His grin was wicked. “Of course.”
“Not that kind of personal question.” But still, very personal. And awkward. I gestured around us. “How did you pay for all this?”
His brows lifted in surprise; whatever he’d expected me to ask, it hadn’t been that. “With money?”
“I mean—I can’t believe I haven’t asked this—I assume you get paid by the Pack for working at NAC or . . . ?”
“Pack members get a portion of the profits from NAC Industries and the businesses that make it up. They’ve been mostly very successful. Our family’s share is larger because we put up the initial investment money.”
I could buy that, and knew they operated several businesses, but his individual sliver of Keene family profits still didn’t seem to be enough for all this. “And?”
“And,” he said flatly. “Other means.”
I thought of the leather, the bikes, and what little I knew of old-school motorcycle clubs said they ran heavy in drug and protection rackets.
“That’s an ignorant stereotype,” he said, apparently having read the look on my face. “And no, I didn’t use those other means to buy the house. The funds were entirely legitimate.”
“From the profits of NAC Industries?”
To my absolute surprise, faint pink rose across his cheekbones. “And other sources in my account.”
“Do you . . . have a trust fund?”
More pink, which made my grin widen.
“Are you . . . rich?”
“You don’t have to say it like that.”
I grinned at him. “I kind of think I do.”
“I’m comfortable,” he said, squirming a little. “My parents knew how to invest their funds.” He tapped my chin. “So if we can’t meet the deadline, and I need to whisk you out of Chicago, we can make other plans.”
His turn for a decent segue. “And where would we go?”
“Wherever you’ll go with me,” he said and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Come here.” He patted the blanket. “Let’s enjoy the night and the air and the breeze. And the peace and damned quiet.”
I adjusted to lie beside him, fitting perfectly into his arms. And he was right. It was peaceful and quiet. The brick wall or house or greenery, or all three, seemed to soften the sounds of the city, so it hummed softly around us. The air was cool, the breeze delicious, and a few stars had been strong enough to pierce the haze and shine above us.
“I can’t believe this is inside the city,” I said. “It’s really remarkable.”
“I thought so. It felt like . . . an oasis. But we won’t get many more nights like this. Not when the cold sets in.”
“You have fur.”
“So I do. And rolling in the snow is a lot of fun. But traversing hard-packed and filthy snow on a Chicago sidewalk in February is not.”
“Picnic dinners and moonlit chats,” I said. “You’re a lot more romantic on dates than I’d imagined.”
He turned to look at me, grin full of masculine satisfaction. “You imagined?”
“Let’s just say, the girls you used to date didn’t seem very interested in romance, and you didn’t seem very interested in supplying it.”
“What did I want to supply?”
I snorted. “You don’t need me to tell you that. You were a player, and the girls lined up for a chance with the prince.”
“I can’t help my natural appeal.”
“Again with the modesty,” I said, but I felt some of the tension leaving my shoulders. “I talked with my mom about you.”
“You did?”
“We were discussing the AAM, the Pack, vampires. About trouble for all three, and the trouble you’d gotten in as a teenager.”
“Growing pains,” he said, and there was no regret in his smile.
“That’s one way to look at it. You got in trouble so often I kept a list.”
Connor looked down at me, brows raised. “Excuse me?”
My smile was wide. “In my journal. Only the times I knew about, of course. So if you told me or Lulu or my parents.” I slid him a glance. “Or if I actually watched you get hauled off by the CPD.”
“That only happened a couple of times.”
“Four that I’m aware of,” I said, correcting the record. “And it was a good thing your father was friends with the Ombudsman. I also kept a top ten list.”
“Worst crimes, or most impressive?”
“Both.”
“Why were you so obsessed with me, brat?”
I was torn between humor and insult. “I was not, and have never been, obsessed with you.”
“You had a list.”
“Because you kept getting in trouble. And those were only the times you got caught.”
His grin was wide again. “Those were halcyon days. Before screens and responsibility.”
“Before actual consequences, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“My favorite was probably when you replaced the bottled blood in the Cadogan cafeteria fridge with ketchup and hot sauce. Or when you marked all the cards in the Pack bar, then spent the evening emptying your uncles’ pockets.”
“Those were good nights,” he said with a very pleased smile. “My uncles were pissed. Or all except Christopher, who said they should have known better and checked the deck first. Said it was a good lesson for them. I was grounded for a week after the blood because someone snitched.”
“I do not admit to snitching”—I totally had snitched—“and even if I had, there was plenty of evidence. You’d been in Cadogan House that night asking about how blood tasted.”
“You snitched,” he said. “And I got in trouble. Thing was, it wasn’t me.”
“Right,” I said dryly. “Who else would it be?”
He looked down at me, and there was honesty in his eyes. “You tell me.”
Puzzled, I thought back. I remembered that night, because Lulu had stayed over, and we’d spent a good chunk of the time complaining about Connor and eating ice cream. Until we’d snuck him inside, and let him join us. So Connor and I weren’t the only ones there . . .
“Lulu,” I guessed. “She did it—and you took the blame.”