“Claire must have forgotten her key,” Dylan said with a sigh.
With a reluctant groan, Aidan pulled out and handled the task of removing his condom, while Dylan reached for the cordless and answered with a quick hello.
Sergio, the guard who manned the desk, spoke in a brusque voice. “I have a Ron McKinley asking to be buzzed up. He says he’s here to see Claire.”
Dylan almost dropped the phone.
Claire’s father was here?
Claire’s father was here?
“Oh,” he blurted into the receiver. “Uh…one sec, Serge.” Covering the mouthpiece, he directed a panicked look at Aidan. “Claire’s father is downstairs,” he hissed.
Aidan’s face paled. “Shit. Shit.”
“I know, right?” Dylan quickly brought the phone back to his ear. “Um, let him up.”
The second he hung up, both men flew off the bed in a manic search for their clothes. Son of a bitch. What the hell was Claire’s father doing here?
Aidan vocalized Dylan’s thoughts. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“I have no clue, man. No clue.”
“Maybe he’s here to kill us,” Aidan suggested.
Dylan froze. “Do you think I should get my gun?”
“No. That’s the last thing you should do! Christ!”
They got dressed in a hurry, then eyed each other up and down to confirm they didn’t look like two men who’d just f**ked each other’s brains out.
When they heard the muffled sound of someone knocking on the front door, they exchanged identical looks of terror.
“Here goes,” Aidan mumbled.
“This is not going to be good,” Dylan mumbled back.
They walked to the front hall together. Might as well show some solidarity, Dylan thought. And they did make an imposing picture standing side by side like that. Maybe that would make Claire’s father think twice before murdering them.
Taking a breath, Dylan opened the door.
The man on the other side of it scowled at them. “I’m Ron McKinley,” he muttered. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She went out for groceries,” Dylan said politely. “And we met in December, sir.” He gulped. “At the wedding. I’m Chris’s brother, Dylan.”
He stuck out his hand.
Ron McKinley did not shake it.
Masking his disappointment, Dylan gestured for the older man to enter.
Ron’s expression conveyed great distrust as he examined his surroundings. He had his daughter’s brown eyes, along with that same shrewd glint Claire got whenever she was assessing a situation before passing judgment. His hair was a different color, dark blond rather than red, and though he wasn’t as tall as Dylan’s six-foot-two frame, he was an inch taller than Aidan’s five-eleven.
“I’m Aidan Rhodes. Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Aidan didn’t bother offering his hand, because they all knew damn well Ron McKinley wouldn’t shake that one, either.
“Have a seat,” Dylan said when they entered the living room. “Would you like something to drink?”
Ron regarded the leather couches as if they might be covered with ants, then sat down and stiffly crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t overweight, but he was definitely bulky, boasting one of those barrel chests that radiated power.
“Drink?” he prompted when the older man didn’t answer.
“No, thank you.”
Dylan and Aidan exchanged a what now? look, then settled on opposite ends of the couch Claire’s dad wasn’t sitting on. Because no way was Dylan getting close to the man. He valued his own life way too much to do something so foolish.
“How long is my daughter going to be?” Ron asked curtly.
“She should be back any minute. In fact—” Aidan hastily grabbed his cell from the coffee table, “—why don’t I just give her a call and see what her ETA is.”
A few seconds later, Aidan spoke in an overly bright voice that made Dylan choke down a laugh.
“Hey, sweetheart, just wondering how much longer you’ll be… Oh, you’re pulling into the underground? Super.”
Dylan’s lips twitched uncontrollably. Super? Aidan was rattled, all right.
“No, no, everything’s fine. We do have a visitor, though…no, not them… Your father’s here.” Aidan listened for a beat, then hung up and addressed Claire’s dad. “She’ll be right up.”
Chapter Nineteen
Claire flew into the living room, then skidded to a stop like a cartoon character right out of Looney Tunes. She’d desperately hoped the boys were messing with her, only pretending that her father was here, but nope, not messing around. Because there he was, her father, sitting on the couch with an expression of extreme misery on his face.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
Her father’s brown eyes shifted toward the men, then back at her. “Can we speak in private?”
Dylan and Aidan were already shooting to their feet.
“No problem,” Aidan said hastily.
“Take your time,” Dylan chimed in.
And then they were gone.
Claire would’ve laughed at their eagerness to flee if she weren’t so confused by her father’s presence. Rather than join him on the couch, she kept a cautious distance by settling in the armchair. “What’s going on?” she asked softly.
“Your mother kicked me out.”