Don’t Fall for a Fugitive: Strong Family Romances Read online

  Don’t Fall for a Fugitive

  Strong Family Romances

  Cami Checketts

  Copyright

  Don’t Fall for a Fugitive: Strong Family Romance

  Copyright © 2019 by Cami Checketts

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Don’t Date Your Brother’s Best Friend

  Her Hockey Superstar Fake Fiance

  About the Author

  Also by Cami Checketts

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  Chapter One

  Hazel Longhurst was literally bouncing in the leather seat as the private jet flew low, speeding over mountain peaks so high their snow-covered tops poked above the tree line. The mountains sloped away into thick greenery and more glorious snow. She’d seen mountains, but she didn’t live amongst splendid beauties like these peaks. Now she was going to spend the Christmas holiday in a gorgeous cabin learning to snow-ski on the Park City slopes. She forced herself to settle so she could snap some more pictures with her smaller Panasonic, hardly able to stand how brilliant this all was. Soon she’d be on the ground taking all the pictures she wanted with her Canon EOS. Could life get any better?

  “Excited?” Her friend, Jamison, smiled at her exuberance. Jamison was swarthy and polished; she thought he looked Italian, but he claimed to be an American.

  “You’re not?” she threw back at him.

  He laughed. “I thought English women were supposed to be all proper and cold.”

  Hazel wrinkled her nose at him. “My mum is proper enough for the both of us.” Her mum was also a very wonderful person, but she held fast to the traditions of her ancestry.

  Hazel had been born “wild” and with a “motor mouth,” according to her mum. As a child, her brown hair curled in every direction, her green eyes were supposedly lit with mischievousness, and she was always looking for trouble. Her dad said she made life fun. She felt guilty that she was ditching them this Christmas, but they’d be busy enough with her older brothers, sisters-in-law, and all the cute grandbabies.

  “But look at that.” She gestured out the window. The plane had now crossed into a valley, and Hazel could see a sprawling ski resort out her window with massive hotels and cabins throughout the trees. “The mountains, the trees, the snow … It’s all so brilliant and beautiful. I’m in love. Seriously, Jamie, I’m in love.”

  “I’m sure the mountains will love you right back.” Jamison looked her over like he thought she was adorable. She got that look a lot, along with looks that clearly said she was mad as a bag of ferrets. She didn’t let either affect her much.

  Jamison sat back and fastened his seat belt as the stewardess informed them to prepare for landing. He had invited her on this trip with him, along with eight other friends of his. All of them were in their mid to late twenties, and all were excited for the Christmas getaway.

  Their host was a well-known philanthropist and billionaire, Brigham London. She’d tried to tease him about his last name when they’d first met, and he’d taken it as an invitation to flirt. Brigham had homes throughout the world. Jamison had told her Brigham’s “cabin” near Park City was twenty thousand square feet and could easily accommodate all of them. This was his jet as well. He was a little older than the rest of the group, single, and looked spit-shined and glossy. It was a bit much for her, but she could acknowledge that he was impressively successful.

  When she’d met him, Brigham had been more flirtatious than Hazel was comfortable with. Some of his comments bordered on lewd. Luckily, he’d been on his computer for the last hour, seeming stressed about something with his work. Hazel had noticed him shooting Jamison a few dark glares and Jamison looking more and more uneasy, which worried her. Her closest connection to the group was Jamison, who she’d met at a church activity last summer and become friends with. Jamison worked for Brigham, so he was back and forth to the States a lot. He had put the group together with his boss’s permission.

  The plane landed smoothly and taxied off the runway and along some paved and snow-cleared roads, slowly passing a dozen or more huge hangars, turning one direction or another on the tarmac. Eventually, they reached the largest hangar she’d yet seen. Men were waiting next to the open doorway, which was so large that it took up the entire west side of the building.

  The plane slowly taxied in, and Hazel felt a spike of déjà vu as she gazed at the interior. Her jaw had about hit the carpet when they’d first entered the opulent jet, and she’d marveled at its white leather upholstery and shiny mahogany wood. This hangar floored her, and her normally speedy tongue had nothing to say as she gawked. Most of the hangar was white and pristine with high, open ceilings. Then there was an unreal section that she could see clearly from her window. It was a huge finished area, two stories that looked like an open living room, but it was more lavish than any home she’d ever seen with camel-colored leather couches, gorgeous cherry cabinets, polished wood floors, a pool table, and several massive big-screens, and that was just what she could see. This large jet wasn’t the only plane in the hangar, either; there were two more airplanes and a helicopter. Brigham’s wealth was incomprehensible to a girl from London—Fulham, to be exact—with two hardworking, middle-class parents.

  Everyone stood and stretched as the plane came to a stop. Brigham finally put his laptop away and stored it in a bag. He stood and walked straight up to Jamison and Hazel. Smiling at Hazel like a tiger who had a mouse in his paw, he took her hand. She was put off by him being so familiar and predatory, but he was their host and they were going to be in close quarters all week, so she didn’t want to offend him right off the bat.

  “So you’ve never been to Utah or skied?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I hope I fancy skiing as much as Jamison tells me I will.”

  Brigham grinned toothily. “I’ll teach you how to ski. I fancy myself to be a pretty great instructor.”

  The way he said fancy sounded so mocking that she wasn’t quite sure how to respond without telling him exactly where to put his starched shirt. She tried to pull her hand back but he was holding it fast.

  He lowered his voice and leaned around to her ear. “And maybe you’ll fancy me by the end of the week, show me how warm a beautiful Englishwoman can be.” He had the gall to wink and then turn their clasped hands and push them toward her abdomen. The back of his hand brushed dangerously close to her bra line.

  Hazel yanked her hand free and bounced back a step. Respecting her host was one thing, but she had no desire t
o be hit on by an obvious predator. She had her own pocketbook. If he didn’t know what boundaries were, she’d go fund her own vacation or catch a flight home. In the meantime, once they reached the cabin, she would stay with the group and never be alone with Brigham. “We’re as cold as it comes.” She raised a challenging eyebrow. “And we’ve been known to take an eyeball out when a man tries to prove otherwise.” She gave him a sickly-sweet smile.

  His gaze turned from interested to freezing in a blink. She was glad she’d cooled his ardor, but there was something about the calculating look in his blue eyes that chilled her more than the mounds of snow outside would if she was tossed in headfirst in only her shirtsleeves.

  “Hopefully not my eyeball.” Jamison winked at her. “You’re teasing, right?”

  Hazel gave him a warning glare. She noticed the rest of the group had cleared off the plane. She didn’t fancy being alone with Brigham for long. “No teasing about the icy reception an Englishwoman can give. We’re epically cold, and I thrive on making my ancestors proud.” She figured she’d made her point and said, “I’ll just join the rest of the group.”

  “Yes, please do.” Brigham gave her an oily smile that she could see right through. The guy wasn’t done with her yet. “They’ll have exited the man door and be waiting around front in the vehicles.”

  Hazel hurried away from his leer and down the steps of the plane. She thanked the pilot, clutching her purse. She saw men wheeling their luggage out the “man door” to the right as the massive hangar door had already been closed, probably to keep the warm air in. The hangar felt as cozy as any house. At least she didn’t need to worry about her luggage, as the men were careful with it. Well, she always worried when her camera equipment wasn’t strapped to her body, but it was packed expertly and would be fine.

  Jamison and Brigham followed her off the airplane. Jamison bent close to her and whispered in her ear, “It’s chill. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bug you.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but she wasn’t so sure Jamison had that power. Brigham seemed far too in control. It wasn’t simply that he owned the plane and the house they’d be staying in. He was one of those guys who acted like he owned the whole world, including every woman in it.

  “Jamison,” Brigham said, stopping her friend in his tracks. “I’ve got some matters to discuss with you.” He gestured his head toward the living area she’d goggled over.

  Jamison’s face paled. Hazel looked from one man to the other. She was clearly being dismissed, but for some reason she wanted to wrap her arms around her friend and protect him. Jamison started walking toward Brigham like a puppet.

  Brigham gave Hazel a cold smile. “Please wait in one of the vehicles. I’ll be there shortly, and soon I’ll show you exactly how I can thaw an Englishwoman.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Hazel threw at him, but she backed toward the door, certain he could see how creeped out she was.

  He chuckled, his dark eyes roving over her body. “You’ve got a lot to learn about America. In this country, you can have whatever you want if you have money or are willing to play ball with people who have money.” A snakelike smile crossed his features. “And I have money, princess.”

  “You can keep your money.”

  Brigham simply laughed.

  Hazel prayed his creepy line wasn’t true. She wanted to think the best of Americans, and she’d secretly always hoped for a protective American cowboy to sweep her off her feet. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to be far away from this jerk. Hopefully, the house and the group would be large enough that she could keep her distance this week.

  She glanced at Jamison, but he wasn’t looking at her. Giving Brigham the chilliest glare she could manage, she pivoted and rushed across the shiny grey floor, pushing through the door and out into the chilly air. A blast of frigid wind ran right down her neck, but she was from London and used to wet cold. This dry cold had nothing on her.

  The wind reminded her of Brigham’s words, and that chilled her worse. His claim that he could thaw an Englishwoman was horrifically creepy, but there was something about him saying “I’ll be there shortly” that bugged her as well. Why had he said “I’ll”? Why not “we’ll”? What if he left Jamison behind under the guise of work matters so Hazel would have no protection and be at his slimy mercy? She shook the fears off. It was a large group. She could stay close to the others and be fine. She sent up a prayer for safety and guidance. If the good Lord guided her to get far away, she would listen.

  The door was facing northward, toward a whole pile of snow and a view of several other hangars and mountains in the distance. It was a strange sight; she’d never even flown first-class, let alone aspired to have her own plane and hangar. There was a cleared sidewalk snaking around to the west where the massive hangar door had taken up that entire wall. She made it around to the west side. Three sport utilities waited, and one of the girls that she knew better than the others, Holly, waved to her. Hazel opened the rear door and climbed into the back seat next to Holly.

  “Where are Brigham and Jamison?” Holly asked.

  The part of the group who were loaded into this vehicle looked to Hazel for the answer.

  “They had to discuss some work stuff. Crazy Americans always work, work, work.” She smiled to show she was teasing, as about half the group was American. Her parents were very hardworking, and she’d worked her way through college on her own dime. She just wanted to distance herself from the uneasiness brought by Brigham’s presence and unsettling comments, and then she’d be ready to smile again.

  Holly laughed. “Seriously, it’s time to play!”

  “I hope it’s quick,” Darren piped up from the front. “We could still get some runs in today.” Some of the group had flown with her and Jamison from London to New York on a commercial flight yesterday, stayed the night in the city, then met with Brigham and the others on his private jet to travel the rest of the way today.

  Hazel let the group discuss which runs they would hit first, as some of them had either studied the trail maps or been here before. She reached into her purse to pull out her phone and text her parents that she’d landed. Her phone wasn’t in its usual pocket. Her stomach dropped as she remembered that she’d been reading on her phone, but she’d gotten so intrigued by the view of the mountains that she’d set it in a cup holder next to her seat on the plane so she could take some pictures.

  “Blimey,” she said aloud.

  “What’s wrong?” Holly asked.

  “I left my phone on the plane.”

  “Good thing we’re still waiting for Brigham and Jamison. You can go grab it quick.”

  Hazel let out a puff of frustration. The last thing she wanted to do was go back in there and interrupt whatever “matters” they were discussing. Brigham had seemed classy and polished when she’d first met him this morning, but that had worn off in less than two minutes as she was the victim of his leering eyes.

  She climbed from the vehicle, strapping her purse over her shoulder, and hurried through the brisk wind and around the building to the door. Yanking it open, she scuttled into the building. She could hear harsh voices from above her. Her gaze floated upward, but she couldn’t see the second story like she had earlier with her view from inside the plane, as there was a high railing surrounding it. It sounded like Brigham was reaming Jamison out. Jamison was fighting back, though, which she was grateful to hear, especially if Jamison thought he could watch out for her.

  Hazel scurried across the slick floor and up the steps into the plane. The rest of the hangar seemed deserted, and the plane was as well. Where had the pilot and stewardesses gone? Maybe they’d followed her out of the building a few minutes ago and she hadn’t noticed while she was searching for her phone. Walking to her seat, she saw her phone still sitting in the cup holder. She grabbed it, shoved it into her purse, and started back to the door of the plane.

  Shouting came from above, and she froze in the doorway. When she peeked out,
she could see Jamison’s back as he stood at the top of the staircase. She couldn’t see Brigham’s face, only part of his shoulder and arm.

  Her heart thudded faster as she stayed in the doorway of the plane, some instinct begging her not to move. She should hurry back out and get into the vehicle with Holly, but she was afraid Brigham would see her and know she’d overheard him yelling and cursing at Jamison. Things were already going to be awkward enough this week with him hitting on her and her rejecting him. Not knowing which way to go, and doubting she could cross the space unseen, she shrank back into the relative safety of the plane.

  She heard Brigham’s voice clearly in the still space. “You’re such a disappointment. How Papi thinks I can tolerate your mistakes simply because we’re family is beyond me.”

  Hazel hadn’t known they were related, but now that she knew, she could acknowledge a resemblance in their swarthy Italian features. Brothers? Cousins?

  “It wasn’t my mistake. It was your assistant, or maybe you, and you’re trying to push it off on me.”

  “I’ve heard your lame excuses, shifting the blame, one too many times. Stop flirting with the gorgeous Brit and focus, or I’m cutting you out of the business.”

  “You keep your hands off Hazel,” Jamison shot back at him. “She’s mine.”

  Hazel’s eyebrows rose. She and Jamison were only friends. Maybe he was just trying to protect her from Brigham, but she didn’t like the possessive note in his voice. Was she going to spend her Christmas break fighting off stupid men instead of enjoying a holiday, taking a million photographs, and learning how to ski? She was really beginning to wonder if she should’ve stayed home.