“How does that sound?” Mags asked.
Allie tried to remember what they had been talking about.
Before she could respond, Trevor spoke. “She wasn’t paying attention, Mother. If you were the slightest bit aware of anyone other than yourself, you would have seen Allie’s eyes glaze over ten minutes ago.”
Mags’s smile dimmed just a little. “Sorry, darling, I forgot that wedding plans are tedious for everyone but the bride.”
“You’ve done it enough times, you should remember. Why not get married by an Elvis impersonator and quit bothering the rest of us?” Trevor said.
Allie glanced at him. Despite his biting words, his face was perfectly pleasant.
“Sorry, Mags,” Allie said. “I do want to know all the details. My mind just wandered for a second. Now, what are you wearing?”
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow, dearest, and pick it out. We’ll pick out your dress too.”
Oh God, not more shopping. Allie managed a smile. “Sure.”
“Allie doesn’t like shopping, Mother.”
Mags appeared confused for a second, then began to laugh. “Don’t be silly. All women love to shop.”
The rest of the dinner passed slowly. Mags chatted away and Allie tried to appear interested, Trevor interrupted with biting, sarcastic remarks, and Nigel remained quiet. When it was finally over, Trevor excused himself and went to his office. Allie, not the slightest bit tired after her drunken nap, knew she couldn’t stand any more of Mags’s cheerful prattling and Nigel’s brooding silence.
She excused herself and, on her way to her room, stopped by the library on the second floor and snagged a couple of books relating to Spanish daggers. She wanted to know why all of these collectibles were so damn interesting to Trevor. Then she changed clothes and called her dad.
“Hello?” His voice sounded anxious.
“Hey, Dad, have you heard from Monica? I called her this morning and left a message, but I haven’t heard back.”
He sighed. “No, I thought you might be her.”
Damn that kid. “Let me know if she calls?” Allie asked.
“Yeah, same here.”
She asked to speak to Brynn and flipped through the dagger book until her sister picked up the phone.
“Hey, Al,” Brynn whispered, “Dad’s freaking out over here.”
“He’s worried about Monica. You still don’t know Brad’s last name or who his friends are?”
“Uh, no. I don’t hang out with stoners.”
The book dropped from Allie’s lap. “Is it just pot or something else?”
Brynn sighed. “I’m not sure, but I found a bag of pot under her mattress. Don’t tell her, okay? She’ll kill me if she knows I was snooping.”
“I promise. But you have to let me know if you find anything else.”
“Okay.” There was a long pause. “So, are you stopping by home this week? I mean, I know you’re busy. You don’t have to come, I was just curious.”
Although she might claim otherwise, Brynn needed her, needed the stability she provided. “Tomorrow morning. I’ll make you breakfast.” If Trevor had any objections, too bad. Allie had responsibilities.
“French toast?”
“You got it, Brynnie.”
After she hung up, she tried to concentrate on the book, but antique Spanish daggers, even the kind made from Toledo steel, just couldn’t hold her attention. What if Monica was doing something worse than sparking up? Allie had a bad feeling about this Brad guy.
She should have kept a better eye on Monica, should have searched her room, checked her phone.
Frustrated and restless, she grabbed her robe, threw it on, and opened her bedroom door. Glancing out to make sure no one was loitering in the hall, she padded from room to room, examining the objets d’art on display.
She stopped to look at carved salt cellars. Snuff boxes were grouped together on a shelf in the library. The top of each held an engraved herald or crest. What was the appeal of all these items? Trevor didn’t seem obsessed with the collections, yet he must be. She couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting some encased doodad.
As she drifted through the second floor, her mind turned over the situation with Monica, but she’d come to no conclusions. If her sister chose not to answer her messages, there wasn’t much Allie could do but worry.
She made her way to the round TV room and settled herself onto the squishy sofa, curling her feet beneath her, and began changing channels. She wasn’t in the mood for crime shows, news shows, or movies, but when she spotted an ugly pair of green earrings on a shopping channel, she paused.
“Good God, you’re not thinking of buying those,” Trevor whispered in her ear.
Allie jumped and spun her head. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He plopped on the sofa next to her, his thigh touching her leg. “How would you like me to sneak up on you?”
“How about not sneaking at all? And I can’t buy anything. I don’t have a job anymore.”
Trevor reached over and took the remote control out of her hand, hitting the off button and tossing it on the sofa cushion. He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s wrong, love?”
She untucked her legs, pulling the edges of her robe closed. “My sister’s missing.”
“Monica?”
She nodded.
He picked up the pink satin sash and rubbed it between his fingers. “Missing how?”
“Like she’s gone. Trevor, I need to be at home with my family.”
“When was she last seen? Is she really missing, or is she with the boyfriend?” He shifted toward her, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.
“She’s been gone for two days, no one’s heard from her, and apparently, she’s smoking pot.”
He gasped. “Not the dreaded marijuana.”
She jerked her tie out of his grasp. “It’s not funny. My sister’s out there”—she flung her arm wide—“doing God knows what with some punk ass guy we know nothing about. She’s throwing her life away.”
He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I’ll find out who this Brad person is, all right?”
Surprised at his offer to help, she nodded. “What’s this going to cost me? Nothing with you is free.”
He swooped down and kissed her. When his tongue stroked hers, she reached up to touch the side of his face, but he pulled away too quickly. “There, paid in full.” She ran a finger over her lips. That brief kiss wasn’t enough. Why did she have to feel this way about him? He was everything she didn’t want—high-handed, arrogant, snide.
He watched her reaction with hooded eyes. They stared at each other in silence until Allie began to feel her cheeks heat up.
Comforting, funny, confident. Sexy as hell. All right, so he had his good points.
She swallowed at the sensual allure in those smoky gray eyes. “I think you hurt your mom’s feelings at dinner.” She didn’t really want to talk about his mother. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him back. She wanted to stroke the prominent cheekbones, to feel the rough stubble on his chin. But after last night’s after-sex dismissal, she was a little hesitant to make the first move.
He plucked at her hair and, just like in the drawing room before dinner, twirled a strand around his finger, unwound it, and twisted it again. “My mother doesn’t have feelings, she has histrionics.”
Allie turned her head slightly to look up at him. “She was hurt, Trevor. I could see it in her eyes.”
He shrugged. “She’ll get over it.”
She knew it was useless to discuss it with him anymore. He had an amazing way of blocking out anything he didn’t want to hear.
Letting go of her hair, he brushed his finger lightly down her cheek.
She smiled and slapped at his hand. “That tickles.”
Trevor raised both brows. “Are you ticklish then, Miss Campbell?” His eyes twinkled, and without warning, he struck. His fingers scurried over her ribs and stomach. He squeezed her knee until she was twisting away from him.