Chapter 5

5

I stand with my palms pressed against the tiled wall and my head bent forward so the hot water can pound against the back of my sore neck. Rolling my stiff shoulders, I sigh.

I'm exhausted.

I may be only just pushing forty, but the older I get, the more jetlag kicks my ass. Or maybe it was the ninety-hour workweek I pulled before even getting on the damn plane. Most likely, it was that I'd only just got off the red-eye from Chicago before turning around and getting on a plane to Heathrow.

Now that I've finally stopped, all I want to do is crawl into that incredibly ancient-looking but surprisingly comfortable bed. Not yet though. As tempting as it is to take a power nap, I know I won't be sleeping tonight if that happens, and the last thing I want is to be up at some ungodly hour in a creaky old house with only my brain for company.

Not to mention the fact that I need to see my grandfather first. Jesus, I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. It was a knee-jerk reaction. I'd been in Chicago dealing with a problem at one of our hotels when the news had broken.

The article had been less than flattering, but it's not the first time I've been in the spotlight and I guarantee it won't be the last. However, something had touched a nerve, poked at me in a place I didn't even know was vulnerable.

I really don't know how the hell that slimy reporter put my name together with an obscure, eccentric British family I don't even remember. To be honest, I'd rather have ignored all of it and waited for it to blow over, but my brother had insisted I get on a plane and deal with it personally. He seems to think it'll end up coming back to bite us in the ass later on.

Rolling my shoulders again, I wince when something clicks uncomfortably. I sigh and shut the water off, then pause as the water flicks back on. Frowning, I shut it off again and wait for a few seconds. When it remains off, I twist back to the shower door, but as I lift my hand to open it, the water turns on once more.

What the hell?

I shut it off yet again, this time turning the handle extra hard until it's so tight I doubt I'll be able to turn it back on the next time I want a shower. I shrug at the thought; with any luck, I won't be here too long. Hopefully, just long enough to have a very stern conversation with my absentee grandfather, then I'm on the next flight home.

I glance up at the showerhead, watching as a single drip of water escapes, but it otherwise remains off. Satisfied, I reach once again for the glass door to let myself out, but before I can get it open, I'm blasted in the face with a tsunami of frigid water.

I let loose a shocked yelp as I'm pelted with icy shards of water that stab viciously at my face and chest. Grabbing the handle, I yank it as hard as I can back into the off position.

Fuck me, it's cold. My balls have shrivelled up into my body and my dick is trying to follow them. I give one last twist and yell in frustration as the handle comes away in my hand. Clutching onto the useless piece of metal, I reach up and try to angle the showerhead away from me as I can barely feel my face from the numbness.

There's a loud clatter and I look down to see the shampoo and body wash bottles tumble to the floor. Somehow, all the lids have come loose and the slippery liquid gathers into the shower base faster than it can wash down the drain.

Feeling my feet slip underneath me, I try to grab onto something, anything, to keep my balance. With the useless detached shower handle in one hand, I manage to grasp the only other thing in the shower, which happens to be the metal caddy that had held the toiletry bottles. My relief is short-lived, however, when the damn thing, accompanied by the sound of cracking tiles, rips away from the wall and my feet slide out from under me. Sliding across the shower in a skating rink of shampoo and body wash, I fall backwards. The door swings open and slams against the sink as I tumble out. My elbow cracks against the doorframe, causing an intense pain to shoot up my arm, and my breath whooshes from my lungs when I hit the floor.

I lie motionless for several moments, my whole body in pain, and stare up at the ceiling light while I attempt to catch my breath. As I shiver, it occurs to me that I'm still clutching onto the handle and the caddy, and my feet, now covered in soap suds, are still resting in the bottom of the shower enclosure.

Fuck. My. Life.

The handle and caddy clatter to the tiled floor when I release my grip, and I shiver even harder. It's fucking freezing in here and I'm wet and naked, sprawled out on the bathroom floor like I starring in my own personal Hitchcock movie.

My groan echoes in the small room as I drag myself off the floor gingerly, my battered body protesting and making me feel my age.

I stand and glare at the goddamned shower, which has somehow managed to switch itself off. Shaking my head in annoyance, I glance around for the large soft white fluffy towel I brought into the room with me.

The bathroom isn't that large, it's not even a quarter of the size of the guest one in my apartment, yet I can't see the towel anywhere.

What the hell? I could've sworn I brought it in with me and set it on the counter.

Shaking my head again, I head out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I guess I'm more jet-lagged than I thought. Maybe a thirty-minute nap would be enough to freshen me up, and then I might be able to stay awake until a more reasonable hour. Although I dislike napping immensely, I could set an alarm on my phone and then I…

I stop dead and blink slowly after I step into the bedroom. Turning back to the bathroom, I gaze at it in incomprehension, then take in the bedroom once more. Maybe I will be taking that nap after all because I am almost certain the very heavy, old-fashioned wooden four-poster bed was on the other side of the room when I went into the bathroom. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure the dresser and the wardrobe have switched places too.

Don't worry if the furniture moves…

The cute little blonde desk clerk's words come back to me and I feel myself scowling. Is this some kind of prank? Do they do this to all the new arrivals? If so, I can understand why they don't have any guests.

Shivering violently again, it occurs to me that I'm standing in my room completely naked and dripping water on the faded old carpet. Determined to give the staff a piece of my mind as soon as I'm dressed, I glance around the room for wherever I left my towel.

I mean, it's one thing to fake a haunting with a few little mechanically moving objects like the coffee mug on the front desk, which I have to admit was clever, but their marketing strategy is way off. Who in their right mind would pay to stay at a haunted hotel? Especially when everyone knows ghosts aren't real… and where the fuck is my towel?

Stalking through the room angrily, I can't see the damn thing nor any spares anywhere. I stop abruptly and draw in a slow breath through my nose, my eyes closing momentarily as I attempt to wrangle my irritation under control. Furious that someone obviously let themselves into my room to move the furniture, it takes me longer than it should to realise that my luggage is nowhere in sight.

Now I'm completely confused and, to be frank, a little disoriented. Is it a shared bathroom? Have I somehow managed to walk into someone else's room? That certainly would explain the rearranged furniture and the lack of my luggage.

Grabbing a sheet and yanking it off the bed, I wrap it around me just in case I come face-to-face with another guest or staff person—the latter being more likely, I suspect, given the distinct lack of the former.

I march back into the bathroom and stare in confusion. There are no entry points other than the one I'm currently standing in. The shower door is open, the floor is soaked, and laying in a puddle of soapy water are the shower handle and shampoo caddy. It's definitely the same bathroom and since there are no other exits, this must be my room.

Clutching the white sheet to me, I walk back into my room and study it intently. Where is my luggage? And why has the furniture been moved—also, how? I wasn't in the shower that long. Surely I would have heard something? These are heavy pieces, so it would've taken more than one person.

What the hell is going on here?

A sudden ringing startles me and I jolt, almost dropping the damn sheet. I recognise the ring tone though—it's definitely my phone, but where is it? I begin searching, hoping whoever it is doesn't hang up before I find it. Following the sound, I move towards the wardrobe and search all around the huge thing. I come up empty-handed just as the call ends and silence once again fills the air.

A frustrated breath escapes from me, and I growl loudly into the empty room. A few moments later, the ringing starts up again. Sending up a silent prayer of thanks, I cock my head and see if I can pinpoint the origin of the sound. It seems to be coming from higher up. Dragging a chair over, I climb up and find my phone laying in a pile of dust on top of the wardrobe.

There's no way it accidentally ended up there. Someone has definitely been in my room and as soon as I find my suitcase and get some clean clothes on, I'll be giving them a piece of my mind. One that they are not going to like one bit.

Scowling down at my phone, I see my brother's name and swipe the screen, not realising it's a video call.

"Hey, big brother," Warren greets as I climb down from the chair gracelessly, giving him a full view of my makeshift toga as the screen tilts. "Damn, you move fast." He grins. "I didn't expect you to have charmed someone into your bed already. Is that why you took so long to answer the phone? And here I am, thinking you'd be catching up on your sleep and taking it easy after that week in Chicago and the flight to England, not balancing some twink on your balls. Who is he? Is he still there?"

"No one," I growl. "I'm on my own."

"Taking a little solo pleasure time." He winks. "Gotcha. I find it helps ease stress and tension too. Do you want me to call back in ten when you've got some pants on?"

"That would be helpful if I knew where my pants were," I grumble.

"What?"

"Never mind." I sigh. "What do you want, Warren?"

"Can't a guy just check in with his big brother?"

I stare at the screen and he shrugs. "Fine, I was curious. What's the place like? Is it like Buckingham Palace? Have you met your grandpa yet? What's he like?"

"It isn't even remotely like Buckingham Palace or any other palace for that matter," I reply. "It's exactly what I expected, a drafty old property in the middle of nowhere that looks like it hasn't been updated since the Middle Ages. I'm surprised it has running water."

His brows rise. "Really?"

"No." I sigh as I slump down on the side of the bed. "Not really. It's old and run down. It's easy to see there's no money here, and it's badly in need of renovation. There aren't any guests and I can't imagine how they're even keeping the place open at this point. And that's just from my first impression."

"What does your grandpa have to say about it?"

"I haven't met him yet." I scowl at him. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into coming here, Ren."

"Morgs." He sighs, the amusement disappearing. "I talked you into it because I think you need this."

"What I need is to not give the press any more reason to print shit about me. You know how often they love to drag up the fact I wasn't your dad's biological son. They had a field day when we both inherited equal shares of the business."

"Come on, how bad can it be really?" Warren cajoles.

"Trust me, if half the shit they printed about this family is true, there aren't just a few skeletons in the closet, there's a whole damn graveyard."

"Technically, they're your family," Warren reminds me.

"You're my family," I correct him.

"Of course I am." His voice softens. "I love you, Morgs, you know that. We're brothers and nothing will ever change that, not the press, not gossip, not family skeletons."

"I should have just come home to New York," I say sullenly. "This is a complete waste of time. Eventually, the press will get bored and move on to something else."

"Yes, they probably will, but a true brother makes you face your problems, not ignore them."

"No," I reply, my tone dry. "A true brother would have gone out and slept with a few prostitutes to take the heat off and draw the press' attention away."

Warren laughs. "While I'm always happy to take one for the team, you need this."

"Like a hole in the head."

"No, for your own peace of mind."

"My mind was completely peaceful. Coming here is what's pissed me off."

"Morgan," he says, and for once, he's being serious. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you need to do this. If you're being honest with yourself, you've needed to do it for a long time. I know when Mom brought you back to the states after your dad died, she shut the door on that side of your family. She wouldn't talk about it, and I don't know how much she's even told you about your dad. What I do know is that I watched you, idolised you, and followed you around like your goddamn shadow when we were growing up. You were my amazing big brother, none of this ‘half' bullshit. It was the same for my dad. He loved you like you were his own. In his eyes, there was no difference between us, but–"

"But?" I prompt.

"I always got the impression that you felt you had to earn your place in our family, no matter what Dad said to you. He accepted you just the way you are, but I don't think you ever accepted yourself. I think there's a part of you that needs answers about where you came from… who you came from. This is a chance to discover the roots of your tree and maybe then you can finally be comfortable in your own skin."

"What? Are you a shrink now?" I grumble.

"I'll bill you when you get home." He grins. "Now stop being the grumpy bastard I know and love, and go make nice with the eccentric Brit side of your family. Who knows, you may just learn a thing or two."

"I sincerely doubt it." I snort, but before I can say anything else, there's a loud knocking. "Give me a minute, Warren. Someone's at the door."

Pushing myself up from where I'm sitting on the bed, I cross the room, my phone clutched in one hand and the sheet held up to my body by the other. I really hope it's whoever took my luggage bringing it back because I'm about to tear them a new one.

Working up a full head of steam as I march across the floor in the most dignified manner I can considering I'm wearing a bedsheet, I grab the door and yank it open. However, I must have caught the sheet on something because the second the door swings open, it's ripped away, leaving me standing butt naked in front of the cute blonde from downstairs.

His huge baby blues widen even more and his mouth falls open when his gaze inadvertently dips to my suddenly very interested cock. Jesus Christ, the damn thing's practically been in a coma for the past several months and now it chooses to start randomly saluting quirky little British desk clerks?

"Fuck," I hiss, breaking the detente and clamping my hand over my dick.

Unfortunately, it just so happens to be the hand holding my phone. The phone that is currently streaming a video call with my brother. The brother who is now without a doubt being subjected to an up close and personal greeting from my fully awake cock.

"My eyes! My eyes!" I hear Warren bemoan through the phone's speaker. "You're paying for my therapy when you get back, you asshole."

He should probably be grateful the view wasn't of my asshole, I think, but instead I switch hands and lift the screen.

"Sorry." I wince. "Knee-jerk reaction."

"That wasn't your knee, bro."

"I know," I sigh. "Consider us now even for your graduation party."

"You said you didn't see anything," he protests, his tone shifting to loud and indignant.

"I lied."

"I'll call you later once I've bleached my brain," Warren hisses and hangs up.

"Um." Ellis blushes, his cheeks a bright rosy pink. "Towel?"

It's only then that I realise he's holding a stack of freshly folded towels in his arm.

"Yes, please," I say desperately.

He grabs one from the top of the pile and hands it to me. My phone clatters to the floor as I awkwardly shake out the towel to cover myself, only to discover it's a face towel and barely big enough to cover a single butt cheek, let alone anything else.

"Oh, sorry," Ellis apologises and grabs a bigger towel from the bottom of the pile. He hands it to me and politely tries to avoid glancing down as I knot the towel firmly around my waist. "Um, I just wanted to check in and see if everything was to your satisfaction."

"No." I scowl at him. "It's not."

Ellis stares at me, surprise written all over his face. "I'm so sorry to hear that. What seems to be the problem?"

"The water is freezing and the shower is broken. The shower handle and caddy came clean off the wall, causing me to fall out of the shower. Then I discovered someone has been in my room and moved everything around, hidden my phone, and taken my luggage," I finish hotly.

"Your phone's right there." He points to where it fell on the floor.

"Yes, thank you I can see that." I glower at him, but he seems unperturbed, as if he's used to guests getting angry at him. "But all my luggage is still missing, including the clothes I stripped out of before taking a shower."

"You mean that luggage?" He points over my shoulder and as I follow the direction of his finger, my gaze lands on my suitcase and bags placed neatly in front of the wardrobe. The clothes I stripped off earlier are now laid across the foot of the bed… the bed where I'd been sitting moments before.

"What the?" I mutter.

"May I see the problem with the bathroom?" Ellis says politely, and I can't fault his professionalism. "I'll restock your towels and if needs be, I'll give Ed the Plumber a call."

"Ed the Plumber?" I repeat slowly, and Ellis nods.

"He's John the Maid's second cousin. He deals with all our plumbing emergencies."

Unable to find the words to respond to that, I step aside and lift my hand in the direction of the bathroom. "Have at it."

He crosses the room leisurely, and I do not stare at his perfectly rounded ass in those tight pants before he disappears into the bathroom. I close the door and step back into the room. It's bad enough that I just flashed the blonde bombshell and I'm standing in nothing but a towel. The last thing I need is to inadvertently flash any more members of staff, especially the towering hulk of a maid or the cook with the meat cleaver.

Instead, my gaze trails along the floor, looking for the bedsheet I'd had wrapped around me. It must have snagged on something to cause my untimely wardrobe malfunction, but strangely enough, not only can I not see what it caught on, I can't find the sheet anywhere either.

There is something very weird about this place.

I glance across as Ellis reappears. "Everything looks okay to me," he says cheerily. "And the water's warm enough now. They're just old pipes, must be a little temperamental. I'll put it on the list of guest feedback."

"What about the broken shower handle?"

"I didn't see anything broken."

I stalk into the bathroom to find the floor bone dry, the handle reattached, and the caddy mounted back on the tiled wall, the toiletries neatly tucked inside it. There's also not a single trace of all the shampoo which had covered the shower floor.

"What?" I mutter in confusion.

"Well, I should let you get dressed," Ellis says with a smile so wide that two little dimples appear in his cheeks. I stare at him, stupidly aware I should say something, but for the life of me, nothing comes to mind. "I actually came to tell you that Mr Ashton-Drake is awake now. I've just taken him up his tea, and he says he'll be really happy to see you if you'd like."

"I…"

My stomach dips and I remind myself firmly that this is why I'm here: to see my grandfather, even if he is a complete stranger to me.

"You don't have to if you'd rather have a rest first," Ellis says sweetly, and I feel a little bad that I snapped at him.

"No." I swallow past the lump of trepidation in my throat.

This isn't like me at all. I don't get nervous. I face everything head-on. I straighten my spine and push my shoulders back, selfishly taking a second to enjoy the brief dip of Ellis' gaze to my naked chest and the way his little pink tongue peeks out to swipe his lower lip before he could censor himself. I may be nearly forty and a little softer around the middle than I used to be, but I'm still in good shape.

I clear my throat and step back in an effort to locate my dignity, which I fear may be back at JFK along with my patience. "No, I'll see him now. I just need to get dressed first. Perhaps you could tell me where to find him?"

"He's up on the fifth floor, but it's a bit twisty-turny along the corridors up there, and I wouldn't want you to get lost," he says brightly. "I'll wait outside while you get ready and then show you up."

"You don't have to–"

"It's no trouble at all." He practically skips across the room to let himself out, closing the door quietly behind himself.

Taking a moment to breathe, I begin to wonder why I got on the damn plane at all.