Page 16 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

He was nothing like the other men here. Who were either overstuffed with their imports and rich foods or self-consciously lean in a testament to their dedication at finding some sort of meaning of life in fitness. Accomplished from cycling in too-fitted Lycra and days spent playing pickleball.

But not so, Ewan Kincaid.

Who looked as if he spent his days out in fields lifting boulders. Moving them about the Highlands.

The Highlands.

Scotland.

That would be where his home was. His ancestral dwelling.

She had never been to Scotland.

It was, she thought, such a fascinating thing to have inherited. And it was the kind of decisive victory she could not have ever dreamed of. Not only had she more money than she’d ever seen in her life, but she also had a home.

He moved to her, putting his hand on her lower back, and everything in her went molten.

It was as if someone had reached inside her and taken everything she knew and squeezed it down tightly in their hand, so that it became small.

And she became reckless.

She would never be here again. Never have this moment again. Where she was the winner. She had claimed victory over him. And why could he not be her prize as well?

She had been prepared to surrender her body to him on the very off chance that she had lost the match.

In fact, part of her had been excited by it.

It was that sort of wickedness that she had always been afraid lurked in her veins.

And it did. In this moment it did. It was burning to the surface. Why not indulge it?

Because this was why they had decided they had to end the charades. It became too much a part of who you were.

If this was her last moment to be wicked, then why not dive in? Put her head under water. Drown in it.

They wove their way through the crowd, and into an elevator.

Everyone had been looking at them, but pretending they were not.

“What is your real name?” he asked, when the doors closed on them.

“I told you my name.”

“It is not your name. I’ve seen you before.” The breath left her body. “This is what you do. And your name is not Jessica Lockwood.”

“Does it matter what my name is?”

“You want legal ownership of the estate? This is not money wired into your fake account. You want your name on the deed.”

She froze. “I cannot have my name easily found. I’m certain you will understand.”

“I’m happy to wrap it up in a business of some kind. But your legal name ought to be buried somewhere in there, don’t you think?”

“I’m nobody. Nobody to you. But I am somebody who might be harmed if I’m found by the wrong person.”

“A con artist.”

“Nothing about what I did was a con. I beat you.”

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