Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(33)

“Please, by all means, come in,” I say dryly, crossing my arms over my chest as I examine him. My ire fades slightly as I take a closer look. He’s sweating, his clothes are wrinkled like he’s been wearing them for days, and his face is torn between an expression of profound relief and pallid fear.

To say he doesn’t look like himself is putting it mildly. Duncan has always been handsome, with dark chestnut hair, high cheekbones and lively brown eyes the same shade as mine, except his are almond-shaped instead of saucer-like. Girls used to fall over themselves, hoping for a date with Duncan Sinclair, Class President and Homecoming King at the private academy we attended as teens. His effect on women only grew, as he matured into manhood.

It’s more than just good looks. He’s always had a certain charisma, a magnetism that draws people in despite their better judgment. They never even realize they’re caught up in his spell until it’s too late.

Like a clever magician.

Or lethal quicksand.

Trust me, growing up as his little sister wasn’t easy. He won every fight. He got my parents to take his side every time we disagreed about something, even when he was clearly at fault. That winsome disposition is simply… undeniable.

It’s probably why he’s always been so successful. He’s got charm in spades and he’s always put it to good use, whether to talk the panties off the biggest prudes back in high school, or the wallets off the wealthiest investors in Silicon Valley.

The man before me now bears almost no resemblance to the dapper big brother I remember. In the six months since I last saw him, his hair has grown out of its typically pristine cut and he’s lost considerable muscle mass, as if his daily gym routine has fallen by the wayside. He looks dull — totally drained of that spark that sways people over to his side in arguments, or has them pulling out their checkbooks after an investment pitch. Perhaps most alarming of all, there’s a mottled black bruise around his right eye, a remnant from a fist during a fight he clearly lost.

Frankly, he looks awful.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask him, point blank. No use beating around the bush.

His eyes crack open and scan me up and down. “Me? What happened to you? Are you even wearing pants?”

I glance down at my bare legs and confirm that I am, in fact, not wearing much of anything from the waist down. Not that it matters — Luca’s sweatshirt is so giant, I’ve owned winter parkas less revealing.

“I live here. I’ll be asking the questions, thank you very much.” I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing here, Duncan? And why do you look like you’re on your way to audition for the role of Disheveled Hobo 3 on an episode of Law & Order: SVU?”

He pushes off the door and runs a hand through his hair, jaw ticking. “Lila, I’m really not in the mood for your shitty jokes. Not today, all right?”

“Again — I live here. My house, my rules, my shitty jokes. Deal with it… or don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”

“This how you treat all your guests?”

“Guests are generally invited.”

Annoyed, he glares at me; I glare right back at him.

Am I being a little harsh?

Maybe.

But, to be fair, Duncan did squander our entire family fortune. My bitchiness has never been more justified.

“How bad is it?” I ask.

“How bad is what?”

“Whatever trouble you’re in that brought you running all the way from California back to Boston.” I pause. “With a black eye. And luggage.”

He sets down his duffle bag and the smaller leather satchel by the doorway. “Maybe I’m just here for a visit. I did grow up here. This coast doesn’t belong to you, Lila.”

“You didn’t come for a visit.”

His eyes narrow. “How would you know?”

“You barely ever even call me, let alone show up unannounced on my doorstep for an impromptu sibling bonding session.”

“Can’t a big brother just surprise his little sister without a reason?” he hedges, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

I think about it for a nanosecond. “Not when that big brother is you.”

“Don’t be so cynical, Lila.”

“Don’t dodge my questions, Duncan.”

His jaw clenches.

When he remains quiet, I start tapping one bare foot against the hardwood in impatience. “Not getting any younger here, D.”

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t entirely happy to see me.”

“I wonder why!” I scoff. “Could it possibly have something to do with you taking every penny out of Mom and Dad’s savings?”

“I didn’t take every penny.” He pauses. “I didn’t touch their retirement accounts.”

“Wow, what a saint you are!”

“Oh, like you’re up for a Nobel Peace Prize, Lila?”

I shrug. “I never claimed to be. But I also didn’t bankrupt six different companies while somehow maintaining a sense of hubris to rival the Greek gods.”

“Look, that’s why I’m here, okay? I’m going to get the money back — everything I lost, and more.”