What Belongs to Her - Rachel Brimble Mills & Boon Superromance

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when he hasn’t seen you for years.”

      “How much do you know about my relationship with him?”

      Freddy leaned his considerable weight onto his fists on the desktop. “Not much, but—”

      “Well, then, from now on, I wouldn’t think too much if I were you. Until I know what’s what at Funland and who the people are Kyle’s got working here, I’ve no idea what will be happening in the future.”

      “What future? The fairground ain’t going nowhere. Kyle wouldn’t want anyone taking over who doesn’t know the business like he does.” Color seeped into Freddy’s cheeks, and a vein zigzagged across his temple. “I saw Kyle only last week and he never mentioned your coming. He mentioned you in passing, nothing else. I don’t buy that he’d want you turning up and changing things.”

      “You knew he had a son, though?”

      Freddy’s gray eyes turned colder than steel. “I’ve known Kyle for fifteen years and the first time he said a word about you was when I last saw him. You two estranged or something? Does he even know you’re here?”

      Resentment tipped like paraffin through John’s blood, fuelling his constantly simmering rage against Kyle. “He knows I’m here. Did you meet my father in prison when he was there the first time?”

      A muscle worked in Freddy’s jaw. “Yeah. So?”

      “And you met up again upon his release nine years ago?”

      Freddy nodded, his gaze steady.

      John stared. “And he never mentioned me in prison or after?”

      “No.”

      “Then I guess I’m a big surprise to you in more ways than one.” John smiled, even as his heart beat like a bloody hammer against his rib cage.

      Freddy crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Well, first, you didn’t know about me, and then you find out Kyle has a son. I’m betting a bloody fortune you didn’t expect his sole heir to speak and act like me, either, did you?”

      “Your accent don’t mean shit. I’ve met some pretty evil posh bastards inside prison. As for the rest of you?” Freddy’s smile was slow and suggestive. “You scream of being Kyle’s offspring. You’ve got a mean look in your eyes, no matter how much you might smile and want to make friends. People ’round here ain’t going to take too kindly to Kyle’s son turning up, regardless of what plans you’ve got for this place.”

      John slid a stack of files off his desk and pushed them under his arm. He grinned. “Worse than that, Freddy, my man, I’m not even sure what I’ve got planned yet, so people are going to wonder—or worry—more than ever what I’m up to, aren’t they? See you tomorrow.”

      He strolled to the door and left it wide open behind him. It was nearing eleven and the fair was drawing to a close. The beat of a nineties dance track matched the stomp of John’s boots as he made his way to his car. He unlocked it and slid into the leather seat of Kyle’s Mercedes convertible. Placing the files on the passenger seat, his gaze lingered on the top file emblazoned with Sasha Todd’s name.

      “I’ve got my bedtime reading, Kyle. Let’s see what other nightmares you have in store for me.”

      Drawing in a long breath, he yanked on his seat belt and gunned the engine. Time to get himself comfortable in his father’s well-made bed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SASHA LEFT MARIAN’S Bonniest Bakery with a vanilla latte in hand and gripped the handlebar of her bicycle. She waited for the road to clear and then steered it across to the other side. After parking her bike against the railings overlooking Cowden Beach, she lifted the lid off her coffee, and a plume of gray steam split the runners and dog walkers dotting the sand.

      At 8:00 a.m. she would normally have been cycling through the fairground gates, the excitement of the day ahead running through her blood like oxygen. This morning, raw anxiety washed through her at such a rate she couldn’t help thinking she’d be in danger of crashing her bike the moment she got back in the saddle.

      She sipped her coffee and contemplated the last time she’d jogged across the beach. Who needed to run when she cycled everywhere she could? All day and half the night, she scrambled on and off rides, climbed ladders to fix broken overhangs or change lightbulbs. She smiled.

      Not to mention the innumerable amount of times she’d jumped on the carousel horses under the guise of accompanying a kid riding solo, while their mother rode with their toddler sibling.

      Loving the local kids and wanting to make the park a happy, safe place for them was once again out of reach for the foreseeable future. How would the fear of history repeating itself ever go away if she wasn’t in charge? How could she ascertain suspicious behavior from innocent if Funland was overrun with Kyle’s criminal contacts? If only her family would join in the fight for their ancestral piece of history. How could they stand by and let something that had been in their hands for more than a hundred years slip into such undeserving ones?

      Didn’t they want the place made good again? To help her wash away the evil?

      “That fairground won’t run itself, you know.”

      Sasha quickly swiped at her face and pulled on a smile. “Hey, Marian. What are you doing out here?”

      Templeton Cove’s favorite—and scariest—baker stood beside her, holding Sasha’s phone between her thumb and forefinger. “You left this behind. Thought you might need it...and a big ol’ shoulder to cry on.”

      “Thanks.” Sasha took the phone. “For the phone. The shoulder will have to wait. No tears today.” She nodded toward the bakery. “You’ll be overrun with angry customers wanting coffee and your famous honeycomb muffins in two seconds flat at this time of the morning.”

      Marian waved her hand dismissively. “You’re more important. The girls can cope without me for a while.”

      “I was just about to head off.” Sasha pulled her bike from the railing, but Marian pushed it back.

      “Sasha Todd, talk to me. Now.” Marian lifted an eyebrow and leaned her ample backside against the railing, pinning Sasha with her unrelenting stare. “I’ve never known you to be so distracted when my George was chatting with you. You know how that husband of mine relies on you young girls to brighten up his aging ego. The man’s heartbroken over there.”

      Sasha laughed. “I’ve got things on my mind. Tell him I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to him tomorrow.”

      “You think he’s going to listen to me? He’ll want to know what’s going on with you...as do I. Spill. Now.”

      Sasha hesitated. If she said out loud what had happened between her and John Jordon last night, that would make the situation real, and part of her was still holding on to the hope that when she got to Funland, John would turn out to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

      “Well?” Marian crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”

      Sliding her coffee into the bottle holder on her bike, Sasha gripped the railing and stared ahead. “Kyle Jordon’s son turned up last night to take over the running of the fair.”

      “What?”

      Inhaling a deep breath, Sasha turned. Marian’s face had darkened to a worrying shade of scarlet and her eyes bulged wide open.

      “His name’s John.” Sasha sighed. “And he speaks with some stupid posh accent as though he’s a member of the Royal family.”

      “What?”

      Sasha laughed at the pure disbelief on Marian’s face. “Can’t you say anything else?”

      Marian blinked. “Kyle Jordon’s son? Here? In Templeton? I

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