Fuck you

He glared at her and slowly lowered his fork. “If you want, you can continue but I'm telling you, forget about Agatha. Call your dad and terminate the offer. I'll get Victor to help your career"

“All right, all right. I get the picture.” She sighed with exasperation. “Well, then, how are you going to explain me?”

"What"

"Anything about you"

“There’s nothing to explain. My friends will mind their own business, you don't need to know anything about my family, it's not your concern unlike some people. And besides, you’re going back to Liverpool.”

Her smile was slow and sweet. “I can’t do that. I made a promise to dad. I always keep my promises. So will you mind coming with me to see my dad at least?"

One corner of his mouth tipped up as he reached out and took her chin in his hand. The look in his eyes seared her right down to her toes, and her breath caught as he brought his face close to hers.

“Here’s a promise for you, too.” The tone in his voice was laden with sexuality. “I’m going back out to swim right now. If you’re still here when I get back, I’m going to do something we both want, and we’ll both regret.”

He released her, then pushed away from the table. “Get this through that pretty little head of yours—I’m not going back to Liverpool with you. Not now. Not ever. Now stop bothering me.”

He stomped out of the room, and once again Bella felt completely out of balance. Light-headed and unwound.

She let out a long, slow breath, and with shaking hands, quickly cleaned up. Her skin still burned where he’d touched her. The look in his eyes said it all, and she knew she’d better get out of there before he got back.

But why is he all worked up about spying on Agatha?

He spent the next twenty-four hours in blissful silence. , reading, counting spiders on the front porch. An entire day of quiet, by himself. Exactly what he’d wanted, exactly what he’d asked for.

So why the hell was he so damn edgy?

It wasn’t the bombshell that Blondie had laid on him the night before last. It was going to take some time to absorb what she’d told him about his parents and grandmother, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it.

If he felt anything.

He wasn’t ready to accept any of her story as fact just yet, and until he looked into the matter himself, he had no intention of giving it more than minimal brain space.

But Bella Trump was another story. He’d given equal effort to putting her out of his mind, as well, and met with no success.

Blasted woman. He glanced out the kitchen window, watching the woods, half expecting her to be hiding there, watching him. She wasn’t, though. Even if he couldn’t see her, he’d know if she was there. He’d feel it.

So what the hell was she up to?

And why the hell couldn’t he get her off his mind?
And why is her stepmother wanting her out of the picture by using her as a pawn?

"Who really are you Bella Trump? Why did you seem to have so much enemy?" He questioned himself.

Only because he didn’t trust her, he told himself, and walked away from the window. He kept expecting her to pop up any minute, her green eyes smiling and that sassy little mouth yammering. A mouth he’d thought about well into his sleepless night.

Fortunately for her, she’d taken him seriously when he’d told her to leave after breakfast yesterday. If she’d been there when he’d come back, he would have dragged her straight to his bed—exactly where he’d wanted her since he’d tied her up in the cattails by the lake.

He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. Damn, he must be one sick bastard.

He could understand wanting to take the woman to bed; he had a healthy appetite when it came to sex. What he couldn’t understand was his preoccupation with her. Why she continually crept into his thoughts. She wasn’t even his type, he thought irritably. She had the looks, all right, and she certainly had a body that wouldn’t quit, but Washington was full of women who fit that bill.

Bella Trump was just too spontaneous, too enthusiastic and too damn trusting. She obviously hadn’t spent much time in the real world.

Yanking on a jeans jacket, he stomped out of the cabin and climbed into the truck. He was meeting Drake and Victor at the tailor’s, where they had to be fitted for tuxedos, of all things. Victor owed him big time for this. The only thing Ian hated more than wearing a tuxedo was wearing a cast. And a cast was considerably more comfortable, not to mention considerably less ridiculous looking.

He drove down the dirt road that led by Bella's room, but only because it was the easiest route leading to the main road, he told himself. Her Jeep was gone, and he wondered if she’d finally given up and gone back to Liverpool. Not that it mattered to him one way or the other. She could stay or hang around all she wanted, as long as she didn’t bother him.

Except she did bother him. A lot.

Downshifting the truck, he pulled out onto the steep mountain road, found a hard-rock station on the radio, then cranked up the volume.

Maybe music could drown the woman out of his mind.

In spite of his need to flatten the accelerator, he slowed at the hairpin curve at Meadow View, the half way point down the mountain. It wasn’t uncommon to come upon a deer in the road here, or occasionally a boulder that had tumbled down.

He rounded the curve and slammed on the brakes, though not for a deer or a boulder. It was Bella.

Her Jeep was sideways, half on the road, half off. She knelt behind one of the rear tires, and was peering underneath the car. At the sound of his truck pulling alongside hers, she glanced up, then stood.

Brushing off her hands, she stuck them into the front pockets of her jeans. Her pink cotton T-shirt was smudged with dust across her breasts, and he struggled to keep his eyes on her face.

She watched him approach, her manner contrite, almost demure, a side of her he hadn’t seen before. The corners of her mouth tipped upward, a proper damsel-in-distress smile. Hesitant, but welcoming. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair tumbled in soft curls around her face and shoulders.

Damn if she didn’t look appealing, he thought, which only increased his irritation.

“Morning,” she greeted him.

He nodded. “What’s the problem?”