The Billionaire's Con by Mackenzie Crowne Page A

first she meant to find out what he’d meant by that “everything will be all right” comment.
    The question vanished from her mind as she noted their surroundings. Expecting an array of masts, and the bustling activity of Charlestown marina, she was bewildered at the sight of a serenely quiet stretch of sandy beach off to the right and the rocky cliff beyond. To the left, a lush lawn, beginning to yellow with the season sloped inland, and her gaze landed on the sprawling edifice perched at the top of the rise. A resort?
    Disoriented, she accepted the hand Trevor held out to her and followed when he stepped from the boat to the dock. “Where are we? How did we get here?”
    “We set sail after you fell asleep last night.” His hand on her elbow, he led her down the dock to the crushed shell path leading up to the resort. “There’s someone I need you to meet.”
    “Who?” Though wary, she matched his step along the path.
    “My grandmother.”
    She skidded to a halt and tugged her arm free of his grasp. “Your grandmother? Right now? Trevor, I can’t meet your grandmother. I look horrible!” She hadn’t even taken the time to wash her face, and she still wore the dregs of last night’s makeup. Her gaze swung beyond him to the house she’d assumed was a resort, and she groaned.
    He grabbed her hand and began tugging her up the hill. “You look beautiful.” His gaze ran over her face. “Gorgeous. Besides, Grandmother knows we’re here. She’s waiting for us. She’ll come charging down here herself if we don’t make an appearance in the parlor in two minutes.”
    “Just let me...”
    “It’ll be fine, Meggy,” he repeated, tugging her toward a set of gleaming French doors at the top of the shelled pathway.
    He was springing her on his grandmother without any warning, and he thought everything would be fine? Oh, yeah, there were some things Trevor Bryce was going to learn about her as well. She’d be all too happy to enlighten him...if she didn’t belt him first.
    The doors opened onto a long, wide hallway. Trevor didn’t hesitate. He continued to pull her toward some unknown point.
    She took no notice of their surroundings, too busy rubbing stiff fingers at the skin under her eyes. Had her mascara smudged while she’d slept? After his odd comment, she hadn’t even glanced in a mirror, so she had no idea.
    Forget belting him, she was going to kill him.
    All too soon he was stepping to the side, and using his hand on the small of her back, he gave her a gentle nudge that sent her through a doorway into a truly impressive room.
    Decorated in classic, New England farmhouse, the walls were glossy white, the floor a stunning, wide plank. Vintage, leaden-glass windows let in the morning light in rippling beams, illuminating the inviting seating area with its sleek, feminine furniture.
    Beside a working fireplace that took up a good portion of the far wall, a small, expensively dressed woman with a shock of styled, white hair sat in an upholstered chair. She rose when Meggy stepped into the room.
    Grandmother Bryce, she mused. The woman was staring at her so intently, Meggy was afraid she had more to worry about than just a little smudged makeup. As stealthily as she could manage, she slid her fingers to the zipper of her jeans, and nearly laughed in relief to find it closed properly.
    “Welcome home, Mr. Christos,” a feminine voice spoke from somewhere at Meggy’s back. She started, not having noticed there was anyone else in the room. Her head jerked in the direction of the voice to find a young maid nodding to Trevor before slipping out of the room. She shut the door behind her.
    A glance around the room revealed only one Mr., and that was Trevor. Mr. Christos? Why would the woman call Trevor by the wrong name?
    Christos? Christos’ Chariot? Uneasiness tickled at her spine. When she’d asked him about the name of his boat, he’d explained it was a family name. He hadn’t said it was his name.