Who doesn't fall for good looks and charm? Carmel stepped forward with a bright smile, offering to take her belongings as he spoke up warmly. "Ainsley, right? I'm Carmel, your cousin. Just call me Carmel."
Ainsley lifted her gaze to him. Carmel was tall and strikingly handsome, with narrow, almond-shaped eyes that curved naturally into a friendly, disarming smile. He carried an air of nobility, yet there was an unmistakable hint of playful irreverence about him.
Huh. She thought she'd seen that face somewhere before.
Ainsley was slightly face-blind; she never bothered remembering people who didn't matter. She sifted through the faces of everyone she knew in her mind, came up empty, and dropped the thought entirely.
"Yeah. Hi, I'm Ainsley," she greeted him politely. She looked docile enough-at least, that was how Carmel saw her.
"Grandpa has trouble walking, so he sent me to pick you up instead. He'll be a little late. Your dad and my dad already booked a restaurant; they're probably there by now. Let's head over first."
Carmel kept smiling as he talked, reaching out to take her bag.
"Ainsley, I've got a friend in the car. He'll join us for dinner-you don't mind, do you?"
Ainsley dodged his hand subtly, keeping a full step behind him the entire time. Her voice was hoarse and casual, but each word was crisp and clear: "I don't mind."
Carmel stared at his empty hand, frozen for a split second. He glanced at the seemingly frail young cousin beside him in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes.
How had she moved that fast? He hadn't even seen her dodge him.
Carmel brushed it off as a fluke and thought nothing more of it. He reached the car and held open the back passenger door.
"It's sweltering out here. Get in the car first."
Ainsley narrowed her eyes at the Rolls-Royce glinting under the sunlight, then looked away.
This was a car even her former adoptive father, Preston Thomas, couldn't afford. Just who were her biological family?
The second she slid into the car, cold air washed over her, chasing away the outdoor heat. Ainsley's gaze locked onto the so-called "friend" waiting inside.
The man leaned lazily against the plush leather seat, his presence seeming to suck all the oxygen out of the vehicle, radiating an oppressive, intimidating aura.
Hill Frazier wore a flawlessly tailored dark custom suit, his long legs crossed at the knee, a confidential corporate file resting on his lap.
He didn't utter a single word. He just stared at her, his gaze sliding slowly from the tip of her hair down to her pale lips.
The weight of that stare was crushing. Ainsley's chest tightened sharply with a surge of danger, and she instinctively shifted her hips, pressing her back firmly against the car door.
Carmel settled into the driver's seat, shifted into gear, and glanced at Ainsley through the rearview mirror. "This is my friend, Hill."
Her mind raced, sifting through every piece of information she had on powerful figures in Washington D.C., trying to match the name "Hill" to a face. She came up with nothing.
Carmel pulled the heavy luxury car onto the main road.
Hill held her gaze for three agonizing seconds.
"You look much thinner than you did in the photos."
Ainsley snapped her head up, every muscle in her body tensing. "What photos?"
Hill leaned forward slightly, invading her personal space, stopping just inches from her face. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with her own.
He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, meant for her ears only: "Your photo. As your fiancé, I should know all information about you."
