8. Kinsley

8

KINSLEY

Tiberius waves me in front of him as we exit the office. I had misgivings about my father and his business. I was possibly wrong about the drugs, but I heard him clear as day. And the other man… His dark voice sent shivers down my spine. I really hope never to meet him.

Throughout the house, Tiberius follows without comment. I wonder if there is something wrong with me for the way my body reacts to him. It’s new and exciting.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asks, moving in close to my back so that the words whisper over my neck.

“Why—” I clear my throat and change direction. “You haven’t visited the new basement before, have you?”

“Who says I haven’t?” His hands land on my hips, and a shiver of pure delight slides down my spine.

“If you had, you wouldn’t need me to show you the way inside.”

He grunts, squeezes my hips, and steps away. “Carry on.” He won’t admit defeat.

I roll my eyes and lead him into the dining room. In the far corner, I bend to lift the chair out of the way. Tiberius pushes me aside and does it for me. I face the paneled wall and press on the third panel up in the corner. The secret door pops open.

“Clever,” Tiberius mutters to himself as he steps through. He finds the light switch and hisses when the stairwell lights up. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I know.” I sigh as Tiberius turns back to look at me. “He wanted it to be as neat as the house. He hated the cold,” I tell him.

“I remember,” he says.

We move as far down as the stairs go. There, Tiberius turns on another light, revealing a large room furnished with elegant sofas, throw rugs, coffee tables, and a long sideboard. Atop the sideboard, several bottles of alcohol and a wooden box of Cuban cigars are displayed. A SMEG fridge stands to one side, stocked with beer, water, soda, and wine. Next to it, a cupboard holds snacks that I’ve helped myself to once or twice when I couldn’t sneak into the kitchen.

Tiberius has been lost in thought since he stepped inside the secret area. I use the opportunity to watch him. He is a handsome man—not conventionally so, but in a rugged, take-charge kind of way. His legs fill out a pair of well-worn black jeans quite nicely, accentuating his firm butt. He obviously needs those broad shoulders with all the crap he must have to deal with. I love his hair, though. The way the dark strands curl around his neck. His strong arms are covered in black ink. They intertwine and look amazing and intricate.

My eyes wander back down to his legs. He turns, and I find myself facing his crotch before my eyes shoot upward to find an arrogant raised brow and a smirk on his beautiful lips.

“Office?” he asks.

It takes my befuddled brain more than a few moments to comprehend his request. My cheeks heat.

“This way.” I breathe a sigh of relief to not have his dark gaze on my face.

I focus on the various pieces of information Tiberius has provided so far. One thought keeps pushing forward. Several times, Tiberius struggled to refer to my father as that—my father. He called him Jude instead. I pick up on it because I’ve been wondering about something. It has been at the back of my mind for well over a year.

Frowning, I open the office door, step inside, and switch on the lights.

Tiberius makes a noise of pleasure as he joins me in the room. It’s a lovely office and looks expensive. I throw myself down onto the sofa and curl my legs under me. Tiberius watches me from beneath his brows as he takes a seat behind the large mahogany desk.

Before I lose my courage, I ask, “If my mother had green eyes and my father had brown, how do I have blue eyes?”

I’ve surprised him.

“You have an unusual gray color,” I add. I keep my eyes on him and notice his mouth pull tight.

“How long has this question been on your mind?” he asks, sitting forward, the office momentarily forgotten.

“I thought about it when it became a topic during science at school. I put it out of my mind, but I guess it’s always hovered there. I was too scared to ask. But, well, um—” I trail off. “It’s the way you referred to him that got me thinking.” I am not going to mention the way Tiberius makes me feel when he is close and touching me, nor will I mention the way he looks at me.

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

Annoyed, I jump from the sofa and lean over the desk toward him. He doesn’t move, and the only sign he is affected is a slight twitch in the corner of his right eye.

I move closer. “Who am I, Tiberius?”

He stands and brings his face within an inch of mine. “You are not the mouse I first thought.”

“Please,” I beg, “I need to know the truth. Where do I really belong, Tiberius?”

He searches my gaze and snaps, “You belong here with—” He pauses, grappling with his words. “This is your home, Kinsley. It’s where you belong.”

Was he about to tell me that I belonged here with him?

My awareness of him is strong and overpowering. My cheeks are no doubt red, but I continue, “A home is what you make it. Tell me the truth?”

“You know.”

Up close, I can see speckles of silver mixed in with his dark-gray eyes—eyes that I want to get lost in. That scares me. I pull back and straighten.

“I have things to do,” I say before retreating.

I turn and head back the way I came, struggling to hold back tears. I was right, but how right? Is it just that my father isn’t my biological father, or was I adopted? No, that wouldn’t make sense, considering I look like my mother. Even so, the question remains: who is my father?