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  After, wrapped in one of the thick white robes the hotel provided, she finally turned to open her suitcase. Even though Ben had told her when they checked in that someone would unpack her suitcase for her, she couldn’t imagine leaving it for a hotel person to do.

  Her blue suit was packed neatly inside, and she pulled it out, feeling herself go pale when she saw the bleached-white splotch on the very front of the skirt after she pulled off the cleaner’s plastic.

  She’d picked the suit up from the cleaner’s the afternoon before and stuck it straight into her suitcase. Never in her life had she imagined the cleaners might have damaged it.

  She sank down on the ivory duvet that covered the wide bed. She hadn’t brought a backup, either. All she had inside her suitcase were her underclothes, an extra pair of jeans and a few warm shirts.

  What on earth was she going to wear when they met Keaton Whitfield later that evening? She knew the restaurant where they were going wasn’t a place she could just show up at wearing faded blue jeans.

  Hating that she felt close to tears, she transferred the rest of her clothes to the closet, leaving out only fresh undies, and stuck the suitcase on the high shelf before closing the door.

  She thought she was imagining it when she heard a knock on her door. But when it was repeated, she cleared her throat and tightened the belt of the robe as she walked over to the door. She stood on her tiptoes to look through the peephole and saw Ben standing on the other side.

  Without thinking, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. “What’s wrong?”

  His gaze ran over her and even though she was covered from neck nearly to toes in thick white terry cloth, she felt herself flush.

  “Your hair is wet.”

  Her hand flew to her head. She probably still looked like a drowned rat. “I showered,” she said inanely.

  “I’ll come back.” He turned away.

  “No, wait.” Again, acting purely on instinct, she reached out and grabbed his arm. Just as quickly, when she became conscious of what she was doing, she released him again. “I thought you said we’d meet in the lobby.”

  He looked at her, seeming pained. “I did. Then—” He sighed. “Hell.”

  “Ben? What is it?”

  “I got too keyed up to hang around in my suite,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize you’d be—” He gestured, not finishing.

  “I was just going to dry my hair.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “You could wait here if you wanted. It won’t take me long.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Ella.”

  “Why? There’s plenty of room in my suite.”

  His lips twisted. “I know you’re not that naive.”

  Heat swept through her. Not of the embarrassment variety, either.

  She tugged the belt tighter again, trying not to wonder what he’d do if she pulled it off instead and presented herself to him as naked as she’d been born. “Fine.” Her voice sounded as tight as the belt. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in a little bit, like we said.”

  His jaw canted to one side. “It’s better that way,” he said in a low voice.

  Ella nodded, not speaking. He stepped back enough for her to shut the door, and she pushed it closed, flipping the lock.

  Shuddering, she leaned back against the door and drew in a long, deep breath. Only in another country for a few hours and she was already in danger of throwing herself at him.

  Surely she had more control than that? Then she laughed hollowly, because she didn’t have more control.

  Given the slightest hint from him, she’d throw herself into his arms and she knew it. Sighing, she pushed away from the door and went to dry her hair.

  Less than ten minutes later, she was dressed again and she went down to find him in the lobby. Not surprisingly, she caught him talking on his cell phone, though he ended the call as soon as he spotted her.

  “I need to find a shop,” she said abruptly.

  “What do you need?”

  She told him about her ruined skirt. “Unless you’ll change your mind about meeting Keaton on your own, I’ll need something a little more presentable than jeans to wear.”

  He looked like he was considering debating the point.

  “I did an internet search on the place where he’s meeting us,” she said. “It’s not a jeans sort of establishment.”

  “Always prepared, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be.” Her smile felt tight. “Except I didn’t think to bring a backup outfit for tonight.”

  “Shopping it is.”

  “Somewhere inexpensive,” she warned as they headed toward the hotel entrance. “We both know I don’t have a fortune to spend.”

  He smiled suddenly, and settled his palm on the small of her back. “Ella, sweetheart. I do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Six hours later, Ella’s mouth was no longer dry because she was simply dazed.

  Not only had Ben insisted on taking her to Harrods, where her eyes had popped out from sticker shock, but he’d also insisted on purchasing whatever she needed.

  Her version of what she’d needed varied dramatically from his, though, and instead of leaving the store with a quickly purchased skirt that she could wear that evening, he’d escorted her through the expensive department store, carelessly assuring her that the few outfits he chose for her to try on were more in the nature of a uniform.

  She’d looked at him as if he’d gone crazy.

  But neither had she absolutely refused him, either.

  Perhaps it was because when she’d modeled the leather Alexander McQueen cropped jacket and coordinating pencil skirt for him, he’d stopped looking at his cell phone every five minutes. And when she’d twirled around in front of him wearing a black-and-blue mini sheath dress that fit her like a glove, he’d smiled and swirled his finger in the air and she’d twirled all over again.

  Eventually, though, the demands of his cell phone had intruded, because even though she was feeling like Cinderella in a fairy tale, he was still the COO of Robinson Tech and that responsibility followed him 24/7.

  He’d passed her into the hands of a very capable personal shopper and returned to the hotel to take care of his business.

  He hadn’t returned. But Ella hadn’t minded all that much. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon in hedonistic pleasure in the salon where her freshly washed hair had been washed all over again, trimmed and then coaxed into artfully natural waves; her hands had been manicured and her feet pedicured. When she’d finally left the department store, she felt glossy from head to toe, and beneath the swinging cashmere coat that Ben had chosen for her before he’d left, she was wearing the pretty sheath dress and unfamiliarly high black heels.

  The personal shopper had promised to have her original clothing and the rest of her purchases delivered to the hotel.

  And now, Ella stood on the street outside the restaurant where she and Ben were to meet Keaton Whitfield. She started to check the watch on her wrist before remembering that for the first time in forever, she wasn’t wearing it. She’d left it with the rest of her things, packaged up to be transported to the hotel. She still figured she was a few minutes early. But it was drizzling, and she had even less desire to stand out in the rain and let the hairdresser’s efforts go to waste than she did to enter the restaurant without Ben. So she went inside.

  Even on a Monday evening, the restaurant was clearly busy. She surrendered her coat to the coat check and when she gave Ben’s name, the maître d’ immediately escorted her to a table on the far side of the room, and she smiled to herself at the sight of Ben already there, sitting facing away from the door in a high-backed booth.

  She stopped next to him. “Well, I hope the bill that you’re going to get is worth it,” she said. “I’ve been buffed from h
ead—” She broke off when the man turned and looked at her, and she realized it wasn’t Ben at all.

  Just a man that looked stunningly similar to him.

  If for no other reason, she pegged him at that very moment as Ben’s brother.

  “Mr. Whitfield?”

  He rose from the booth and smiled at her. “Yes.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Ella Thomas. I’m a—”

  “Associate of Ben Robinson’s,” he said, shaking her hand slowly. “He told me.” His eyes roved over her in an eerily familiar way. “He neglected to warn me how lovely you were.”

  Ella tugged her hand away, flushing a little. The man was attractive, to be sure. But he wasn’t Ben. “Thank you.”

  “Please. Have a seat.” Keaton gestured at the bench opposite the one he’d occupied.

  * * *

  Coming into the restaurant, Ben had a strong sense of déjà vu when he saw Ella across the room, sliding into the booth, displaying a hell of a lot of creamy, shapely leg as she did so.

  The fact that the man standing beside the booth was also appreciating the display didn’t escape him, either.

  He’d already realized that dealing with Whitfield was going to be an entirely different game than it had been with Randy Phillips. But seeing the man looking at his Ella made something inside him fill with fury.

  He strode across the room and Ella turned toward him.

  Her face broke into a smile at the sight of him, her eyes almost seeming to sparkle, and the fury inside him stuttered.

  He almost had it under control by the time he reached the table and Ella slid over to make room for him to sit beside her.

  “Ben,” she said, gesturing to the man still standing there. “This is Keaton Whitfield. Mr. Whitfield, my, uh—” She stumbled for just a moment. “Ben Robinson,” she said.

  Ben dragged his unwilling eyes from her beautiful face to the man they’d come across the pond to see.

  Keaton was eyeing him just as narrowly as Ben realized he was doing. They shook hands briefly, then just stood there looking at each other.

  Ella laughed lightly, obviously hoping to lighten the moment. “Perhaps sitting might be an idea?”

  Keaton relaxed first, his lips twisting wryly. He took the bench opposite Ella, and Ben sat down beside her, way too aware of the warmth of her only inches away.

  Keaton gestured for one of the waiters. “Maybe a drink would serve us well.”

  Ben heartily agreed. He repeated Keaton’s order for whiskey, neat, and Ella ordered wine.

  When the waiter departed again, they just sat there looking at each other.

  Once again, Keaton broke first. “It’s probably going to be obvious when I say you look oddly familiar.”

  Ben didn’t even realize he’d reached for Ella’s hand until he felt the start she gave. He quickly let go again. “Might as well get to it,” he said as he pulled out his wallet and extracted the small photograph he had of his father that had been taken many years earlier. “Do you know him?”

  Keaton took the snapshot, his eyebrows yanking together over his long nose. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It’s my father,” Ben said. “Gerald Robinson. Maybe you’d know him as Jerome Fortune, though. He founded Robinson Computers.”

  Keaton set the photograph carefully on the table, pulling his hand away as if he didn’t want to touch it any longer. “Thought the company was changing its name.”

  “It has,” Ella answered when Ben didn’t. He felt the weight of her gaze but couldn’t look away from the other man. “It’s Robinson Tech now,” she explained.

  “Do you recognize him?” Ben asked again.

  Keaton nodded. “Only from one photograph to another. I don’t know his name. Never did. But I’m pretty sure he’s the bastard who broke my mother’s heart after he left her pregnant.” He met Ben’s eyes. “With me.”

  Silence descended on the table again, broken only by the waiter, who returned with their drinks.

  When Ben felt Ella’s hand squeeze his, he exhaled. Everything he’d suspected had coalesced in the form of the man—his half brother—who sat across from them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid my father has probably broken a lot of hearts along the way.”

  Keaton studied him for a long moment. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “To find out if there are more children of Gerald Robinson.”

  “Why? To protect your legitimate claim to the name?”

  Ben shook his head. “To do what’s right. And I just think we all should know.”

  Keaton made a sound, not necessarily of agreement. “Right, then.” He suddenly tossed back the entire contents of his drink and set the glass back down with decisiveness. “I’ll help you look.”

  * * *

  Watching the two men, so alike, even though they’d never once met, was incredibly strange.

  In the end, Keaton Whitfield didn’t linger long in the restaurant. Shortly after saying that he would help Ben in their search for any more of Gerald Robinson’s children, he excused himself for the evening with the promise of remaining in touch with Ben.

  “Well,” Ella murmured after he left. “I guess there’s no need for a DNA test in this instance.” She half expected Ben to move around to the other side of the booth, but he didn’t budge from his spot next to her.

  “Nope.” He toyed with his drink, his blue eyes seeming restless as they roved over her.

  “It’s probably weird, though. Coming face-to-face with a stranger who has your face?”

  “There’s always been someone who has my face,” he said. “Wes.” He looked toward the exit that Keaton had taken. “I never expected a third.” He looked back down at his glass, his lips twisted. “And yeah. It’s weird.” He suddenly lifted his glass, holding it up. “We should be celebrating.”

  Ella lifted her wineglass and clinked it softly against his squat one. “Okay.” She wasn’t so sure Ben looked like he wanted to celebrate, though.

  But he gestured to the waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne. “And keep them coming,” he told him. “Plus we’ll see the menu.”

  The waiter’s expression perked up. Probably because of the expensive champagne Ben had requested. Maybe he was onto the scent of a profitable night on the job.

  Ella didn’t much care. It wouldn’t have mattered to her if she and Ben were sitting in an unprepossessing café or the finest restaurant in the world.

  She was with him.

  * * *

  They closed down the restaurant before Ben poured Ella into a cab that transported them back to their hotel. She didn’t need Ben having to help her out of the cab when they got there to know she’d had way too much to drink, and she giggled when she stumbled against him. “These high heels are too high.”

  “You’re too high on Cristal,” he corrected with a chuckle, catching the coat she shed when they made their way through the very elegant, very British hotel lobby.

  Ella pointed her finger at him. “You shouldn’t have ordered so much of it, then.” She turned her finger toward the call button for the elevator and sent him a smile. “It was like drinking stardust.”

  “Maybe that’s why I ordered so much of it,” he drawled. “So I could watch you drink stardust.”

  She smiled. “You’re so darn pretty.”

  He let out a bark of laughter. “You’re so drunk.”

  The elevator opened and she went inside. “Not so drunk I don’t know what I’m doing.” To prove it, she pressed the correct button for her floor. “See?”

  He chuckled again and pulled off his own overcoat, draping it—along with hers—over his arm. “That proves it all right.”

  Ella sighed happily, turning in a slow twirl as
she relived that moment with him in Harrods. When she stopped, she looked up into his face. “I feel like a princess.”

  He smiled indulgently. “You deserve to feel like a princess.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need my help after tonight,” she admitted.

  His brows tugged together.

  “Keaton said he’ll help you find the others. I think he meant it.”

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t still need you.”

  She swayed a little as the elevator continued climbing, wishing his words meant something far more personal. “All the same.” Before she thought better of it, she stretched up and pressed a kiss to his lean cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  His head reared back like he’d been stung. “Ella—”

  “Oh, stop worrying,” she said huskily. “I’m not going to throw myself at you in the hotel elevator.” She hugged her arms around herself and turned to face the elevator doors. “It might surprise you, but even after too much Cristal, I know when something is pointless.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” he muttered behind her.

  “Nothing.” The elevator stopped at her floor and the doors slid open. “Good night, Ben.”

  She stepped off the elevator car, only to feel his arm come around her waist and spin her around.

  Off balance from the champagne they’d consumed and her unfamiliarly high shoes and him, she fell against him.

  Then his mouth was on hers and his hand sank into her hair, gently tugging her head back. “Open your mouth, Ella.”

  Her lips parted.

  He groaned and kissed her again, more deeply, shockingly deeply, and her inebriated senses jolted back into stark clarity. She breathlessly dragged her mouth from his. “Ben—”

  He pressed her against the wall next to the door to her suite. “Say no, Ella, or don’t say anything at all.”