Page 5 of Legacy

Reagan’s smile falls, but she doesn’t so much as flinch at my sudden movement. “I’d really like to talk to Jesse about this, so if you could—”

“You’re looking at him, sweetheart.” I step forward. “And my answer isthanks, but no way in fucking hell.”

I’m too close. I need to step back, but I can’t.

The room smells like stale cigarettes and spilled beer, but she smells like honey, summer rain, and hope.

Reagan tips her head back to glare up at me. “Why not?”

“If I had to guess—” I shove Chaos before he can finish his sentence.

“Because I said.” I don’t break her stare.

“Jesse—”

“The name’s Legacy. Not Jesse. And I don’t need your fucking help.”

Brushing past her, I walk away. No good can come from staring at this girl. Smelling her has my head swimming. Her eyes are time capsules that make me wish I could step inside them and come out a better man.

I storm down the hallway and out to the front porch, climbing on my bike. My fingers grip the handlebars, and I’m pissed Margaret would invite her here without telling me.

Bea needs someone who will stick around. Not some girl chasing whatever sounds exciting this week before moving on to do something better with her life.

Why would Margaret do this?

Margaret.

Guilt swims through me thinking about the woman who has basically raised my daughter. The woman who taught me how to be a father when mine was a shit example.

Reagan is Margaret’s great-niece, and I just left her alone in the clubhouse. As much as I hate why this girl is here or what her proximity does to me, I care about Margaret too much to leave her in there alone.

Climbing off my bike, I grumble as I start back up the steps, resolving to drop her off at a hotel before driving her to the airport tomorrow.

Whatever it takes to get her to leave—because she’s not staying.

I never asked for help, and I sure as hell don’t want it from some twenty-one-year-old girl who is naive enough to walk through these doors in the first place.

Walking back down the hallway toward the bar, Reagan is the first person who comes into view. I blame it on the bright white sundress in a dim bar.

Not that it explains how I hear her voice above everyone else as the party gets louder.

“Is he always that charming?” she asks no one in particular.

“On a good day.” Chaos laughs. “You need a ride home, honey?”

She rolls her shoulders back. “Nope. I’m here to help my aunt, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“That so?” Chaos meets my gaze over Reagan’s shoulder, amused.

She nods. “Anyone have Jesse’s number so I can figure out where I’m supposed to be staying?”

Fucking hell.

I’m in trouble.

2

Reagan

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