A Bad Boy is Good to Find(61)

“What have we here, I wonder?” She rubbed her hands together.

Lizzie crossed her arms and hung back, as usual.

Rog sidled up behind her and whispered in her ear. “Maisie told the news crews we weren’t coming until five, she wanted to scoop them.” He chuckled.

“Conroy,” Maisie intoned, adopting her “on air” glow. “We’re about to uncover yet another legacy of a forbear you never knew existed. How do you feel?” She leaned into him, eyes glittering.

“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair.

The lord of the manor’s shirt was coming untucked. Amazing Con wasn’t coming right apart at the seams considering all this drama she’d dropped him into. Could they just go get married? Was that too much to ask?

“You have the key?” Maisie asked in deep, sonorous tones.

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Con held it out. They strode toward the door, Dino following. A nasty twist of anticipation toyed with the contents of Lizzie’s stomach.

Con reached down to the ground to insert the key and grab the handle of the giant rolling door. Then he seized it and pulled hard.

The door came up about a foot, then stopped. “It’s rusty.” He tugged at it. It budged up a few more inches, then stuck again.

Lizzie instinctively took a step forward to go help, then held herself in check.

Con yanked on it again, pulled it up a few more inches, then levered himself under it and threw it up all the way with an audible grunt.

“Holy shit.”

Con and Maisie disappeared in the dark doorway with Dino. With the blazing afternoon sun bouncing off the metal building, Lizzie couldn’t make out what lay inside the unlit interior. She hurried forward.

As she peered into the vast gloomy chamber, she saw shadowy hulking shapes, spaced at regular intervals, covered with dark tarps.

Cars.

Con and Maisie pulled back a tarp on one of the larger ones to reveal an immense, very ancient car—headlamps the size of soccer balls, seats like plush leather sofas and no windshield. Con’s jaw hung open.

“It’s in perfect condition,” said Maisie. “I wish I knew what model it is.”

“It’s prewar Peugeot Phaeton.” Con’s voice sounded strangely breathless. Maybe it was the echo of his voice bouncing off the metal walls and high metal ceiling.

Maisie gave him a surprised look. She strode over to another car with a silver molded cover on it and started to peel back the edge. Con stroked his fingertips lovingly over the buttery paint of the Peugeot. Lizzie had a feeling it wasn’t going to be donated to a women’s shelter anytime soon.

“Conroy, come here! Even I know what this one is.”

He took another corner of the silver tarp and they peeled it back. “A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost,” they said in unison.

Rog let out a low whistle, which summoned a frown from Dino, who was still filming, silent as a shadow.

Lizzie lifted her hair off her hot neck. So Grandad left a bunch of cars behind. Big deal. Of course, it was kind of a coincidence the old man was a car nut like Con. Then again it wasn’t a coincidence at all if they shared the same DNA. A lust for molded steel was probably encoded in the Y chromosome.

Con had opened the sideways folding hood of the Silver Ghost and was staring at its gloomy innards with manic concentration. “It’s the original engine,” he breathed at last. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Whatever! Lizzie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Con closed the hood and looked around the unlit interior. “Lizzie, where are you?”

Still alive, not that you care.

Was she being petty? Probably. But heck, they’d come down here to get married, not to explore his ancestral legacy for crying out loud.

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

“Lizzie, will you come sit in it with me?” The mischievous expression on his face made her insides jump. Okay, so he did look like a cute puppy dog who’s found a new bone.

She walked forward, no faster than usual. No expression on her face. “Nice car.”

Con tilted his head to the side and let out a snort of laughter. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

He pulled on the gleaming chrome handle and opened the heavy door for her. She climbed in, dust tickling her nose. The leather looked a little dull but totally unmarred, almost new. She sat down as Con walked around and climbed in the other side, with a goofy grin on his face. “Holy shit. I never thought I’d get to own one of these.”

“Watch your language, you’re on TV. Besides, if I still had money, maybe I’d have bought you one.” The steering wheel stuck right out on a long pole.

“You wouldn’t believe how much this is worth.” Con ran his fingers over the smooth wood dash.

“Before or after I respray it for you?”

Her little joke cracked Con’s smile into a huge grin and he leaned forward and kissed her. Naturally, being Con, he nailed her right on the mouth, lips hot on hers before she even had a chance to close them.

Chemistry boomed through her and suddenly her hands were clutching at his shirt, her tongue was in his mouth, his fingers were winding into her hair—

“Ahem.” Maisie’s deliberate throat clearing made her blink.

She jumped back. “How do you do that?” she hissed.

“What?” Con’s lips were moist and his dark eyes shone.

“Nothing.” She hoped her dark blush wasn’t visible in the dim light. The hickey on her neck had begun sizzling, and she tugged her hair down to cover it.

Maisie approached the window, and Con rolled it down. “These cars are worth a fortune. Conroy, you are a very lucky man.”

As Maisie turned to say something to Dino, Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “So, Conroy,” she said, in an impersonation of Maisie’s interviewer voice. “Will you be giving these fine automobiles away to charity?”

Con rested his palm on the smooth round head of the stick shift and looked up at her, dark eyes wide. “Hell, no.”





Chapter 22





“So they think this guy is your brother?” Lizzie was almost more nervous than Con. Neither of them had touched the plate of chips and salsa set out to stave off starvation back at the house.

“Yes.” Con stared out into the gloom. “Eyewitness News said they interviewed him at the station, and he’s on his way over right now.”

It was dusk, and despite a large electrical crew working most of the day, the lights still weren’t back on. Everyone sat out on the darkening patio, rubbing bug repellant on sunburned flesh and mixing hard lemonade with a jug of vodka and two cartons of Paul Newman’s pink lemonade.

Con hadn’t touched a drop. He kept leaping up and pacing about. Lizzie put down the alcohol-free lemonade that was making her stomach feel even worse and fanned herself with a paper napkin.

“They’re here!” Rog called around the side of the house.

“Dino, get into position,” said Maisie, leaping up with her clipboard.