Page 69 of Betrayed

“I don’t understand,”Isay, as he comes around to the passenger side and takes me in his arms.

“Don’t understand what, baby?” he asks as he carries me to the front door—a huge, imposing slab of oak that’s carved into intricate patterns with an old-fashioned brass doorknocker in the shape of a wolf’s head.

“I don’t understand why you’d take a job as a dishwasher,”Itell him. “Imean, you have all this…”Iwave my hand vaguely. “Whycome live inSingingRock?”

“Because that’s where you were,” he says simply. “Iwanted to be with you.”

His answer makes my heart flutter, butI’mstill not happy about his deception.

“But why did you pretend to beKanefor so long?”Iask him.

Connor shakes his head.

“Listen,Ipromise to explain everything but first we need to get you cleaned up and out of that crazy breeding outfit.”

I have to agree with that.Wecan’t hash everything out standing here on his doorstep.Orat leastConnoris standing andI’min his arms.

“Okay,”Isay, nodding. “ButIwant to know everything.”

“Everything,” he promises.

He leans in to show his face to a shiny black panel and after a moment, it clicks and the door swings open.Connorcarries me inside andIgasp at the opulence around me.IthoughtRaymondthe stylist had a nice house, but this puts it to shame.Itreally looks like something you’d see in an article about “Homesof theRichandFamous” or something like that.

“You like it?”Connorasks as he carries me through the massive, round foyer and into the back of the house.

“It’s gorgeous,”Iadmit.

“It’s empty,” he says flatly. “Idon’t have anyone to share it with.”

“But…what about your family?”IrealizeIdon’t know anything about him—not really.Doeshe have a family to share this with?

Connor shakes his head.

“Gone,” he says. “Alldead.”

“Oh my…”Iput a hand to my mouth. “Whathappened?”

“My parents both died of natural causes,” he tells me. “Mysister,Bethany…”Heshakes his head andIsense it hurts to talk about.Shemust have been killed suddenly in some way.

“That’s all right—you don’t have to say it,”Itell him quickly.

“Thank you.I’lltell you later,” he promises.

We walk down a long corridor—this is the kind of house that has “wings”—with lots of doors.Whenwe get to the end,Connorpushes inside and we find ourselves in a massive bedroom.Inthe center is a bed with four intricately carved wooden posts.Ithas a fluffy dark green and brown comforter with gold trim that looks like it costs more than my car.Itprobably did,Ithink.

ButConnordoesn’t give me much time to admire his bedroom.Hecarries me into an ensuite bathroom that has a fancy shower stall and an enormous marble tub.

He places me carefully down on the broad edge of the tub and raises his eyebrows.

“This okay, baby?Canyou sit for a minute?”

“I’m fine,”Iassure him, though to be honest,Istill feel really weak.NotlikeI’mgoing to fall over though—Ican manage to sit on my own.

“Good.”

Connor starts running a bath in the tub.Headds some good smelling bubble bath which foams up at once and then turns to me.

“All right, let’s get you out of that dress.”

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