The Billionaire's Son. Sharon Hartley
the narrow channel known as Government Cut.
Before long they motored off the ferry and reached a pair of towering wrought iron gates with the initials “WWV” inscribed at the top in a handsome flowing script. A decorative iron barrier surrounded the estate.
As the gates swung open, Trey focused his attention on his son again. “We’re home. Let’s try not to wake him.”
Kelly nodded.
The passenger compartment door opened after the driver stopped the limo. Kelly carefully shifted Jason so she could support him with both arms as she climbed out of the vehicle. Trey exited first and held out his hand to assist her, but she was afraid to release the kid who was dead weight in her arms.
Thankfully, she made it out without stumbling, and hoped she didn’t gape at the size of the structure before her. Villa indeed. Architecture was hardly her thing, but she recognized good design when it slammed her in the face. Wentworth’s home reminded her of photos she’d seen of estates in Tuscany. Coral roof tiles, classic columns and graceful arches made her think there might be a vineyard somewhere close by instead of the Atlantic Ocean.
She hefted the still-sleeping kid into a better position, and trudged up white marble steps toward the arched entranceway. Wentworth moved ahead with long easy strides and opened a massive door with the “WWV” monogram carved into the rich, dark wood. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the pleasant sound of a gurgling fountain in the corner.
The second thing she noticed was that the Wentworths’ villa was almost as cold as the police station. She could hardly wait for that hot shower.
“Let me take Jason,” Wentworth whispered. “I’ll put him down and get you settled.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said. Maybe she needed to increase her reps in weight training.
But Jason roused when she transferred the kid to his father. As he realized what was happening to him, he struggled to escape Wentworth’s grasp.
“No, Daddy! No,” the kid screeched. He reached his arms back toward Kelly. “I want Mommy.”
Kelly sighed and accepted him back. Jason wrapped his arms around her neck and linked his feet around her waist.
“Show me his bedroom,” she said, averting her gaze from the tight expression on Wentworth’s face.
A uniformed Hispanic woman whose left eye was swollen and bruised appeared in the marbled foyer, apparently alerted by Jason’s shrieks.
“Jasonito,” she exclaimed. Hurrying forward, she made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Gracias a dios.”
“Hello, Maria,” Wentworth said.
Kelly evaluated Maria. Dark hair and eyes, round face, five two, early thirties. Was this Jason’s nanny? The kid said the kidnappers struck someone named Maria, and this woman sported a nasty black eye.
“Welcome home, Mr. Wentworth,” Maria said. “So the ransom exchange went well?” she said in a hopeful tone.
“No,” Wentworth said. “But Jason is home safe, thanks to Officer Jenkins here. Officer Jenkins, this is Maria, my housekeeper and Jason’s nanny.”
“Please call me Kelly,” she said, tired of the formality.
“What happened?” Maria asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Wentworth said. “Right now we need to get Jason down for a nap.”
“Of course,” Maria said, reaching for the kid.
“No,” Jason whined, tightening his legs. “No!”
“Jasonito?” Maria asked in a hurt voice.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said to Maria. “I’m his safety blanket right now.”
“Maria, please ready a guest room so Kelly can take a shower.”
“Of course, sir.” She swiped away a tear, bowed and left the foyer.
“Follow me,” Wentworth told Kelly.
The room she hurried through was a blur of white marble, dramatic, subtly lit angles and well-made furnishings, again mostly white. No place for a kid to play, that’s for sure.
They ascended a grand, sweeping staircase and entered a bedroom that had to be Jason’s because an artist, and a pretty good one, had decorated the walls with cartoon characters, colorful balloons and pretty flowers, creating a cheerful space for a child.
Kelly spotted an elaborate bed designed to look like an airplane and moved toward it. Wentworth turned back the bedspread, and she gratefully placed Jason onto crisp, pale blue sheets.
He turned on his side, reached out and grasped her hand. “Don’t leave, Mommy,” he begged.
“Okay,” she said, suspecting the kid would be back asleep within minutes.
Wentworth moved a plush chair close to Jason’s bed, and Kelly sat. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll just wait here until he conks out again.”
Staring at his son, Wentworth said, “I’ll instruct my chef to prepare something to eat.” But he didn’t move. After a sigh, shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Jason’s cheek. “Sleep tight, buddy,” Wentworth whispered. He stepped to the windows, closed the shades and then left them alone.
Kelly blew out a breath, relieved to finally lose her burden and enjoy a little solitude.
Jason’s eyes drifted shut. His grip on her loosened. It wouldn’t be long before she could enjoy that promised shower.
She gaped at the number and variety of toys on display in the room. Like photos she’d seen of an avalanche of presents under the tree for some lucky brat on Christmas morning. Not her though. Her Christmases were spent in foster care where she was lucky if she got a hot breakfast.
This poor kid had everything he could possibly want and yet was so totally miserable he’d confused her for his dead mom.
TREY HURRIED DOWNSTAIRS. Jason was home. His son was safe. That was all he could and should focus on.
When he entered the spacious kitchen, his plump chef, the wife of his chauffeur, sat at the center island reading one of her many cookbooks. She stood immediately, her pleasant face split by a huge grin.
“Jason has safely returned home?” Greta asked.
“Yes,” Trey said. “We got lucky.”
“Thank God.” Then she held herself stiff. “What can I do for you, sir? Is he hungry?”
“I need you to prepare some sandwiches and hot soup. My attorney and Dr. Carico will be arriving, plus we have a visitor.”
“Yes, sir,” Greta said. “What about dinner?”
“Whatever you had planned,” Trey said. He couldn’t think that far ahead right now. First he needed to get Kelly Jenkins showered, fed and sent home. Maybe when she was gone, Jason would return to himself.
In his office, Trey moved to his desk and called the island pro shop, instructing them to deliver women’s golf shorts and a shirt. The Jenkins woman would need clean and more suitable clothing after her shower. “Size eight or—maybe six. Better bring one of each. I don’t care what color. Throw in some socks. Do you have lingerie? No? Okay. But make it quick. There’ll be a generous tip.”
He leaned back in his swivel chair and closed his eyes. What else needed to be done? He couldn’t think of a thing. His staff was efficient. Maria would see that Officer Jenkins—Kelly—got her shower and the new clothes.
He’d hoped when Jason got home he would forget this fantasy of his dead mom come back