Page 102 of Powerhouse: Boxed Set
“Bye, Mom,” I whispered brokenly, raising my shaking fingers to my lips as if I could drop a kiss right into the ground to rest with her forevermore.
“Here.”
I almost didn’t turn around, but something soft bumped my elbow. When I looked down, Tiernan was holding out a bloodred rose to me, obviously plucked from the arrangement beside the large photo of her.
Deja vu hit me so hard my mind reeled. I wondered hatefully if Aida would have died if I’d refused to take that first rose from him even though I knew that wasn’t true. She’d had a brain aneurism that burst in her sleep. She’d been there one moment and gone the next.
It wasn’t his fault as much as I wanted it to be.
I took the rose, surprised when thorns didn’t prick my skin. Still, I felt the phantom pain in my hand, echoed tenfold in my soul. I raised the bloom to my mouth, kissed the fragrant, furled center and then dropped it into the gaping earth to lie on top of my mom.
“I’ll love you always,” I promised her, ignoring the hot brand of Tiernan’s eyes on me as a tear dropped from my cheek into the chasm.
Without acknowledging my new guardian, I moved on toward the limo lingering at the curb, shaking my head at the ostentatiousness of it. It was only when I curled my hand around the handle to open the door that Tiernan stopped me, his hand clamping down on my own, his torso pressed lightly to my back with his breath in my ear.
“Say goodbye to your insignificant life, Bianca,” he whispered with a dark sense of finality. “And welcome to my cruel world.”
Dangerous Temptation
CHAPTER ONE
Bianca
Bishop’s Landing wasthe most expensive stretch of real estate in the United States. Half of it was owned by the Constantine family, who defined the meaning of American royalty, and the other half was owned by their rivals, the Morellis. I knew considerably more about the former family, but I’d heard enough rumors about the latter to be wary of them. I hoped I didn’t have cause to run into any of the dark-haired, dark-eyed demon children of Sarah and Bryant Morelli.
I’d had enough drama in my lifetime, thank you very much.
A long time ago, immediately after Dad passed away, I used to dream of Caroline Constantine or Dad’s eldest son, Winston, coming to find us. I dreamt they would take pity on our circumstances and offer to take Brando and I back with them to Bishop’s Landing. I convinced myself that Dad would have planned for his passing, that it was only a matter of time before they arrived to save us from destitution.
They never did, of course.
It was just the dream of a silly, heartbroken girl. But Bishop’s Landing had always been a place of hope and dreams for me.
Of course, Bishop’s Landing was where Tiernan took us.
I squirmed in my seat as I stared out the window at the passing homes, colossal monstrosities all of them, some peeking out past epic gates and high shrubbery and others in open view of the road, proudly bared in all their wealthy glory.
I felt like I was trespassing justlookingat the houses, as if the cops would pull us over any moment and demand I go back to where I came from.
“You live here?” Brando asked, nose pressed to the glass. “Are you a king?”
Tiernan’s laugh was low and smoky. “Something like that.”
“What’s your last name?” I demanded, too exhausted and shaken after the funeral and the long flight from Dallas to New York to offer pleasantness. “We should know the name of the man who’s taking us in.”
“McTiernan,” he offered blandly.
I snorted with startled laughter. “Seriously? Tiernan McTiernan? No wonder you don’t offer it up. That’s a terribly unoriginal name.”
“Bianca and Brandon Belcante are so much better?” he asked with an arched brow without looking up from his phone, his fingers flying across the screen.
He’d ignored us for the entire journey, leaving a weepy, tired, and cranky Brando to my care. Elena had traveled with us as far as New York before leaving for her own home after giving me her business card in case I ever needed her. Ezra remained, sitting up with the driver behind the partition.
I rolled my lips under my teeth, too tired to argue with him. Everything felt like a bad dream.
“Ah, here we are,” he murmured after a moment as the car slowed at the end of a road before a massive, moss-covered stone wall bisected by a large iron gate bracketed by huge lion sculptures. “Welcome to Lion Court.”
Through the ornate, scrolling metalwork, I caught a glimpse of the building we would be calling home for the foreseeable future and I lost my breath.
