What Belongs to Her. Rachel Brimble

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      “I was only trying to make conversation. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen you before and, as I’m the person running things around here, I thought you might appreciate a friendly word, a kind welcome. My name’s Sasha—”

      “I know who you are.”

      She stiffened. The deep, smooth lilt of his upper-class English voice filled her with equal measures of attraction and warning. “Pardon me?”

      He faced her and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “You’re Sasha Todd, exceptionally pretty and svelte manageress of this fairground, known so lovingly as Funland. You work for Kyle Jordon. Although, while Kyle’s currently boarding at Her Majesty’s pleasure in prison, you are undoubtedly forced to answer to his bull mastiff of a lapdog, the wonderfully charming and partially toothed Freddy Campton. Am I right?”

      Sasha crossed her arms, mimicking his stance as irritation simmered inside her. “Yes, but who—”

      “How do you feel about that, Miss Todd?”

      “What?”

      “Moreover, how are you going to feel knowing that from tomorrow, you’ll be answering to me and not him?”

      Sasha froze as his words filtered through her mind. What the hell did he just say? She uncrossed her arms and splayed her hands on her hips. “Is this some kind of joke?”

      A flicker of amusement lit his eyes before he blinked and they turned cold once more. “No joke. From tomorrow you’ll be reporting to me.”

      Panic and disbelief hurtled through her. Who the hell does this guy think he is? She huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think so. Who are you?”

      “Your new boss.”

      She grinned, hoping it would coerce some semblance of a smile to his lips and make him tell her he was kidding. “Very funny. You’re a funny guy, Mr.—”

      “You don’t believe me?” His face remained unnervingly impassive.

      Okay, enough was enough. “I asked you who you are. If you want to toss a revelation like that at me, the least you can do is tell me your name. Not that I’m likely to believe a word you say after this slightly creepy performance.”

      He uncrossed his arms and offered his hand, which she took without thinking. His hand enveloped hers. Warm, smooth and unnervingly large. Why did she have the sudden and unwelcome suspicion nothing about this guy was small or weak?

      “John Jordon.” He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ