The Reluctant Heir. HelenKay Dimon
next door and stared at her cell phone.
He was here, in Milton. Many miles and a few states away from his big fancy home—make that homes—in the Washington, D.C. area.
Not that he. Not the one who’d tracked her and tried to scare her months ago. Not the one who’d threatened and lied. No, the man in her building, on his way up to her apartment, was the son, not the horrible father.
Carter Jameson. Youngest heir to a vast real estate fortune. Grandson of a disgraced congressman. The boy whose family had employed hers back when they were kids.
Her unwanted teen crush.
Amazing how the last name Jameson could start a shake running through her that rattled right down to her bones. Her reaction arose out of anger, not fear. Though, if she were being honest, she’d have to admit to a mix of both.
His visit here meant his family had hunted her down and found her again. The last round of contacts started with letters from Carter’s father, Eldrick, then from his attorneys, all insisting she come in for a meeting. When she ignored those, the unwanted visits started. But she’d done what Eldrick ordered. She stayed away from Virginia and Carter and kept her mouth shut.
She’d already lost so much to the Jamesons—her father, her sister, her peace of mind. Now it looked like they were coming around again for one more shot.
She slipped her cell phone into her back jeans pocket and headed for the one closet in her studio apartment. It held her clothes, her cleaning supplies and, well, that just about constituted the entire list of what she owned. That and the photo album. If they were going to hound her it was easier to leave town for a while then go through it all again. She didn’t have any real connections here anyway, but the album was coming with her. It was all she had left of the past she tried so often to forget.
The knocking started as soon as she dropped to her knees. The rickety closet door with the broken slats screeched to a halt on the tracks. She usually shoved and pushed, half lifted the thing, to get it to open the whole way. But that would make noise and require her to move, and she seemed to be frozen in place.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. It was the only sound in the silent room.
Then the knocking started again.
“Hello?” A deep male voice, all silky and smooth, floated through the door.
She refused to fall for that sexy sound a second time. She wasn’t a teenage anymore. She knew better now...in theory. “What?”
“Hanna?”
He acted like he knew her but that had been years ago. Another time, almost another life.
“She’s not here.” She winced as she made the nonsensical remark.
For a second there was no response. Hanna scrambled to her feet and tiptoed to the door. She saw the shadow of Carter’s feet at the bottom. So, he still stood there, quiet now.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try another answer, Hanna Wilde? Maybe one a bit more believable?”
She couldn’t insist he had the wrong apartment. He remembered her name and he still had the same smiling lilt to his voice. This, the guy she’d been warned to stay away from was now hanging out in the hallway. Maybe he wanted to take a turn telling her not to disclose the misdeeds of his past. Either way, she refused to be blamed for being near him when he was the one who found her.
Taking a deep breath, she threw open the front door. Almost slammed it right into her own face but had the good sense to step back in the nick of time.
Her words cut off at the sight of him. A smile lit up his stupidly handsome face. He was tall, probably six-one or so, looming over her by inches even though there was nothing tiny or petite about her.
A billionaire born into a family of extreme privilege, the type of people who did whatever they wanted, without consequence. A long line of Virginia landowners who considered themselves Southern gentlemen, a bloodline that had been broken only by a Japanese grandmother—or so said the nasty whispers of their fellow rich people. The same grandmother who had gifted Carter with the striking combination of glossy black hair and near black eyes.
Carter was the youngest of the Jameson sons. The playboy with the carefree reputation. The one not defined by the rules as much as his older brothers because no one expected or demanded anything of him. He was the “extra” child, or that was the joke his father used to describe him. She knew about the nickname because she’d watched interviews with Carter’s old man, hating him as much on-screen as she had in person.
Carter had been living in California for almost a year now—after he’d breezed through her sister’s life...and destroyed it.
“It’s been so long.” He sounded genuinely happy to see her.
Hanna ignored whatever traitorous emotion started jumping around in her stomach at the sound of his voice. “What do you want?”
“That’s an interesting welcome.”
She could have sworn his eyes actually sparkled. She glanced at the ceiling, figuring it had to be a trick from the hallway lighting. But no, the dude’s eyes looked sunny and warm and welcoming.
This guy, the one who wined and dined her sister, made promises then left town, now acted as if nothing had happened. As if he’d lost touch with Hanna by accident, not because his father cut off all contact. He’d never really noticed her before, certainly not when she was younger and desperate for his attention, which still haunted her, but now he pretended to.
“Why are you here?” Her fingers dug into the wooden door. She held on to it like a shield, positioning her body half behind it, ready to slam it shut if he moved even an inch.
Later she would assess why just seeing him touched off a spinning inside her. Why, after all this time, her heart still sped up when he shot her an inviting look. The reaction struck her as self-destructive and wrong but realizing that didn’t make it stop. It also made her wonder if she’d really overcome those feelings of not being good enough as she’d hoped.
The longer they stood there, the more those sparkly eyes dimmed. They started to narrow a bit. “Hanna? Do you remember me?”
She snorted. Little did he know she used to dream about him. “Of course.”
His gaze wandered over her head, into the studio behind her. “Are you okay?”
“I was up until three minutes ago.”
He let out a long, labored exhale. The kind that telegraphed a this-woman-is-working-on-my-nerves vibe. “Let’s start over. My father sent me.”
The memory of her youthful crush vanished. Her stomach squeezed and twisted until she had to fight the urge to yell. “To tell me to stay away? Well, I did that. If he’s ticked off it’s his own fault, or yours, because you came hunting me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever he wants this time, the answer is no.” She gave in and shoved the door. Put her weight behind it and let it fly.
Carter grabbed the edge before it crashed into his shoulder. “Whoa. What do you mean by this time? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Yep, his reflexes were just as solid as the rest of him. All muscle and long legs and perfect cheekbones... Man, she hated the Jameson family and their hot-male genes.
“You need to go.” She’d said it in a few ways now. Maybe this time would sink in.
“What did he do? My father. Your reaction is...telling.”
Carter could not be this clueless. It wasn’t just his father. It was him, too. He’d created a mess and had his big ol’ rich daddy sweep the problem away.
That was almost a year ago. Now Carter showed up, taking the never-happened part a bit too far. “Oh, please.”
“Hanna.”