I stare at him, half-confused and half-sad. His parents sound awful. In fact, his entire childhood sounds somewhat depressing and a little lonely.
He acts so cool and confident but a few times now I’ve noticed a ding in the armor of arrogance and playfulness he wears so easily. He’s cocky but wounded, charming but lonely, with the sureness of a wealthy man and the desperation of a pauper. I can’t figure him out, but one thing is certain.
Daren is not as tough or undamaged as he lets on.
“What?” He smiles at me crookedly. “You’re making a weird face.”
I shake my head. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. I pictured you jetting around the world every summer in a private plane with an entourage of other rich people.”
His eyes harden. “I told you. I’m not rich. My family used to be wealthy but we—I—don’t have money anymore.” He looks away, dismissing the topic. “Let’s check by the baggage area.”
I follow him in silence, wondering how he can claim to be “not rich” when two days ago I saw him driving a Porsche and right at this moment he’s wearing an outfit that probably cost more than my car is worth. But I drop the subject, not wanting to argue with him right before finding the inheritance.
It’s not an overwhelmingly big station, so we’re able to walk through the entire place rather quickly, without success.
“Nothing,” Daren says after we make two rounds of the building. “No other lockers or storage units of any kind with the number twenty-three.”
I tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “There has to be something we’ve overlooked. This is the only train station for miles. Let’s check outside on the platform.”
We pass through the waiting area to the outside where more dust and cobwebs fill the corners. The platform has no storage areas, and the old railroad tracks are rusty and covered in dead leaves. On the other side of the tracks are several empty crates and a string of out-of-service train cars covered in dirt and frozen in time on the maintenance tracks beyond.
Aside from that, there is nothing.
I rove my eyes over the area. “Maybe we should go back to Milly Manor and check the suitcase again. Maybe we missed some instructions or better directions or something.” I bite my lip. Or maybe my father didn’t actually leave us any money and this is all just a waste of time.
“Kayla, look.” Daren points ahead as his gaze zeroes in on something past the empty crates.
“What?” I follow his eyes to the old abandoned train in the distance. Five boxcars sit side-by-side on the maintenance track, and the very last car is red and stamped with two giant white numbers: a two and a three.
He gives me a wide grin. “Eureka!”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t think…”
“Oh, I think.” He nods with bright eyes. “I very much think.”
My jaw falls open. “My dad hid money in an old train car? What did he do, pack a bunch of bills in a duffle bag and toss it onto a pile of hay? Geez. Did no one ever tell him about safety deposit boxes?”
He laughs. “I don’t care where he hid it. I’m just glad we found it.”
Hurrying down the platform steps, we cross over the railroad tracks, pass the empty crates, and walk over to the red boxcar on the old maintenance tracks.
The door of the train car reminds me of a garage door, where the lock is at the bottom beneath a wide industrial handle. I pull the big golden key from my purse again and hold it up to the lock.
“Perfect match,” Daren says.
I wedge the key inside the hole and, with a few jiggles, the wide door unlocks with a loud click. Standing beside each other, we wrap our hands around the large horizontal handle and, using all our strength, pull up the heavy door. The hinges squeak and moan as it rolls up and locks into place. We peer inside and…
Nothing.
Well, not nothing, exactly. But certainly not money.
The boxcar is completely empty except for a single, folded piece of paper.
“What the…?” Daren sighs.
My face falls, speechless.
“What do you suppose it is?” He tips his chin at the piece of paper.
“A check for a million dollars?” I say hopefully.
The paper is in the very back of the train car so the only way to reach it is to climb inside. Which won’t be easy since my chest barely reaches the bottom of the car and we can’t climb in one at a time because of the handcuffs.
I lift up on my tiptoes. “How do you want to do this?”
Daren scratches his jaw. “Why don’t I hoist you inside first then I’ll jump in. Come here.” He turns me around to face him and I step into the circle of his arms.
The summer sun is now high in the sky, burning down on us. I stare at his chest where his T-shirt pulls tight against the hard muscles of his pecs, and a trickle of sweat slowly slides down the back of my neck.
The corded muscles of his neck ripple as he turns his head. “Hold on to my wrists. Then I’ll lift you up.” He places his big hands on my waist.
His thumbs slide under my shirt, grazing the bare skin of my stomach, and a warm zing shoots down my belly.
I look up at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Do what?” His expression is neutral but there’s a glimmer in his eye.
“Whatever,” I say, eyeing him shrewdly as I wrap my hands around his wrists.
He glides the pads of his thumbs over my tummy again and another, more powerful, zing darts straight down my belly and between my legs as I suck in a breath.
I narrow my gaze at him and his eyes dance with amusement.
“Cut it out,” I say.
“Cut what out?” he says.
“You know what.” I try to look stern.
“I certainly have no idea what you’re talking about.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face and I can’t stop the smile that starts to play at my own lips.
“Daren…”
His eyes lock on mine and the twitching low in my belly starts up again. Then his gaze drops to my mouth and I absently part my lips.
Hunger lights his eyes as he leans in and whispers, “Now do you want to kiss again?” His words flutter over my ear like soft, warm butterflies beating their wings against my sensitive skin and a shiver runs through me.
The answer is yes. I do want to kiss him again. It felt so good to have his mouth on mine last night. To feel him up against me. To give in to the wild passion inside me.
When I don’t answer, he brushes his thumbs over the naked skin of my stomach again, but this time dips them inside the waistband of my skirt and skims the lacey top of my panties.
I inhale sharply, tightening my fingers around his wrists as my nipples harden and heat builds in my core. I rub my thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache slowly building between my legs, but it’s no use. I’m already a tight puddle of need.
How come this beautiful man, who smells like clean citrus, can make me melt with just a simple touch? And how come it’s always so difficult for me to snap out of his sexy gaze?
I blink away from Daren’s pretty brown eyes and playfully whisper, “No,” before shifting back a few inches.
His eyelids, which were heavy with desire just moments ago, open fully as he scans my face and throat.
“Liar,” he says with a smile.
I smile back, grateful he doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. I’d surely give in if he did. Because Daren affects me.
Every other guy on the planet is just that: a guy. But Daren is a force. And I am a feather.
“Ready?” he asks, getting back to business as he moves slightly away from me.