Bombshell for the Black Sheep Page 2

  She searched his face for the truth. “Why are things awkward with your siblings? Isn’t your brother your twin? I seem to recall you telling me that. Aren’t twins supposed to be tight?”

  “I did something to upset my father and Jonathan, my brother. I was written out of the will. And to be honest, maybe I deserved it. But I love my family. They’re everything to me. I would like to heal the rift...if that’s even possible.”

  He could have wheedled. Or flirted. Or even pressured. Instead, he simply stood there. Looking at her. So intently that her nipples tightened beneath the soft cotton of her bra. She hadn’t imagined the physical connection between them. It was as real today as it was the other times he had blasted into her world. As real as the mantel clock that ticked a steady rhythm.

  “Okay. I’ll go with you.” A platonic date to a funeral didn’t mean she was capitulating a third time. “I can be ready in half an hour. Will that do?”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Fiona.” His gaze was sober. “I appreciate it.”

  “Wait for me here. If the doorbell rings, please answer it. I’m expecting some packages.”

  * * *

  Hartley watched her walk away, wishing he could join her in the shower and forget that his life was imploding. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had agreed to go with him. Because of the situation he was in and the looming stress of seeing his family again, he had to slam the lid on all the erotic memories this small house contained.

  His gut was in a knot, but the burning dread eased. With Fee beside him, he could get through this afternoon.

  Before he could pull out his phone and check his email, a loud knock sounded at the door. The uniformed delivery man on the porch was beaming when Hartley answered the summons, but his smile faded.

  “I have some packages,” he said.

  Hartley didn’t call him out on the awkward, unnecessary explanation. “I see that,” he said mildly.

  The kid, barely twenty at most, tried to peer inside the house. “Fiona needs to sign for this delivery.”

  Hartley’s territorial instincts kicked in. “Ms. James is in the shower.”

  The young man recognized the veiled rebuke. His face flushed. “You could do it, I suppose.”

  “I supposed I could.” Hartley scrawled his name and handed back the electronic clipboard. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”

  Three large boxes changed hands. Hartley gave the poor schmuck a terse nod and closed the door firmly. He couldn’t blame the kid for having a crush, but Fiona deserved a man in her life.

  The irony of that didn’t escape him. In fact, now that he had Fee in his corner, he could spare a moment to wonder what she had been up to in the weeks and months he had been traveling the world. Was there a man somewhere who would protest Hartley’s current involvement in her life?

  His stomach-curling distaste for that thought told him he was more invested than he wanted to admit. It seemed impossible he could be obsessed with a woman he had known for less than a week, collectively. Yet of all the people in his life who could have been persuaded to accompany him to his father’s funeral, Hartley had chosen Fiona.

  The momentary peace he experienced deep in his heart told him he had made the right decision.

  A lot of things were going to change in the next weeks and months. Even if his brother didn’t trust him and his sister would reproach him for being gone so long, the three of them would have to work together to settle their father’s affairs.

  Only Hartley knew how very difficult that was going to be.

  A noise in the hall brought his head up. His breath caught in his throat. “Fiona,” he croaked. “You look amazing.”

  Her classic black dress was sleeveless and knee length. Sexy black sandals showcased slender legs. She had tried to tame her medium-length hair with two antique tortoiseshell combs. Now fiery curls framed her elfin face. “Is this okay?” she asked. “To be honest, I haven’t been to a funeral in a very long time.” She toyed with the simple pearl earrings that matched the necklace at her throat.

  “You’re perfect,” he said.

  Two

  Fiona avoided funerals on a good day. Attending this particular one on the arm of the man who had treated her so shabbily didn’t make sense.

  Yet here she was.

  Charleston, in all her low-country charm, basked in the summer sun. The city was a unique amalgam of Southern gentility and a lingering painful past. Palm trees and horse-drawn carriages. Elegant secluded courtyards. And everywhere, the patina of old money. Farther out from the city, pockets of poverty existed, but here in the historic district, wealth and social position held sway.

  By the time Fiona and Hartley made it to the upscale funeral home in the heart of town, she knew she was in trouble. Hartley had barely spoken a word the entire time, but she was hyperaware of him at her side.

  He drove with careless confidence despite the tightness in his jaw and his palpable air of tension.

  It was impossible not to think about the other times they had been together. At least it was impossible for her. Presumably, Hartley was too distraught to think about sex.

  She was having second and third thoughts about her role this afternoon. “So what do I need to know?” she asked. “I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t.”

  Hartley shot her a sideways glance before spotting an empty spot down the street and parallel parking with ease. “Just follow my lead. My sister will be emotional. For several reasons. She doesn’t know why I’ve been gone.”

  “Join the club,” Fiona muttered.

  Hartley ignored her sarcasm. “Mazie’s husband is J.B. He’s been a friend of ours since we were kids. He and Mazie reconnected recently and fell in love. And to further confuse you, J.B. is my brother’s best friend.”

  “Got it.”

  “Jonathan, my twin, had serious brain surgery not too long ago, but he’s made a complete recovery. His wife is Lisette. She’s been working for Tarleton Shipping a long time.”

  “And your mother? I haven’t heard you speak of her.” Fiona got out and smoothed her skirt with damp hands. Meeting strangers was not her forte. In this situation, the stakes were much higher than usual. Hartley got out as well and closed his door, resting his arms on the roof of the car as he stared at her. “My mother is not in the picture. The only people you’ll have to deal with today are my siblings and their spouses.”

  If his words were meant to reassure her, they failed. Hartley’s air of mystery told her the Tarleton family had more than one skeleton in the closet. Why else would Hartley be so worried about seeing his brother and sister? It was beginning to dawn on Fiona that his brief though startling contact with her was not the only relationship he had abandoned.

  They arrived at the funeral home early. Hartley wanted time to speak with his family before the receiving of friends began. When he took Fiona’s hand in his as they mounted the steps to the red-brick and white-columned building, she wasn’t sure he even noticed.

  She tugged him to a halt before he opened the door, squeezing his fingers, trying to extend her support. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “Every family goes through this. You’ll make it. You all will.”

  His expression was grim. “Death is one thing. Handling the living is something else again.”

  His odd words stayed with her for the next half hour, illuminating the awkward family reunion.

  Mazie was the first person to spot her brother. She ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, her face wet with tears. “I swear I shouldn’t forgive you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Fiona hung back as Hartley embraced his classically beautiful sister. Mazie’s skin was fairer than her brother’s. And though the family resemblance was strong, her eyes were more golden amber than brown. Her elegance made Fiona feel dowdy in comparison. Mazie wore emeralds t
hat must have cost a fortune.

  Hartley reached back and drew Fiona into the small circle. “Mazie, this is my friend, Fiona James. She was kind enough to be my date today.”

  Fiona grimaced. “I told him no one needs an escort to a funeral, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Mazie smiled through her tears. “That sounds like Hartley. Wait a minute,” she said. “Fiona James the artist? My husband and I have a couple of your paintings. The Salt Marsh at Sunset. The Bridge at Twilight. I treasure them. You’re incredibly talented.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said. It still startled her to be recognized.

  Mazie dried her face with a tissue. “Jonathan is just around the corner. You might as well get this meeting over with.”

  Hartley’s gaze darkened. “Is he really going to be okay?”

  “Right as rain,” Mazie said. “He didn’t even freak out when Lisette told him she had been keeping you in the loop. Apparently, staring death in the face mellows a man.”

  Hartley curled an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Jonathan was misdiagnosed in the beginning, but fortunately, the mistake was caught in time.”

  “How scary,” Fiona said.

  Mazie nodded. “Terrifying. We thought we were going to lose him.”

  They turned down a hallway and more or less ran into the third Tarleton sibling. Jonathan had clearly overheard the end of their conversation.

  He lifted a shoulder, his smile laconic. “Apparently, I’m hard to kill.”

  The two brothers sized each other up. The tension was painful. They were definitely identical twins. No hiding that. But even an outsider would have no problem telling them apart.

  Olive skin. Dark brown eyes. Chestnut hair. Those were the commonalities. Hartley’s hair was longer...untamed...sun-bleached. And he had the look of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Jonathan, on the other hand, was GQ handsome. Sculpted jaw. Expensive haircut. Conservative suit.

  Two stunningly handsome men in their prime.

  Hartley kept an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Hello, Jonathan.”

  Mazie made a huffing noise. “For God’s sake. Hug each other.”

  The brothers ignored her. At last, Jonathan held out his hand. “Welcome home, Hartley.”

  Even without being privy to all the details, Fiona knew this moment was epic. It was written in Jonathan Tarleton’s wary expression and in the rigid set of Hartley’s posture.

  “Thank you,” Hartley said quietly. “I’m glad to be back, but not for this reason. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened.”

  Mazie spoke up, her tears flowing again. “None of us were. Apparently, he died in his sleep. The housekeeper found him.”

  “Hell,” Hartley said quietly. “I knew he wasn’t well, but I honestly thought he would go on forever.”

  “So did we.” Jonathan glanced at his watch. “Would you like to see him?”

  Fiona felt the shudder that racked Hartley’s body. “Yes,” he said gruffly.

  Moments later, the four of them stood around the casket. Gerald Tarleton had been a large man. But in death, he looked old and frail. Fiona knew he had built a far-reaching shipping empire that would now pass on to his children. Again, she wondered about Mrs. Tarleton. Was she dead or alive?

  Soon they were joined by J.B. Vaughan and Lisette, Jonathan’s wife. Mazie took care of the introductions. Her husband wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “No more crying, honey. You’ll give yourself a migraine.” He dabbed his wife’s cheeks with a handkerchief.

  Fiona felt a fierce stab of envy. Would any man ever look at her with such naked devotion?

  Her stomach curled with tension. Dozens of floral arrangements flanked the casket and filled the walls on either side. The heavy scent of carnations made Fiona feel ill. A cold sweat dampened her brow.

  Could she leave? Could she simply run away? This wasn’t her family crisis. Suddenly, she knew she needed a moment to gather her composure. But before she could make a break for it, the funeral home director appeared behind them and intruded with a hushed cough.

  “Guests are arriving,” he said, his tone sepulchral. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to an anteroom. We’ll open the doors, and then I’ll bring you in and arrange the receiving line.”

  This was Fiona’s chance. In the transition, she darted down the hall and found the ladies’ room. Once in the stall, she retched and dry-heaved. Oh, God. She felt terrible. Her life was usually placid and peaceful. She liked it that way. Damn Hartley for pulling her into the middle of this mess.

  When the crisis passed, she put a cold paper towel on the back of her neck and touched up her makeup. All her life she had never done well with confrontation and stress. Lack of stability in her formative years had left her with issues. Duh.

  Her psyche craved calm, the kind of steady, peaceful existence her art gave her. She was happiest when she could lose herself in a creative project. Seeing Hartley again and having to negotiate his family storms made her a nervous wreck.

  Still, he said he needed her. That had been enough to coax her into accompanying him during this difficult afternoon. She’d spent too many years ingratiating herself with different foster families to change her personality overnight.

  She was independent now. She didn’t have to worry about housing or food or even winning a kind word from a stranger. But the desire to fit in...to be useful...was never far from the surface.

  Fortunately, the crowds of visitors had already overtaken the room where the Tarleton family stood to greet friends and business acquaintances. Fiona was able to slip in unnoticed and take her place at Hartley’s side. He gave her a quick intimate glance, but immediately returned his attention to the seemingly endless line of men and women waiting to speak to him.

  Fiona smiled and nodded, content to remain in the background. Occasionally, someone questioned Hartley about his long absence from Charleston. Each well-meaning query was deflected with a vague throwaway comment.

  The man was a social genius, even if he did have more disappearing acts than Houdini.

  At last, it was time to adjourn to the chapel. A couple of songs, some readings and a few words from Jonathan. Finally, it was over.

  Fiona couldn’t wait to leave. Her stomach still felt iffy, and her head ached. Before she could plan her exit, Mazie appeared at her side.

  The other woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she was calm. “A few of our friends have catered a dinner for us out at the beach house. We’ll be headed that way in a few moments. Don’t let Hartley escape.”

  “Oh, no,” Fiona said. “This is your family time. I need to go home. It was lovely to meet you.”

  Mazie frowned and strong-armed Fiona into a nearby corner. “Please, Fiona. You don’t know all the details.” She paused and grimaced. “To be honest, I don’t even know. But Jonathan and Hartley had a huge falling-out about something, something big. This is the first time they’ve been in the same room in over a year. They have to heal this thing. And we need you to be an impartial bystander.”

  “Why?” Fiona asked, searching desperately for a polite way to make her excuses.

  Mazie’s eyes filled with tears again, though this time perhaps not for her father’s passing. “I adore my brothers. They’ve been my supporters and protectors my entire life. It kills me to see them so stiff and polite with each other. Please, Fiona,” she said urgently. “Please have dinner with us.”

  Hartley walked up to them, overhearing his sister’s invitation. “Of course she’s coming—right, Fee?”

  Fiona knew she was trapped. She gnawed her lip. “If you’re sure I won’t be intruding.” She gave Hartley a pointed stare. “But I can’t stay too late. I have a huge project to begin tomorrow, and I want to be in bed at a decent hour.”

  His gaze was inscrutable. “Understood.”

&n
bsp; Hartley was no more communicative during the drive to the Tarleton home than he had been earlier en route to the funeral. The silence suited Fiona just fine. She leaned her head back against her seat and closed her eyes.

  Unfortunately, shutting Hartley out was not so easy. His masculine scent teased her nose. Her fingers itched to cross the divide between them and stroke his thigh. She wanted to help him. She really did. And she wanted to be with him. But her sense of self-preservation warned her to keep her distance.

  Instead, she was accompanying him to a meal and a social occasion that was sure to produce strong emotions and any one of a dozen possible outcomes, from uncomfortable silence to vocal recriminations.

  If she was lucky, the Tarletons would be on their best behavior. Fiona would be able to return home and would never again answer her door to a tall, handsome lover.

  Despite her misgivings, she was eager to see the beach house. Years ago, Gerald Tarleton had built a walled compound on the tip of a barrier island north of Charleston. Fiona knew of the property in general terms, but when Hartley steered the car through the front gates, she was both taken aback and enchanted.

  The structure rested on massive stilts, of course. A sweeping staircase led up to the beautiful double-door entrance. Even from the driveway, Fiona could see the intricate stained glass that incorporated sea turtles, dolphins and starfish. As an artist, she was fascinated.

  As a woman, she wanted to run far away.

  Hartley shut off the engine and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “This feels so damned wrong.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, but she didn’t know how else to help him.

  The early evening light illuminated his drawn expression. “I grew up here,” he said quietly. “After 9/11, our father was paranoid. He barely let us leave the house for the longest time.”

  “I can understand that, I suppose. He wanted to protect you.” She gazed up at Hartley’s family home. It was a far cry from the houses where she had been bounced around.