Page 40 of Stepbrothers

He pulled to a halt.

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll add a tip to the payment.”

“Cheers, love. Have a good day.

“You, too.” She stepped out and stood beside a grassy verge dotted with hoof prints. The wooden gates resembled a barn door, the furniture black iron. Beside it, on the brick wall, was a small intercom. She pressed the button and waited for an answer.

“Hello.” Parker’s voice.

“It’s me. Clarice.”

“Ah, good you found us. Come in. The gate will close itself after a few seconds, so just leave it. I’ll meet you.”

The gate buzzed and clicked open.

Clarice walked through the gap, her sandals crunching on the pea gravel. She then stood and stared, stared some more. Harpingwell House was more than a house. It was a mansion.

Red-bricked, three floors with dormer windows in the slate pitched roof, and three chimneystacks. It had a grand pillared doorway flanked by bay trees that resembled lollipops, tall sash windows and a detached quadruple garage—sitting in front of it were a Ferrari and a Porsche.

The glossy black front door opened.

Parker appeared wearing aviator sunglasses. He was more casual than she’d ever seen him in navy deck shoes, beige shorts, and a pale-blue Ralph Lauren polo.

He held up his hand. “Hey.”

Her heart did a weird flip. Attraction? Longing? Nerves? She wasn’t sure.

He strolled down the steps, walked up to her, and set a kiss on each of her cheeks.

She breathed in his cologne. It was freshly applied. His hair was still damp, fresh from the shower.

“Did you find the house okay?” he asked.

“Yes, easy enough.” She gestured forward. “It’s pretty impressive.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Yes. Well, from the age of two. Trig remembers our other place in Buckinghamshire, he’s the eldest, but I don’t. This has always been the family home for me and Hugh.”

“Sweet place to spend a childhood.”

He grinned. His serious face appeared to have taken a holiday, which was nice. “Come in, let’s get you a drink.”

“Thanks.”

He set his hand on the small of her back as she went up the steps. “How has your week been?” he asked.

His light touch was strangely intimate. “Not bad. Tiring.”

“You’re always tired.”

“I know.”

They went into the hallway. A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a double-width mahogany staircase led up to a vast landing area. To the right, a grandfather clock chimed once.

“Clarice, sweetheart, you’re here.” Her mother appeared, suntanned and wearing a frilly blue apron which didn’t suit her because she never cooked. “And looking so pretty.” She kissed Clarice on each cheek. “Your hair is lovely.”

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