piratical style of her crimson silk shirt.
“Say hello to Tiffany darling.”
“How’d you do, Miss Darling,” they said in unison, like
kindergartners greeting their teacher.
TC’s blush seeped up her neck and settled on her cheeks. “My
name’s TC,” she explained to the girls while slanting a glare at their brother.
“Her name,” the grinning idiot corrected, “is Tiffany
Foster.”
“I prefer TC,” she insisted through clenched teeth. “But,
since I’m Ian’s guest, I suppose I should answer to what he calls me. So long
as it isn’t ‘Tiffany darling’,” she added sotto voce for his ears only.
“Miss Tiffany, then,” said Peace.
“TC,” Adeen said, directing a challenging look at Ian.
“Mama has ordered a late luncheon,” Peace said, linking her
arm with TC’s. “We’ll get you settled first and you can call us when you’re
ready to come down.”
“Yeah, call us, ‘cause the castle’s a bit tricky to navigate
until you learn your way around.” Adeen caught TC’s other arm and tugged.
“I will bring Tiffany down,” Ian said in that lordly tone TC
both loved and hated. Loved because, when he used it, his voice took on that
upper-class British tone American women routinely fell in love with. Hated
because it made her feel so bloody inferior.
“I’ll find my own way down, thank you. My sense of direction
is infallible.” Take that for imperiousness, you arrogant ass!
The twins’ giggles made TC lower her nose and blush again.
She had to get a hold on her tongue or she’d make an even bigger fool of
herself than she just had. If only Ian wouldn’t provoke her! But asking that of
him was like asking the sun not to rise.
“Easy, girls,” her tormentor cautioned as the twins pulled
her toward the house. “Tiffany dar—Tiffany took a nasty fall last night and is
not up to sprinting.”
“You mean you didn’t beat her?” Adeen asked in a voice
theatrically full of surprise.
“No, I did not beat her.” TC could almost hear Ian grind his
teeth. “But that does not mean I would refrain from spanking you.”
“You wouldn’t,” TC gasped.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Peace said, dark eyes sparkling with
amusement. “All bark, our Ian.”
TC smiled at the aptly named girl, but she wondered all the
same. How much did she really know about Ian, this man who seemed so perfect?
So tender. So gentle. So loving.
Ian Soria is not what he seems.
“Mama’s put you in the green suite. Something about it
matching your eyes.” Adeen released TC’s arm and, walking backward across the
gravel drive, studied her face.
“Maybe she should have chosen the red room,” Peace
suggested, revealing she shared her sister’s mischievous sense of humor.
“Do you have a mottled room? Something in red and black and
blue? I’ll blend in perfectly with the wallpaper.”
The twins giggled. At her back she heard Ian groan, as if he
imagined her stark naked and waiting for him against the wall, full of need,
weak and wet with it. Which, God help her, she already was.
Ian Soria is not what he seems.
But neither was she.
Chapter Four
Half an hour later, true to her word, TC descended the grand
staircase alone and made her way over the black-and-white diamond-shaped marble
floor toward the blue salon. Looking back over her shoulder, she marveled at
the artistry that had created the majestic sweep of the solid oak staircase
rising up and up and up. Far above her, the ceiling was painted blue, as blue
as a summer sky and was adorned with frolicking cherubs—naked cherubs who
resembled baby Cupids more than angels.
The scale of the entry hall should have humbled her, but
vases of spring flowers—irises, gladioli and tulips—filled the foyer with
glorious colors and heavenly fragrances. Sights and scents TC remembered from
her childhood, before her mother’s desertion, before Charles stopped making
even token gestures of fatherly concern.
Turning her head, dismissing the pleasant
“Say hello to Tiffany darling.”
“How’d you do, Miss Darling,” they said in unison, like
kindergartners greeting their teacher.
TC’s blush seeped up her neck and settled on her cheeks. “My
name’s TC,” she explained to the girls while slanting a glare at their brother.
“Her name,” the grinning idiot corrected, “is Tiffany
Foster.”
“I prefer TC,” she insisted through clenched teeth. “But,
since I’m Ian’s guest, I suppose I should answer to what he calls me. So long
as it isn’t ‘Tiffany darling’,” she added sotto voce for his ears only.
“Miss Tiffany, then,” said Peace.
“TC,” Adeen said, directing a challenging look at Ian.
“Mama has ordered a late luncheon,” Peace said, linking her
arm with TC’s. “We’ll get you settled first and you can call us when you’re
ready to come down.”
“Yeah, call us, ‘cause the castle’s a bit tricky to navigate
until you learn your way around.” Adeen caught TC’s other arm and tugged.
“I will bring Tiffany down,” Ian said in that lordly tone TC
both loved and hated. Loved because, when he used it, his voice took on that
upper-class British tone American women routinely fell in love with. Hated
because it made her feel so bloody inferior.
“I’ll find my own way down, thank you. My sense of direction
is infallible.” Take that for imperiousness, you arrogant ass!
The twins’ giggles made TC lower her nose and blush again.
She had to get a hold on her tongue or she’d make an even bigger fool of
herself than she just had. If only Ian wouldn’t provoke her! But asking that of
him was like asking the sun not to rise.
“Easy, girls,” her tormentor cautioned as the twins pulled
her toward the house. “Tiffany dar—Tiffany took a nasty fall last night and is
not up to sprinting.”
“You mean you didn’t beat her?” Adeen asked in a voice
theatrically full of surprise.
“No, I did not beat her.” TC could almost hear Ian grind his
teeth. “But that does not mean I would refrain from spanking you.”
“You wouldn’t,” TC gasped.
“No, he wouldn’t,” Peace said, dark eyes sparkling with
amusement. “All bark, our Ian.”
TC smiled at the aptly named girl, but she wondered all the
same. How much did she really know about Ian, this man who seemed so perfect?
So tender. So gentle. So loving.
Ian Soria is not what he seems.
“Mama’s put you in the green suite. Something about it
matching your eyes.” Adeen released TC’s arm and, walking backward across the
gravel drive, studied her face.
“Maybe she should have chosen the red room,” Peace
suggested, revealing she shared her sister’s mischievous sense of humor.
“Do you have a mottled room? Something in red and black and
blue? I’ll blend in perfectly with the wallpaper.”
The twins giggled. At her back she heard Ian groan, as if he
imagined her stark naked and waiting for him against the wall, full of need,
weak and wet with it. Which, God help her, she already was.
Ian Soria is not what he seems.
But neither was she.
Chapter Four
Half an hour later, true to her word, TC descended the grand
staircase alone and made her way over the black-and-white diamond-shaped marble
floor toward the blue salon. Looking back over her shoulder, she marveled at
the artistry that had created the majestic sweep of the solid oak staircase
rising up and up and up. Far above her, the ceiling was painted blue, as blue
as a summer sky and was adorned with frolicking cherubs—naked cherubs who
resembled baby Cupids more than angels.
The scale of the entry hall should have humbled her, but
vases of spring flowers—irises, gladioli and tulips—filled the foyer with
glorious colors and heavenly fragrances. Sights and scents TC remembered from
her childhood, before her mother’s desertion, before Charles stopped making
even token gestures of fatherly concern.
Turning her head, dismissing the pleasant
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