Free The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) by Lesley Young Page A

mother?”
    I glared at him, quickly, flashing back on the now perfectly still pool. Why would he ask such a question?
    “That’s a very personal question, Mr. Knight.”
    “Yes, it is.” His voice thrummed—literally. It was like a didgeridoo. One of the first things I did upon arriving in Australia was go to a live musical event featuring the didgeridoo. I am fascinated by music, all kinds, and in my free time marvel at the poetry of its mathematical foundations.
    He had not said another word, and, it would seem, required an answer.
    “I am unsure as to whether I should answer that truthfully, Mr. Knight.”
    He chuckled, and I took in his amused face. Up close, he had a perfect matching set of dimples.
    “Ah, God, you’re such a pleasure, Charlie, I gotta say.”
    I felt myself flush, and then, experienced a second unsettling sensation of flushing further, simply because I had been flushing in the first place. Ridiculous.
    “Piece of advice: next time you think about lying, don’t give warning.”
    I was forced to smile. I nodded. “You are right. That was silly.”
    He waited for the answer. “The truth is . . . I don’t miss her as much as I should.”
    It had been weighing on me terribly that I had missed Miss Moneypenny, while she was in quarantine, more than I missed my mother. I reasoned that that was because our cat was alive, whereas what was the point of longing for the impossible? It hurt, physically, to do so, somewhere, near the heart, in the solar plexus.
    I glanced into his eyes, wondering how he might take this news. In my experience, people say they want the truth, but often don’t like it.
    “I understand fully, Charlie.” Relieved, I resumed relaxed breathing. “Family is both a strength and a weakness,” he added, gritting his teeth and staring off into the distance.
    I wondered what family he spoke of, since I had thought he was an orphan. But we were already compromising our professional integrity by simply being here, so I said, “That is a very apt observation, Mr. Knight.”
    “Why don’t you call me Jace. Just for today,” he added quickly. “I’m about to help you get over your greatest fear, Charlie. Surely that warrants us being on a first-name basis.”
    “Water is not my greatest fear, Jace.”
    “Oh. What is?”
    “You first,” I said, attempting to irritate him with a question for a question. However, he seemed . . . amused.
    Confusing.
    “Loneliness,” he answered baldly, placing his hands on his knees, sitting up.
    “Really? I would not have expected that Mr.—I mean, Jace.”
    “Not many do,” he said in his deep, even-toned voice. “People assume wealth’s a potion for all kinds of things, like friendship and love. It’s actually a pretty nasty poison. Takes a strong heart to withstand real power, Charlie.”
    I glanced into his eyes and they hugged mine, holding us both on a tightrope even though I was teetering madly.
    “So, what’s your greatest fear, then?” he asked finally, releasing me.
    “Failure,” I answered readily, having identified it at the age of six when I was informed I did not play house correctly by one of the many children who had come and gone from the CrissCross trailer park. “I need to succeed in all things.”
    “Why are you smiling?” I heard myself ask. I’d never asked anyone about the meaning behind their facial expressions, frankly, preferring not to bother. But with Mr. Knight, I cared very much in that moment.
    “Because there are two kinds of folks in this world. Those who are shit-scared of death, and those who are shit-scared of failure. I prefer the latter.” He stood up and reached out a hand. “So, are you ready to succeed at swimming, Charlie?”
    I put my satchel on the ground, took his hand and rose up, anxiety swelling in me. “Just so you are aware, Mr.—Jace. I do not perform well in high-pressure, time-intensive situations. My brain is hardwired such that it requires gentle exposure to