Allie’s well of patience had run dry. She’d spent the afternoon with two adolescents, Brynn and Mags, and she’d had her fill. “I’m not going to beg you, Monica. Tell me if you want, but if you don’t, I need to drive Brynn home.”

Monica’s brow rose. Usually, Allie would coax and cajole her sister into spilling her guts. Then she’d try to fix it, give advice. Look how well that turned out. No, this time, she was going to treat Monica like an adult. She was going to follow Trevor’s advice and do nothing.

“Don’t you even care that I had a huge fight with Brad? You’re probably glad about that. You never liked him and you don’t even know him.”

Allie’s eyes grew wide. “Why are you mad at me?”

Monica stepped toward her. “You live with Trevor now, so you don’t care about the rest of us. You have designer clothes and go shopping all day with his mom. I heard Frances say he fixed your car. You’re just fucking him so he’ll buy you shit. You’re a gold digger.” She spun and ran up the stairs. A few seconds later, Allie heard a door slam.

God, she wished her mom were here to deal with this. She sighed. No, that wasn’t true; Allie wished her mom were still alive because she missed her so damn much.

***

Later that evening, when she stepped unnoticed into the drawing room, she was ten minutes late. She caught Trevor checking his watch, a look of irritation on his face. He probably just didn’t want to be alone with his parents one minute longer than he had to.

Nigel, drink in hand, held court next to the fireplace. “Shot an eighty-two today, Trev. I dare you to beat that score, Son. We should get a round in sometime this week.”

“I have a little habit I perform during the day. It’s called work.”

“Nonsense, dearest, you work too hard.” Mags sipped on something pink and, when she lifted her head, noticed Allie. “Oh, tell him.” She waved Allie into the room. “Tell my son he works too hard.”

Allie rubbed her hands along her silk-covered hips and walked toward them. She felt like a fraud. She needed to remember she wasn’t here as a guest or as a part of the family. She was the hired sex help. “Sorry, Mags, but it’s not my place to tell Trevor anything.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let me get you a drink, Allison.” Nigel mixed up a cosmo and handed it to her.

Allie felt the weight of Trevor’s gaze as she sat on the sofa. “I don’t know if Monica will be down. She was pretty upset this afternoon.”

“She’ll come around,” Mags said. “I’ll check on her later. By the way, rose is a very lovely color on you, Allison. We’ll keep it in mind when we go shopping tomorrow.”

Allie felt her cheeks heat and took a deep, uncomfortable breath. “Okay.” Such a fraud. She shouldn’t be shopping with Mags, making friends with his mother. When would she get it through her head that this was all temporary? And as soon as Allie got used to it, Trevor would get bored, and she’d be back in her North Las Vegas house with its peeling paint and whiny refrigerator, wondering what happened.

Trevor stalked over to the sofa and sat down next to her, almost on top of her, completely invading her space. She knew he didn’t like being ignored and would force her to acknowledge him. He was so damn pushy. That’s one of the things she loved about him.

What? Loved? Who said anything about love? No, not loved—liked. One of the things she liked about him.

“I thought you bought a dress already?” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers skimming her shoulder.

She fought against pulling away from him—fought against resting her head on his shoulder, the way she had earlier in the garden. “Mags decided against that one.”

“How was Brynn?” he asked, angling toward her, his face almost touching hers.

“She didn’t want to go home and was freely sharing that opinion about every two minutes. But she and Dad had a long talk.”

His eyes swept over her face. “She’ll be all right, darling. What about you? Did you and your father work things out?” The concern in his voice melted her heart.

“No.” The sting of betrayal was still strong where her father was concerned. But he had promised Brynn that he’d move more slowly with Karen. Allie wondered what slowly meant in his world, but she’d bit her tongue for Brynn’s sake.

Arnold stood in the doorway, as if he’d suddenly appeared. The man was one stealthy butler. “Dinner is ready.”

Trevor took Allie’s arm and hauled her up next to him. Walking behind his parents, he slowed his pace and, leaning down, whispered, “You’ve taken such good care of them, darling.” He kissed the side of her head.

She glanced up at him, at his gorgeous eyes, his sometimes cruel mouth, which was now tilted in a smile. Struck dumb, she faltered.

Love. She was in love with Trevor Blake. The realization ran through her, filling her with panic.

Shit. When had this happened? And how did she make it stop?

Immediately, Trevor halted beside her. “What’s wrong, love? Are you ill?”

She blinked and tried to wipe what must be a horrified expression off her face. “No, sorry. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’re quite pale.”

“I’m fine.” She tugged at his arm, and they resumed walking to the dining room.

Allie didn’t say much as dinner progressed. She tried to act normally, but she wasn’t hungry and ended up pushing food around on the plate.

What if he figured out her feelings? Would he ridicule her, pity her? Or would he simply shrug, tell her it was her problem to deal with, and pretend like it didn’t matter?

Allie felt empty as she sat next to him. Her stomach was a little queasy and an overwhelming tide of hopelessness enveloped her. They would never work. They were too different, and he was too cynical.

And even if Trevor wasn’t completely disillusioned by his parents and their failed marriages, he and Allie would never be able to build a relationship on the foundation they had now. She was a paid mistress and he’d never see her as something more.

It took forever before the dessert course was served. When Allie declined, Trevor did too.

He pushed away from the table and glared at her. “Let’s go.” He pulled back her chair, took her hand, and dragged her out of the dining room.

She glanced back at his parents, but Mags just smiled and waved with her spoon.

Allie had to jog to keep up with him. “Slow down, Trevor.”

He didn’t. When he reached the library, he yanked her inside, shut the door behind them, and locked it. Then, leaning against it, he folded his arms across his chest. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You’ve looked shocky all evening.”

Allie debated with herself: tell him what was bothering her—not all of it, not about how she loved him, God no—or lie. But Trevor could sniff out lies like a dog on a hunt. She decided to go with the truth.

“Brynn and Monica said something today, and it made me feel…” She raised her shoulders. “Weird, I guess. That’s all. I’m fine.”

“What did they say?”

Allie wandered around the room. She ran her finger over a row of books—Shakespeare. “Did you inherit these from your grandfather as well?”

“Allison,” he said pleasantly.

Oh no, she was in serious trouble if he was being pleasant.

“Are they old? They look old.”

“We’re not leaving this room, darling, until you tell me all of it.”

Allie sighed and walked to the wooden chess table. Carved pieces of ivory and onyx stood in formation. She picked one up and studied it. The knight was heavy in her hand. “Trevor, it’s nothing. I’m just being sensitive.”

“What did they say, Allison?”

She glanced up at him. “Brynn mentioned that we’re living together.”

“And so we are.”

“I’m fucking you for money, Trevor.” She should have eased into it, but talking to him was like taking a dose of truth serum. Everything came tumbling out whether she wanted it to or not.