Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(95)

Half a man melting into the ground? What in the world had she seen?

That impossible vision added to the oppressive quality of her surroundings—not to mention the knowledge of who had once owned the property—and only mounted her unease on arriving.

The house itself reminded her of some kind of dark, giant bird of prey hovering against the brilliant sunset, a patiently waiting vulture. She felt a little weak with relief at the vision of the two very normal-looking, luxury sedans parked in the weed-infested circular drive before the house. She was starting to feel like the only living thing in a landscape of death and ghosts. Her eyes widened when she realized a tall man wearing a dark coat stood in the arched stone portico leading to the front door, his body eerily still. He moved into the evening light when she pulled her economy rental car behind the sleek silver one.

Ian.

She watched him in rising amazement as she put the car into park. He stalked toward her, his dark, unfastened overcoat billowing out behind his tall, honed body. He wore a pair of jeans that fit his long legs and lean hips to perfection, brown work boots, a simple white T-shirt, and an unbuttoned overshirt. His jaw was darkened by whiskers. She was poignantly reminded of the lonely, noble savage she’d painted on a desolate Chicago city street years ago. His blue eyes blazed as he pinned her with his stare through the front windshield. He did not look pleased to see her.

He also looked as if he’d been expecting her. How had he known she’d arrive?

He opened her car door.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded without preamble.

She recoiled slightly at his rough question, but her chin went up defiantly. “I came looking for you, of course. How did you know I’d be here?”

“Short,” he muttered, his mouth rigid. A cold breeze howled through the open door. She shivered, but Ian seemed unaffected.

“Arthur Short? James’s employee? But how—”

He reached for her elbow. “Come inside.”

“Let me get my bag,” she said when he drew her out of the car and slammed the door shut.

“Leave it. You’re not going to need it,” he bit out.

“Ian, I’m not leaving,” she said with conviction as he bustled her to the front entrance. He didn’t reply, but his thundercloud expression was answer enough as to what he thought of her plans.

He opened the door and urged her forward. Francesca stumbled across the threshold, pulling up short when she saw Lucien enter the large, cavernous foyer where they all stood. Unlike Ian, he appeared as well-groomed and calm as always. The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump. She glanced back at Ian and then over at Lucien.

“How could James’s business associate have told you I planned to come to France?” Francesca asked.

Lucien just raised his eyebrows in a wry expression and glanced at Ian.

“Because he’s not Grandfather’s business associate. He’s the security guard I hired to watch over you,” Ian said with barely subdued, blistering heat.

“Security guard? But I told you—”

“We said we’d discuss it,” Ian interrupted. “But we never got the chance before I had to leave, so—”

“You just took it upon yourself to do whatever you wanted without bothering to consult me.”

Ian scowled darkly. “It doesn’t matter. You left so abruptly, Short barely had time to follow you. It took him by surprise. He followed you to the airport in London—”

“He followed me?” Francesca asked, spinning around to face Ian, appalled at the idea of being spied upon without her knowledge.

“For as long as he could,” Ian said bitterly.

“He tailed you into the airport and heard where you planned to go when you bought your ticket,” Lucien said from behind her. “He didn’t have his passport with him, though, so he couldn’t follow you. He wasn’t expecting to have to leave the country so quickly, given what Ian had told him,” Lucien explained when Francesca gave him a perplexed glance over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” Ian said succinctly, looking extremely annoyed. He narrowed his stare on her, watching her from beneath a lowered brow. “Who told you I was here?”

“Gerard,” she said.

His jaw stiffened. “Gerard? How did—”

“He said he overheard you two talking.”

His lip curled every so slightly in an expression of . . . what, she couldn’t quite say.

“Ian? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Ian replied through a tight mouth. “Francesca, I don’t want you here.”

She dropped her arms and straightened her spine. “I’m not leaving. Not unless you come with me.”

He looked mad enough to bite through a chain-link fence. She stood her ground, but something in his blue eyes made it difficult to do.

“You’re here now. Come inside. It’s freezing in this foyer,” Lucien added from behind her, and she knew he was trying to give Ian time to cool down and see reason. Ian made a savage, furious sound in his throat and stalked out of the foyer ahead of them without another word.

“I had to come,” she whispered to Lucien desperately. “It’s crazy, him being here of all places. Is it true Ian has bought this place?”

“He owns it, yes,” Lucien said succinctly, his tight mouth telling her he shared in her disquietude. “Are you going to come in? We were just sitting down to eat in the parlor. It’s one of the only livable rooms in the house . . . one of the only warm ones as well,” he added drolly.