“Hey, Al,” Brynn whispered, “Dad’s freaking out over here.”

“He’s worried about Monica. You still don’t know Brad’s last name or who his friends are?”

“Uh, no. I don’t hang out with stoners.”

The book dropped from Allie’s lap. “Is it just pot or something else?”

Brynn sighed. “I’m not sure, but I found a bag of pot under her mattress. Don’t tell her, okay? She’ll kill me if she knows I was snooping.”

“I promise. But you have to let me know if you find anything else.”

“Okay.” There was a long pause. “So, are you stopping by home this week? I mean, I know you’re busy. You don’t have to come, I was just curious.”

Although she might claim otherwise, Brynn needed her, needed the stability she provided. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll make you breakfast.” If Trevor had any objections, too bad. Allie had responsibilities.

“French toast?”

“You got it, Brynnie.”

After she hung up, she tried to concentrate on the book, but antique Spanish daggers, even the kind made from Toledo steel, just couldn’t hold her attention. What if Monica was doing something worse than sparking up? Allie had a bad feeling about this Brad guy.

She should have kept a better eye on Monica, should have searched her room, checked her phone.

Frustrated and restless, she grabbed her robe, threw it on, and opened her bedroom door. Glancing out to make sure no one was loitering in the hall, she padded from room to room, examining the objets d’art on display.

She stopped to look at carved salt cellars. Snuff boxes were grouped together on a shelf in the library. The top of each held an engraved herald or crest. What was the appeal of all these items? Trevor didn’t seem obsessed with the collections, yet he must be. She couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting some encased doodad.

As she drifted through the second floor, her mind turned over the situation with Monica, but she’d come to no conclusions. If her sister chose not to answer her messages, there wasn’t much Allie could do but worry.

She made her way to the round TV room and settled herself onto the squishy sofa, curling her feet beneath her, and began changing channels. She wasn’t in the mood for crime shows, news shows, or movies, but when she spotted an ugly pair of green earrings on a shopping channel, she paused.

“Good God, you’re not thinking of buying those,” Trevor whispered in her ear.

Allie jumped and spun her head. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He plopped on the sofa next to her, his thigh touching her leg. “How would you like me to sneak up on you?”

“How about not sneaking at all? And I can’t buy anything. I don’t have a job anymore.”

Trevor reached over and took the remote control out of her hand, hitting the off button and tossing it on the sofa cushion. He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong, love?”

She untucked her legs, pulling the edges of her robe closed. “My sister’s missing.”

“Monica?”

She nodded.

He picked up the pink satin sash and rubbed it between his fingers. “Missing how?”

“Like she’s gone. Trevor, I need to be at home with my family.”

“When was she last seen? Is she really missing, or is she with the boyfriend?” He shifted toward her, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.

“She’s been gone for two days, no one’s heard from her, and apparently, she’s smoking pot.”

He gasped. “Not the dreaded marijuana.”

She jerked her tie out of his grasp. “It’s not funny. My sister’s out there”—she flung her arm wide—“doing God knows what with some punk ass guy we know nothing about. She’s throwing her life away.”

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I’ll find out who this Brad person is, all right?”

Surprised at his offer to help, she nodded. “What’s this going to cost me? Nothing with you is free.”

He swooped down and kissed her. When his tongue stroked hers, she reached up to touch the side of his face, but he pulled away too quickly. “There, paid in full.” She ran a finger over her lips. That brief kiss wasn’t enough. Why did she have to feel this way about him? He was everything she didn’t want—high-handed, arrogant, snide.

He watched her reaction with hooded eyes. They stared at each other in silence until Allie began to feel her cheeks heat up.

Comforting, funny, confident. Sexy as hell. All right, so he had his good points.

She swallowed at the sensual allure in those smoky gray eyes. “I think you hurt your mom’s feelings at dinner.” She didn’t really want to talk about his mother. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him back. She wanted to stroke the prominent cheekbones, to feel the rough stubble on his chin. But after last night’s after-sex dismissal, she was a little hesitant to make the first move.

He plucked at her hair and, just like in the drawing room before dinner, twirled a strand around his finger, unwound it, and twisted it again. “My mother doesn’t have feelings, she has histrionics.”

Allie turned her head slightly to look up at him. “She was hurt, Trevor. I could see it in her eyes.”

He shrugged. “She’ll get over it.”

She knew it was useless to discuss it with him anymore. He had an amazing way of blocking out anything he didn’t want to hear.

Letting go of her hair, he brushed his finger lightly down her cheek.

She smiled and slapped at his hand. “That tickles.”

Trevor raised both brows. “Are you ticklish then, Miss Campbell?” His eyes twinkled, and without warning, he struck. His fingers scurried over her ribs and stomach. He squeezed her knee until she was twisting away from him.

Laughing, Allie tried to push him off but couldn’t. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. When he lightly squeezed her side, Allie couldn’t take anymore. The safe word they had talked about suddenly popped into her head. “Uruguay.” She laughed as she said it. With a grin, he kept tickling and she pushed at his chest. “Uruguay, Uruguay.”

He stopped squeezing but kept his hand pinned to her waist. He was halfway on top of her now, and her robe had parted, leaving her legs bare.

Allie froze beneath him. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Once again, his gaze snagged hers, and she was unable to look away. She reached up and smoothed a dark lock of hair off his forehead.

“Allison.”

***

Her white cotton T-shirt peeked between the edges of her robe. Shouldn’t be sexy, but it was. Long, blond hair fanned out over the sofa cushion, trailing toward the floor. She fluttered her lashes, her eyes locking with his, and she bit down on that pouty lower lip.

“I need to fuck you again.” He was surprised at how harsh his voice sounded, but he was on the edge here and he didn’t know how much longer he could watch her, ache for her, and not fucking take her.

“’Kay.” It was a faint whisper.

Okay? She was on board then?

Clamping both his hands on either side of her head, he took possession of her mouth. He slid his tongue against hers and bit at her lip, not too hard but probably enough to sting. Then he licked at it and nibbled, more gently this time.

During their encounters, both in the salon and in his office, he’d hardly kissed her at all. He hadn’t realized what he’d been missing. Allison was delicious. God, he loved the way she tasted. Sweet and hot. Loved the way her tongue met his, the way she sucked on it. And when she moaned into his mouth, he moaned too.

She murmured in the back of her throat as she moved her legs restlessly beneath him. Then Allie grabbed his wrists, stroked her hands along his arms, back and forth, scratching her short nails against his skin. Even that felt brilliant.

Abruptly, she let go of his arms and clutched his shirt in her hands, pulling him closer.

In response, Trevor fisted her soft hair, tilted her head back against the sofa pillow, and continued to devour her. Every bit of finesse deserted him, and he was like a randy schoolboy on his first time out. Their teeth bumped and he knew he was being too rough. She didn’t seem to mind though. She met him kiss for searing kiss, thrust her tongue against his, stroking it with her own.