“Nearly two weeks.”
“What?” Robyn scrambled to her feet and faced her aunt. “You’ve had someone living here for two weeks and didn’t think to tell me?”
Suddenly Harlow’s fury over lies of omission made a lot more sense.
“What else is happening that I don’t know about?” She glared at Mason. “Are you taking advantage of her? Have you stolen money from her?”
“Robyn!” Lillian’s voice was sharp. “You’re being ridiculous. Mason is family, just like you. I invited him. The terms of the will are clear.”
“I don’t care about the house. I care about you.”
Mason stiffened. “I’m not taking advantage of your aunt.”
Robyn wanted to ask how she could possibly believe him—she didn’t know him. She looked at Lillian. “I’m calling the lawyer.”
“Excellent idea.” Lillian rose. “Let me get you his number. The sooner we clear this up, the better.”
* * *
Mason stood in his bedroom, telling himself he didn’t care what Robyn Caldwell thought of him. He was here legitimately, and if she had a bee up her ass about that, she’d have to get over it.
Which sounded great but was total bullshit.
Lillian had mentioned her niece several times, had even hinted they were both single, a fact Mason had ignored. He knew his flaws, and he just wasn’t very good at relationships. When Lillian had told him Robyn was coming for a visit, he’d barely paused to nod. What did he care? No, having her here wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she obviously hated him.
He’d seen it in the way she’d looked at him—as if he were slime on her shoe. She’d wanted him to not exist, or disappear, which would have been no big deal if she hadn’t been so... So...
Incredible.
He swore under his breath, telling himself to get his shit together. Yes, Robyn was stunning. Athletic, with long blond hair and eyes as blue as... Hell, he didn’t know. The sky maybe?
She looked like a woman who wouldn’t take crap from a man. She looked like the kind of woman you gladly sold your soul for, even if you knew it was going to end badly. Which proved his theory that life was a woman with a mean sense of humor.
He had no idea what had just happened. He generally enjoyed women. Some were more desirable than others, but he’d never once in his life felt a kick in his gut just from looking at one.
Charles II appeared from under the bed and jumped up to Mason’s desk, his expression imperious. When Mason didn’t pet him, Charles meowed loudly.
“Do you always get what you want?” Mason asked, stroking the cat. Charles butted his head against his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Behind your ears. I remember.”
The cat was a distraction but not enough of one. Mason was aware that Robyn was somewhere in the house. Probably talking to the lawyer or calling the cops. He could deal with either. For a brief second, he imagined she was changing her clothes the way some women did every fifteen minutes. What if she was naked? Even if she wasn’t, she would be at some point. Like in the shower.
That fantasy went right to his groin, giving him a painful boner faster than he could say the word.
He pulled open the balcony doors. Unfortunately the outside temperature wasn’t cool enough to do anything about his erection. He forced himself to think about his book and the research he still had to do. When that didn’t work, he recalled the disdain in Robyn’s eyes, and that seemed to do the trick.
He returned to his desk, moved Charles to his bed, then opened his laptop. Work was always a place to escape, he reminded himself. He could get lost in the—
He heard a knock.
Mason stared at the door for several seconds before crossing to open it. He’d been expecting Salvia or even Lillian, but instead Robyn stood in the hallway.
Up close, her eyes were even bluer than he remembered. She was about five-seven, and that hair. Gold blond and falling straight down to the middle of her back. He would have given his left nut to touch it.
“Mason,” she said, then paused.
The sound of his name on her lips about brought him to his knees. “Ma’am.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me? Ma’am? Is that what you called me?”
“It seemed appropriate.” Actually it had been a defensive move, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
“Wow. Okay, then. Should I call you Mr. Bishop?”
“If you’re up to it, we can progress to first names.”
“Seeing as your third or fourth cousin—Lillian wasn’t clear—was married to my great-aunt, and we’re going to be living in the same house for a while, I’m in favor of first names.”
He nodded because standing this close to her, hearing her speak for so long, had turned his brain to mush. He stepped back, indicating she was welcome to enter, only realizing after the fact he’d invited her into his bedroom. Not the wisest move considering his current lack of dick-control.
She walked in, then held out a bottle of wine. “A peace offering.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in a self-deprecating smile. “I’ll admit I took it from the wine cellar, so while it’s a peace offering in spirit, I actually boosted it from my great-aunt.”
“I’m sure Lillian won’t mind.”
The smile widened. “She would, in fact, approve. Lillian believes most problems in life can be mitigated with a cocktail or a glass of wine.”
He took the bottle, set it on his desk and turned back to her. She’d moved to the bed and was petting Charles II. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Are you a cat person?”
“No. I’ve never had a pet. They seem all right, even if there are a lot of them.”
“The cat population varies.”
“Lillian says right now it’s fifteen.”
Robyn sighed. “Last time I was here, it was about eight. She better keep her promise and live forever.”
“Because of the cats?”
“You inherit the house. I get the contents and the cats.”
“That’s a lot to take on.”
“It is.” She faced him. “I want to apologize for my behavior. I have a lot of excuses, but honestly none of them matter. I’m genuinely shocked at how I acted. That’s not me, except I did it, so I guess it is.” She shook her head. “There have been too many unpleasant revelations about my character lately. What’s up with that?”