?

“Regardless,” the earl continued haughtily, “I’m sure Trevor has the funds to recover the Dixon family’s losses.”

Trevor’s body jerked as if he’d been struck. “You don’t know Shelby, sir,” he said slowly. “Because I’m certain if you did, you’d greatly regret insulting her integrity.”

Shelby didn’t flinch from the earl’s jibe. He was, after all, doing exactly what she was—protecting his family. He also didn’t realize just how personally she was taking that quest. Just as she was determined to bring Max to justice, he’d no doubt do everything in his power to keep her and Trevor apart once Project Robin Hood’s secrets came out.

Still, she wasn’t deterred. “And if you knew me really well, you’d know it isn’t wise to come between me and something I want.”

* * *

T
REVOR
FOUND
HER
SITTING
on the chaise longue, scowling at the trees.

“I’m sorry I spoke to him like that,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

After her warning to his father, she’d stormed up the stairs to the terrace. He’d let her go, knowing she needed to cool off.

Surprisingly, his father hadn’t commented on her abrupt exit or the confrontation over Max. He’d simply thanked him for dinner and left for his hotel.

Not sure how much time to give her, and definitely not wanting to be added to the growing list of Banfields she’d like to slug, Trevor had cleaned up the dessert plates and cups.

The caffeine and tense conversation had him wired, so he wandered around the living room for a few minutes before spotting a particularly pretty pansy. Snapping off the blossom, he’d twirled it between his fingers as he mounted the stairs. Just when he thought they’d found some common ground, the world tilted sideways.

“How many years in prison would I get if I punched out a cop?” she asked.

“Quite a few, I’d imagine.”

“How about English nobility?”

“Would you rather if I’d done more to defend you?”

Her eyes fired as she stared hard at him. “I can fight my own battles.”

“But you don’t have to fight them alone, and I’m not the enemy.” He handed her the pansy blossom. “I come in peace.”

She brought it to her lips. “Thanks. They’re edible, you know.”

He hadn’t brought it for her to eat. Maybe he should have given her more time and space. Or more flowers. Still, beneath her anger and defensiveness, she was hurting, and he wanted to be there to comfort her as long as she was down.

He sat on the end of the chaise. “If you glare at the trees like that the leaves are going to fall off.”

“What the devil do you know about horticulture?”

“Obviously less than I do about comforting my girlfriend.”

Surprise forced the irritated lines from her forehead. She raised her eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”

He’d let the word slip, though it was true. But now didn’t seem like the opportune time for that discussion. “Problem?”

“No.” With a sigh, she scooted next to him and laid her head against his shoulder. “I really am sorry I argued with your father.”

“You shouldn’t be. You were right. And, he started it.”

“Maybe he’s still bitter about us kicking his butt at Yorktown.”

Laughing, he pulled her onto his lap. “I wouldn’t entirely rule that out.” He kissed her softly, feeling the tension drain from her body. Finally, he was getting the hang of comfort. “We made a good team tonight.”

“You controlled your temper better than I did.”

“I have more experience.”

“Does he think I’m an ill-mannered lout?”

He kissed the underside of her jaw. “If he does, he didn’t say so.”

“Did he tell you to dump me?”

“No, and I wouldn’t even if he did. I don’t take orders from him.”

“Except when it comes to Max.”

Irritation rolled over him. He might have been furious—if she wasn’t right. “Not anymore. I’m on your side, remember?”

She stroked his face with the pansy. “I don’t want anybody taking sides. Max shouldn’t come between you and your father. And neither should I.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Max started this, not you.”

She searched his gaze, her eyes filled with anxiety and determination, the same emotions that churned in his stomach. “And we’re going to finish it?”

“We are.” He skimmed his mouth across her cheek. “In the meantime, I know how you can support me.”

“Remember you’re not alone, either.”

“As it happens the kind of comforting I have in mind is best done in pairs.”

Project Robin Hood, Day 24
Paddy’s Bar

“H
AVE
YOU
LOST
YOUR
mind?” Calla demanded as she slid onto the barstool next to Detective Antonio. “Why’d you call Trevor’s father?”

Pausing with a beer bottle halfway to his mouth, the detective scowled. “Why are you always bothering me?”

“I live to be annoying. A trait you ought to be familiar with.”

“What’ll ya have?” the burly bartender asked.

Calla noticed most the patrons around her were enjoying beer or amber-colored liquids. Asking for a diet soda would probably get her tossed out on her butt, but dear heaven it was barely noon. “I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, flicking her thumb toward Antonio.

“How did you find me?”

She glanced around the rustic, Irish-themed tavern. There were more cops than shamrocks in the joint. “This place is across the street from your precinct house. I took a wild guess. What are you doing in here in the middle of the day?”

“I pulled an all-nighter and just got off shift. Are you my mother now?”

“You could use some guidance and discipline,” she muttered, then took a sip of her beer. Grimacing, she set it down. “Why did you call Lord Westmore?”

“Hello? You people are the ones butting into my case, doing my surveillance. I figured you’d appreciate me trying to shake things up. Somebody or something’s got to break.”

“But we have a plan, and you’re going to screw it up. We’re trying to be low-key here. If the earl tells Max you called, he’s going to hop out of here like a rabbit with his cottontail on fire.”

Antonio blinked. “A rabbit with his—” He stopped and shook his head, as if the reference were too ridiculous to analyze. “Is the earl going to tell Max?”

“No. Trevor met with him this morning and asked him not to. Shelby says the earl doesn’t believe Max has done anything illegal.”

“Then what’s the big deal?” He took a long swallow of beer. “And what plan do you have? You chicks need to stay out of this case and let me do my job.”

“Chicks? This isn’t a farm. We’re women—and best friends besides—and we’re gonna do what we have to in order to put that slimeball out of commission.”

Antonio leaned toward her. Their faces were bare inches apart. She could see golden flecks in his deep green eyes. “What plan?”