Free Shameless Playboy by Caitlin Crews

all things Wolfe or
resented that she might now have to learn all those terrible stories as if they
were new.
                 He
could not imagine why he should care either way. And yet he did.
                 “One
of my ancestors supposedly drowned in the lake,” he said abruptly, jerking his
chin toward it. “Regrettably, not my father. He died in the house.” He smiled,
though he could feel it was not a very nice smile. It matched the dark memories
that flew at him, each one a new knife in his gut. He shoved them all aside,
ruthlessly. “The rest of us survived this place, in one form or another, but
left the better part of our souls behind. I am not being poetic. There was
never anything good here. Ever.”
                 He
looked down at her, unable to understand why he was speaking to her this way—as
if it mattered to him that she see the truth about Wolfe Manor. He could not
understand the urge.
                 “But
it will make the perfect backdrop for your gala, I imagine,” he continued after
a moment. “The only thing people like more than glamour is glamour gone wrong,
left to crumble into dust and disrepair and salacious old stories.”
                 “You
are so optimistic about human nature,” she said, her voice as tart as ever
despite the sweet honey of it, and completely devoid of any cloying compassion—or,
worse, pity. She did not quite roll her eyes at him, and he felt something
fierce and hot expand in him. “It is no wonder your company is so sought after.”
                 “I
am sought after because I am me,” he said, arrogant and deliberate, daring her
to look away, to deny him. “And because anyone seen in my company is certain to
be photographed and speculated about in the next day’s gossip rags. I am sought
after because I am rich, sickeningly handsome and rumored to be excellent in
bed.” He raised his brows at her, challenging her.
                 “And
here I thought it was for your remarkable modesty,” she replied, as quickly and
as sharply as he’d known she would. As he realized he’d hoped she would.
                 “I
don’t require modesty,” he assured her. “I have a mirror—and, barring that, the
great and glorious British press. I am more than aware of my charms.”
                 “Clearly.”
She did not look remotely impressed. Or even interested. Which, in turn, he
found uncommonly fascinating. “But to return to a slightly less important topic
than your vast and staggering ego, I think that we can pull this off.”
                 She
turned from him once more, to peer out across his history as if it was no more
than a piece of property she was expected to transform. As if it was merely a
venue.
                 Lucas
wondered what she saw. What anyone who had not been abandoned here as a child—in
his case, quite literally as well as emotionally—saw. None of it could ever be
anything simple to him—never just a house, a great lawn, an old estate. His few
happy memories involved his siblings, especially Jacob, and the mischief they’d
gotten into with their decided lack of parental supervision over the years, but
there had never been enough of those moments to tip the balance.
                 Wolfe
Manor was where he had been discarded on the doorstep as an infant, his mother’s
identity ever after hinted at, but never confirmed. It was where he had come to
understand as a very young boy that while William Wolfe had viewed all of his
children with a certain caustic disinterest, it was Lucas who he had actively
hated. It was where he had learned to be the person he was today—ever merry on
the surface, ever concealed beneath, ever the disappointment to all who
expected anything from him.
                 But
Grace could see none of that. No ghosts, no uncomfortable memories, no absentee
mothers and vicious, cruel