“I didn’t know you had company,” he said, his voice low with a hint of command.
Lillian waved him forward, holding out her hand as he approached. “Mason, I was hoping you’d stop by.” She smiled up at him.
Robyn did her best to keep her mouth from dropping open. Lillian obviously liked the man. Yes, he was good-looking, and people shouldn’t be alone if they didn’t want to be, but he had to be at least fifty years younger, and was she being judgmental to think some version of ew?
Lillian turned to Robyn. “You two finally get to meet. This is Mason Bishop.”
“Is it?”
Lillian laughed. “I can tell you have no idea who I’m talking about. Darling, this is the man who’s going to inherit the house.”
nine
“ARE YOU SURE?” Robyn asked before she could stop herself. Unexpected resentment mingled with fear and jealousy. “Have you confirmed his identity or spoken with your lawyer?” She turned to Mason. “Any proof that you’re related to Leo?”
Lillian’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t speak. Mason’s calm expression never changed.
“Nice to meet you, Robyn,” he said with absolutely no edge to his voice. “I saw Lillian’s lawyer a couple of days ago. As for confirming my identity, Lillian reached out to me. Not the other way around.”
“He’s right, I did,” her great-aunt assured her. “Years ago. We’ve been corresponding, me more than him, but you know how men are.” Lillian leaned toward her. “Please don’t be angry. I should have said something. I just thought your meeting would be a lovely surprise.”
Robyn tried to understand. She’d always known the house was going to a relative of Leo’s, but the specifics had been vague at best. Lillian had implied she didn’t know anything, either.
Apparently that wasn’t true. Apparently they’d become good friends, and now he was here.
“You’ve been in touch with him for years, and you never said anything?”
“Oh, dear.” Lillian’s mouth turned down. “I’ve hurt you.”
“I’m not hurt.” Not exactly. The situation was just confusing and not at all what she’d expected, and she didn’t like any part of it. She looked at Mason. “How long have you been living here?”
“Nearly two weeks.”
“What?” Robyn scrambled to her feet and faced her aunt. “You’ve had someone living here for two weeks and didn’t think to tell me?”
Suddenly Harlow’s fury over lies of omission made a lot more sense.
“What else is happening that I don’t know about?” She glared at Mason. “Are you taking advantage of her? Have you stolen money from her?”
“Robyn!” Lillian’s voice was sharp. “You’re being ridiculous. Mason is family, just like you. I invited him. The terms of the will are clear.”
“I don’t care about the house. I care about you.”
Mason stiffened. “I’m not taking advantage of your aunt.”
Robyn wanted to ask how she could possibly believe him—she didn’t know him. She looked at Lillian. “I’m calling the lawyer.”
“Excellent idea.” Lillian rose. “Let me get you his number. The sooner we clear this up, the better.”
* * *
Mason stood in his bedroom, telling himself he didn’t care what Robyn Caldwell thought of him. He was here legitimately, and if she had a bee up her ass about that, she’d have to get over it.
Which sounded great but was total bullshit.
Lillian had mentioned her niece several times, had even hinted they were both single, a fact Mason had ignored. He knew his flaws, and he just wasn’t very good at relationships. When Lillian had told him Robyn was coming for a visit, he’d barely paused to nod. What did he care? No, having her here wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she obviously hated him.
He’d seen it in the way she’d looked at him—as if he were slime on her shoe. She’d wanted him to not exist, or disappear, which would have been no big deal if she hadn’t been so… So…
Incredible.
He swore under his breath, telling himself to get his shit together. Yes, Robyn was stunning. Athletic, with long blond hair and eyes as blue as… Hell, he didn’t know. The sky maybe?
She looked like a woman who wouldn’t take crap from a man. She looked like the kind of woman you gladly sold your soul for, even if you knew it was going to end badly. Which proved his theory that life was a woman with a mean sense of humor.
He had no idea what had just happened. He generally enjoyed women. Some were more desirable than others, but he’d never once in his life felt a kick in his gut just from looking at one.
Charles II appeared from under the bed and jumped up to Mason’s desk, his expression imperious. When Mason didn’t pet him, Charles meowed loudly.
“Do you always get what you want?” Mason asked, stroking the cat. Charles butted his head against his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Behind your ears. I remember.”
The cat was a distraction but not enough of one. Mason was aware that Robyn was somewhere in the house. Probably talking to the lawyer or calling the cops. He could deal with either. For a brief second, he imagined she was changing her clothes the way some women did every fifteen minutes. What if she was naked? Even if she wasn’t, she would be at some point. Like in the shower.
That fantasy went right to his groin, giving him a painful boner faster than he could say the word.
He pulled open the balcony doors. Unfortunately the outside temperature wasn’t cool enough to do anything about his erection. He forced himself to think about his book and the research he still had to do. When that didn’t work, he recalled the disdain in Robyn’s eyes, and that seemed to do the trick.
He returned to his desk, moved Charles to his bed, then opened his laptop. Work was always a place to escape, he reminded himself. He could get lost in the—
He heard a knock.
Mason stared at the door for several seconds before crossing to open it. He’d been expecting Salvia or even Lillian, but instead Robyn stood in the hallway.
Up close, her eyes were even bluer than he remembered. She was about five-seven, and that hair. Gold blond and falling straight down to the middle of her back. He would have given his left nut to touch it.
“Mason,” she said, then paused.
The sound of his name on her lips about brought him to his knees. “Ma’am.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me? Ma’am? Is that what you called me?”
“It seemed appropriate.” Actually it had been a defensive move, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
“Wow. Okay, then. Should I call you Mr. Bishop?”
“If you’re up to it, we can progress to first names.”
“Seeing as your third or fourth cousin—Lillian wasn’t clear—was married to my great-aunt, and we’re going to be living in the same house for a while, I’m in favor of first names.”
He nodded because standing this close to her, hearing her speak for so long, had turned his brain to mush. He stepped back, indicating she was welcome to enter, only realizing after the fact he’d invited her into his bedroom. Not the wisest move considering his current lack of dick-control.