The Billionaire's Son. Sharon Hartley

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      “And if he’s not?” Rafael asked.

      Kelly shook her head. “I don’t know.” But she did know, and she didn’t like the idea of Carico stashing the little guy in a loony bin. Even if they found one for kids. Even if the hospital was as luxurious as this villa. Jason needed to be with his father and in familiar surroundings. She wasn’t any shrink, but she knew the only way he’d get better was to be around people who loved him.

      And his father might be a jerk, but he loved his son. That was Wentworth’s only saving grace. Well, besides his looks.

      Rafael hefted his satchel over his shoulder. “Let me roust my ride and get going. Having to use that ferry takes forever.” At the last minute, he stepped to the buffet, wrapped two sandwiches in a napkin and stuffed them in his bag. He winked at her. “For my wife.”

      “You may have a hard time getting those guys out of their chairs,” Kelly yelled after him.

      With a backward wave, the artist disappeared. She heard a voice in the hall—probably Maria—directing the way out.

      Kelly turned back to the view. Man, but she longed for a swim in that pool, had wanted to dive in since she’d first laid eyes on it. And hadn’t Wentworth told her to make herself at home? Unfortunately, she didn’t have a bathing suit. Or goggles.

      A few minutes later, Rafael appeared on the pool deck next to the officers. She smiled as she watched the exchange. She couldn’t hear the conversation but could imagine the jokes about not wanting to leave the good life. When the three men walked off the deck, she felt suddenly alone, as if her posse had abandoned her with the enemy.

      Which was ridiculous, of course. Wentworth wasn’t her enemy. But he wasn’t her friend.

      She glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. Now what? She wasn’t used to having nothing to do. She rotated her neck as frustration and pent-up energy ate at her. If she were home, she’d be studying or exercising. Yeah, definitely exercising after all the extra calories she’d consumed today.

      What she needed was a workout. If she couldn’t swim, why not go for a run? Or at least a walk around billionaire island. Maria had laundered her running gear. Even better, maybe the mansion had a gym. Would it be rude to search?

      Yes, it would. Her mother had managed to teach her that much at least. But she could ask.

      With a sigh, Kelly left the solarium, hoping she didn’t get lost in this monstrosity of a house. When she entered the hall, she found Maria waiting for her.

      “Would you like something more to eat, Miss Kelly?” the housekeeper asked.

      “After that buffet? No, thank you, Maria. I’m stuffed.”

      Maria nodded, her blackened eye appearing even more swollen now. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Kelly?”

      “To tell you the truth, I really need to burn off some energy. I’m wondering if there’s a gym or any sort of exercise equipment around that I could use.”

      “Of course.”

      Kelly followed Maria to a one-story building off the pool deck. Inside was a large gym with free weights, pneumatic equipment, treadmills and spin machines.

      “Sweet,” Kelly murmured. This state-of-the-art gym was equipped better than what the department had available at the West Dade training facility. Being a gazillionaire did have its perks.

      “Any chance your boss will want to work out tonight?” she asked.

      “No. Mr. Wentworth comes here in the morning.”

      “So he won’t mind if I use his gym?”

      “He said to let you do whatever you want.”

      Kelly glanced down at the clothing provided by Wentworth earlier in the day. Comfortable enough, but designed for a golf game, not a serious workout. “I’m going up to my room to change first.”

      “Can you find your way, Ms. Kelly?”

      “Second right at the top of the stairs. Thanks, Maria.”

      Energized because she had a plan, Kelly hurried to the room she’d used earlier, picking out landmarks so she could find the gym again. More clothing, two pastel golf sets similar to the one she had on, were laid out on the bed. This time even clean lingerie had been provided. She fingered a white lacy bra and matching panties created by a French company she would never dream of splurging on. Wentworth had nailed her cup size.

      But of course he had. Her face warmed as she remembered he’d gotten a good look at her bare breasts.

      She ought to be grateful he’d provided clean underwear for her to put on in the morning. So why did she feel resentful of Wentworth’s courtesies? Maybe because with his bottomless pockets the man could do whatever he wanted, and that kind of power bred a dangerous kind of arrogance. And contempt.

      She didn’t belong here. All this luxury wasn’t her thing and never would or could be. Really, who laid out such a lavish buffet for two people? What waste. She could remember days when her belly had ached from hunger.

      She picked up one of the outfits to check the size, and found a bright red bikini bathing suit underneath. Hardly appropriate for swimming laps, but no doubt the type of swimwear Wentworth’s bimbos wore to parade around his pool. Should she be grateful or insulted?

      Shaking her head, Kelly moved to the window and gazed down at the pool deck, now illuminated by hidden lights. Barely visible, in the distance the dark Atlantic Ocean stretched into an unseen horizon.

      She leaned against the window frame. God, what a gorgeous piece of real estate. A laugh bubbled up as she considered the ludicrous proposition of her squad making a domestic call to this island paradise. Anyone in trouble would bleed out before the cops could manage to get on and off that slow ferry.

      At the sound of voices, she refocused on the deck and stood up straight. Trey Wentworth, dressed in a black tux that fit him as if custom made—and likely was—spoke to a giant, muscled dude that looked as if he were straight out of special forces. She figured the big guy had to be a bodyguard or security of some sort, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Wentworth.

      Smooth and sophisticated in black tie, he made her think of James Bond. South Beach style. God, but he looked good enough to eat.

      Why was he so dressed up? But she knew why. Obviously the man had a date. That couldn’t be right. His son had been kidnapped, rescued—by her, thank you very much—flipped out and then drugged into oblivion, but Wentworth, obviously not a candidate for dad of the year, was going out on the town to some swanky shindig?

      What kind of a father did that?

      When he looked up at her window, Kelly jumped out of the way, hoping he hadn’t seen her. This family’s dirty laundry was none of her business.

      She quickly changed into her clean running shorts and jog bra. Feeling better in her own clothes, she hurried back down the stairs only to encounter Wentworth striding across the loggia toward the front door—looking even more delicious in the brighter light. СКАЧАТЬ