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She stared into his eyes, her heart picking up speed. No, no, no. She swallowed in an effort to bring some saliva back into her desert-dry mouth. “Jordon? Are you telling me you’re Kyle’s son? His brother?”
He smiled.
She scowled as anger shot through her body with the speed of a freight train. Frustration and the enormity of what this meant turned her vision pink with rage. She slowly eased her hand from his and fisted her hair back from her face. “Well?”
“I’m his son.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to maintain her equilibrium and not freak out. “As far as I was aware Kyle doesn’t have a son or a brother.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
His gaze locked on hers for a moment before it shot toward the crowds of people walking around the fair, laughing and shouting without a care in the world. “I’m his son whether you want to believe it or not.” He met her eyes. “And I’ll be here running things for the foreseeable future. So the sooner we get acquainted, the better.”
“Get acquainted?” She laughed as her shaky self-control snapped. “You have no idea, do you? No damn idea whatsoever.”
The anger dissolved from his eyes and was replaced with wary confusion. “About what? This place?”
“About everything. You need to go.”
His brow furrowed as he stared. “That won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”
Trembling, Sasha walked backward, opening the space between them. She shook her head. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this to me. Not now.”
His frown deepened. “Do what?”
She waved her hand at him. “Do this. Turn up here. Say these things. I won’t let you do this.”
“Miss Todd—”
“I’m leaving.” Her mind raced and her body felt strangely numb. “This isn’t happening.”
He put his hand out as if to touch her, hesitated and then dropped it to his side. “Wait. Just wait.” The stiff set of his shoulders slumped. “Maybe we should start—”
Sasha fled. She resolutely fought the tears that burned her eyes and blurred the crowds in front of her as she shouldered her way through. Her breathing grew labored and she rasped as if she had sharpened needles inside her chest. John Jordon. Kyle Jordon’s son. He was going to take her fair. It was his. Not hers. Never hers.
She choked back a sob as the green, wrought-iron gates of the fairground came into view. Stumbling, she gripped them, shook them, wanting to rip them from their hinges. A scream gathered momentum, burning the back of her throat, and she dropped her head against the gate. Damn you, Kyle Jordon. Damn you to hell.
The gentle, firm grip of a male hand on her shoulder spun Sasha around. Her heart thundered as she stood poised for a fight. Under the light above them, John Jordon’s eyes were soft with concern, the sculpted lines of his previously inscrutable expression somehow tamer.
She closed her eyes, stopping her traitorous tears in their tracks. “Just do me a favor and go away. Back to wherever the hell it is you came from.”
* * *
“I’M SORRY, I can’t do that.” John slipped both his hands into his back pockets. The last thing he wanted to do was touch her. Liar.
He knew she wanted the fair, but no part of him had expected the raw hurt and panic that showed so clearly in her eyes. This wasn’t a woman prepared to do whatever it takes—this was a woman who was hurt...and angry.
For a long moment, she neither moved nor spoke. Just stayed where she was. Her slender shoulders, smooth and naked, rose and fell above the fitted confines of her bright yellow halter top. He struggled to drag his eyes from the length of her jet-black hair that fell in two gloriously thick sheets over her breasts.
He’d seen her from a distance all day and felt nothing. Yet, the moment she stood close, the full impact of her stunningly dark eyes and full, smiling mouth zipped a bullet through his chest.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Todd?”
Her sigh was loud and tired. She straightened and tipped her head back and looked directly at him. The tiny smudges of makeup beneath her eyes smacked John in the chest. God damn it. She’d been crying. He pulled back his shoulders and tightened his jaw. No, he had to be stronger than this. While he was in Templeton he couldn’t be the man who looked out for everyone. He had to do what he came to do and then go home. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t have delivered the news that way, but—”
“Are you here to take over from where your dad left off?” Her eyes were wide and cold. “That’s all I want to know right now. Everything else I’ll deal with tomorrow.”
John ran his hand over his face. Tomorrow, he’d be better prepared, too. Her explosion had knocked him off-kilter, making him care. Tomorrow, he’d have it under control. He crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“You’re taking over the fair?”
“Yes.”
She glanced past him toward the rides and noisy chaos of the fairground. Her jaw clenched. “I never even knew you existed.” She met his eyes. “Kyle never mentioned a son to me or anyone else, as far as I remember.”
John held her gaze, silently absorbing her unintentional insult.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him; an intelligent light flickered brighter and then faded into their gorgeous depths. “None of my business, right? How did I know that was coming?” She gave a wry laugh. “Jesus, like father like son.”
He flinched. She might as well have punched him in the gut. “I’m nothing like my father.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “So you say. From the five minutes I’ve spent with you, you’ve already managed to piss me off as much as he did every damn day he was here.” She raised her hands in defeat. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she moved to brush past him, John touched her arm, stopping her. “I’d like to see you in the office first thing.”
She looked pointedly at his hand on her forearm. He released her, and she raised her chin. “Oh, I’ll be there. I’ll be there with freaking bells on.”
She stalked away from him. He released a low whistle from between pursed lips as his gaze glued onto the soft curve of her butt encased in black denim.
John’s father had described Sasha Todd as a ballsy, tough broad in need of a firm hand. He’d warned John to be wary of her. In the blink of an eye, she could be all soft femininity with the patrons, but in reality she was a fiery, spitting alley cat. He’d said that soft side of her was an act—the real Sasha Todd was apparently a hard-nosed businesswoman.
Two personalities—that’s what Kyle had said. Two personalities, each as scary as the other.
John drew in a long breath. Well, clearly he had a fight on his hands, but that was just fine by him. After years of self-control, of conservative containment within the walls of a private boarding school, Oxford University and then his own classroom, this teacher was ready to let off some steam.
He scowled as he strode back inside the fairground. If Sasha Todd thought she could direct any of her pissiness at him and come away unscathed, she’d better think again.
Like she said, he was Kyle Jordon’s son, and even though the bastard had abandoned him years ago—and now had the gall to ask for his help—little did she or Kyle know what John intended to do about it. John glanced around his father’s domain. A fairground used as a cover for his illegal dealings—a place for kids and teenagers. The man was scum.
John scowled. Kyle might have thought it was time for a father-and-son reconciliation, but his son had other ideas. At last, John knew where Kyle was after years of speculation and silence. When his father finally made contact just six short weeks ago, he’d clearly thought the path to father/son love would be simple and John would want the riches and immorality his father thrived on. Unfortunately for Daddy Dearest, that was just the sort of perilous miscalculation that occurred when a parent vanished, leaving their children to drift through life without them.
John smiled. One way or another he’d right his father’s wrongs...while royally screwing Kyle over and leaving the son of a bitch without a penny to his damn name.
CHAPTER TWO
SITTING ON THE balcony of her apartment in one of two ancient patio chairs, Sasha scowled at the view. The temperature was above average for July, but a slight breeze cut through the warmth and she pulled her pashmina tighter around her shoulders. The flickering lights of her beloved fairground taunted her in the distance, the sounds of laughter and rock music ringing in her ears. She wanted to punch something.
Kyle Jordon’s son was there right now, no doubt parading around like he already owned the place. She cursed. He does own it, you numbskull.
Leaning forward, she picked up her wineglass from the upturned crate beside her. The cabernet sauvignon, warm and fruity, slid down her throat, ever so slightly mellowing her fraught nerves and barely controlled need to vent some serious anger.
Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling John Jordon was about as happy to be there as she was about his arrival.
Sasha struggled to get her emotions under control. She had to resist her instinct to worry about every damn thing before it happened. Her primal need to prevent evil before it could strike. Who was to say the guy wasn’t there under duress? She glanced at her cell phone sitting on the table. Either way, she had a right to know why she hadn’t been warned about his unwanted entrance. She had a right to demand some background information on the handsome enigma known as John Jordon.
Snatching up her phone, she punched in Freddy’s cell number and focused once more on the fairground lights. Her heart beat hard as the tone rang ominously in her ear. She was just about to end the call when the line picked up.
“Freddy Campton’s phone.”
Sasha froze. Damn it. It was him. John-bloody-Jordon. What were the chances of him answering? She cleared her throat and sat up straight. Hell would freeze over before she’d let him get the better of her. “Is Freddy around?”
“Not right now. Can I take a message?”
“No. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”
“You know, if you’re calling to ask about me, you could just come straight to the source. What is it you’d like to know, Miss Todd?”
She narrowed her gaze. The man’s voice sounded more uppity and posh than ever. “My name’s Sasha. Can we drop the Miss Todd? We tend to work on a first-name basis at the fairground. You know, circa the twenty-first century.”
There was a pause before his breath rasped down the line. “I see.”
Sasha glared. Was that a whiff of laugher or disdain in his tone? She’d bet a hundred British pounds on the former. “Are you laughing at me...Mr. Jordon?”
“John, please.” This time he definitely laughed.
Her stomach knotted as a blush dared to warm her cheeks. She steadfastly bit back her smile. “Clearly, there are some things we need to get straight if we’re going to start off as civilized individuals tomorrow.”
“Meaning we’re likely to get uncivil?”
The heat at her cheeks hitched up a notch. His voice was like liquid velvet, making the suggestion of incivility almost sexual. She shifted in her seat. “Fine. If you want our working relationship to start off on the wrong foot, who am I to argue? Could you just let Freddy know I called and that I’d appreciate a call back?”
“So you’d still rather ask him rather than me why I’m here?”
Damn it. She stared at the fair again. This man, with his smooth voice, handsome looks and, though she hated to admit it, masculine charm, was making her feel the need to fully arm herself before she set a single foot inside the fairground office tomorrow morning.
“Miss...Sasha? You still there?”
“Of course. I’m going nowhere.” She picked up her wineglass and drained it before reaching for the bottle. Strength in grapes.
He cleared his throat. “I need you to work with me. This isn’t a fight to the death.”
She sniffed. “That’s what you think.”
“Pardon me?”
Her hand stilled around the wine bottle before she released it and drove her clawed fingers into her hair instead. Clearly, more alcohol was not advisable. Her damn tongue was running away with her.
“Look, tomorrow’s another day.” She sighed and focused on dragging up a little dignity to battle her desire to poke out the man’s eyes. “I’m just put out I wasn’t told about your arrival. I’m sure tomorrow won’t be as onerous as I’m thinking it will be right now.”
“I’m quite a nice guy...sometimes.”
She scowled. “And I’m quite a nice woman...sometimes.”
He laughed and her stomach knotted again. Damn it, why were her guts going all stupid every time this man laughed?
“I need your help.” He inhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t particularly like that fact, but I’m man enough to admit it. Kyle told me you know the fair better than anyone. I can’t do anything without you.”
The humor in his tone had vanished, leaving behind a rough, masculine assurance that conflicted with his words.
Slow and steady wins the race, Sasha. Slow and steady wins the race.
She rose from her chair and approached the barrier surrounding the balcony. The swish of the tide lapping the beach a mile down the road drifted to her ears on the gathering breeze, and she inhaled. “And what is it you want to do exactly?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Sasha closed her eyes as her heart turned to lead. Once again, she was fighting. The threat of another battle clinked like crossing swords in her head. “You know something, John?”
“What?”
“If anyone, including your father, had any respect for how long I’ve worked at the fair or what it means to me, they would’ve given me a heads-up about you coming. That didn’t happen, so I’m wondering what you want from me. If you intend to do something with my...the fair, you should at least have the decency to tell me about it.”
Her heart beat out the seconds of silence, broken only by his heavy exhalation. “Nobody knew I was coming.”
She squeezed her eyes tighter. “I don’t believe you.”
“Nobody knew.”
“Was this Kyle’s idea? You turning up like a phantom menace?” She snapped her eyes open and choked out a wry laugh. “Stupid question. Even from behind prison walls, the guy likes to play the great puppet master.”
“I am not Kyle’s puppet.”
His ice-cold tone sent an involuntary shiver down her back. The knee-jerk reaction to apologize lingered on her tongue, but she decided against it. The silence stretched until she was forced to say something. “Look, it’s late and I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be a little more amicable. Let’s just say good-night, shall we?”
“How well do you know my father, Sasha Todd?”
The soft, British upper-class way he said her name rolled down the phone line and licked softly over her skin. Why the hell did the man have to talk that way? Why couldn’t he talk with the rough abrasion of some of the dock workers she knew at the harbor?
She pushed away from the barrier. “Not very well.”
“Yet you’ve worked at the fair your entire life. He bought it from your grandfather. How could you not know him?”
Her heart hitched into her throat. “You know about that?”
“Yes.”
“You know my granddad sold the fair to him? Do you know for how much?”
“Does it matter?”
Nausea whirled hot and heavy in her stomach and she stumbled toward her vacant chair and collapsed onto it. “That matters to me more than anything.”
