“It’s you,” I say, my cheeks flushing as I remember our kiss—and the things I fantasized about doing with him until I came to my senses.
He blinks a couple of times, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“Last night we…” I trail off, my face burning even hotter as I struggle to find the right words. He was probably too drunk to remember what we almost did. I’m grateful I came to my senses.
“You’re probably confusing me with someone else,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.
I wave my hand dismissively. “For sure.”
“Are you Camilla?” he asks again, his tone guarded. “I’m here to take you to Kenzington.”
I frown. “Are you Lysander?”
“No.”
“Who are you?”
He shrugs. “Probably Kenzington’s uncle.”
This isn’t good. It seems like her uncle is a drunk who sleeps around, and the ring on his finger tells me he’s either part of an open relationship or a cheater.
I shake my head. “It’ll be best if you bring her to me. Our plane should be leaving soon.”
“We’ll replace the tickets once we sort everything out,” he says, pointing toward a black SUV. “We have to go.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, my gaze flicking between him and the vehicle. “I can’t just jump inside someone’s car.”
He growls. “Aslan.”
I arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I need more than that.”
“Aslan Spearman,” he says through gritted teeth.
I walk toward the back of the SUV and snap a picture, texting it to JJ. “I’m going to get in the car of an Aslan Spearman,” I say, glad I haven’t hung up on her. “I sent you the plates, in case I disappear.”
“Follow him in an Uber,” she suggests.
“Ooh, that’s a good idea. Talk to you soon.” After hanging up with her, I glance at him. “Why don’t I get an Uber and follow you?”
“Are you always this…?” He clamps his mouth shut and his nostrils flare.
“Infuriating, cautious, distrustful?” I supply, crossing my arms.
He nods.
“Only when my cousin goes missing and things look like a bad thriller movie where the heroine might die,” I respond.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Let’s get moving.”
Chapter Seven
Camilla
My stomach churns with anxiety as Aslan fumbles with the keys, finally unlocking the door to an apartment located in Pacific Heights. “Honey, I’m home,” he calls out in a playful tone, though I sense a hint of concern in his voice.
A woman, who could easily be mistaken for an older version of Kenzy, appears almost instantly. There’s no doubt in my mind that Kenz is related to these people. I desperately hope that her father isn’t like Aslan.
“Where is Kenzy?” I ask, stepping inside cautiously. “Kenz, are you here? Are you okay, or should I call the police?”
“I’m fine.” Kenzy’s voice reaches me before she comes into view. Her brown hair is wet, and she’s dressed in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. The relief washes over me.
I envelop her in a tight hug, but then pull back, fixing her with a stern gaze. “What were you thinking?”
“You told JJ I should get emancipated, and my father could help,” she replies nonchalantly, as if that alone justifies her sudden disappearance.
“It was a stupid comment,” I grumble, frustration seeping into my tone. “I was desperate and trying to come up with a solution.”
“Fern, why don’t you take Kenzington shopping? She needs some new clothes, shoes, and whatever else you think is necessary,” a familiar voice suggests.
I spin around to see who spoke, and my heart skips a beat. There he is: tall, handsome, and undeniably tempting.
He looks like Aslan, but with Lysander, I’m instantly drawn to him. He’s gorgeous. A man who probably stepped right out of my wildest dreams. He’s an alluring fusion of rugged intensity and playful charm. A combination that leaves me utterly breathless.
His brown, tousled hair frames his chiseled face. He has the strong jawline and cheekbones of a Hollywood heartthrob. His eyes are a captivating shade of gray that, in the bar, looked greenish. They have a magnetic pull.
His broad shoulders and lean, muscular physique give off an air of strength and power, as if he could sweep me off my feet with little effort. Yet, there’s a softness to his movements that betrays a sense of gentleness, making me feel both protected and cherished in his presence.
My thoughts are pulled back to last night’s stolen kiss. I can’t help but relive the sensation of his strong arms around me, pulling me close, making me feel safe and allowing me to forget for a moment that my life is a sequence of bad choices and bad luck.
The way his lips had brushed against mine, gentle yet demanding, still sends shivers down my spine. But as I look into his eyes now, a storm of conflicting emotions brews within me.
The revelation that he’s Kenzy’s father hits me like a tidal wave, tearing at the delicate fabric of the illusion I held on to last night. Someone made me feel cherished, but it was just that, an illusion.
I can no longer hold on to that magical moment when our lips met, when the world seemed to fall away, and all that mattered was the electric connection between us.
The moment he recognizes me, his eyes widen in shock, nearly bulging out of their sockets. Glancing between Aslan and him, I venture, “Twins?”
He shakes his head. “Triplets.”
“Fun,” I deadpan, turning to the woman I first saw. “And you are the third one?”
She graces me with a warm smile and shakes her head. “Fern Spearman-McPhee.” She extends her hand. I shake it, trying to be friendly. “I’m one of their younger sisters. We can catch up after I come back.”
“Or we can just leave,” I suggest.
Kenzy quickly interjects, “Without the emancipation?” She turns to Lysander, voice wavering. “You promised.”
“It’s not that easy,” Lysander explains, his voice laced with regret. “We have to establish my paternity and then start the process. You have to be patient.”
Kenzy pouts and casts her gaze on me. “You can leave,” she concedes, her words carrying a tinge of disappointment.
Fern gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be back soon.” She then shoots her brother a pointed look. “Watch your words.”
Kenzy leaves without a backward glance. Her disinterest in discussing her stunt leaves me seething with anger and frustration. When we get home, she’s going to be grounded. I swear she won’t be able to see any of her friends until she turns thirty. No phone or tablet privileges for three years. If she’s lucky, I’ll let her have dessert by the next millennium.
“Do you need me?” Aslan looks at Lysander, his tone cautious.
“Just keep this between us,” Lysander instructs, and his brother nods in silent agreement.
The moment we’re alone, memories of last night come flooding back—how I bolted from the elevator without looking back, leaving behind a man who is now unavoidably entwined in my life.