R
efocusing on the computer in his lap, Lane scrolled down the Excel spreadsheet, tracing the entries, trying to add up a rough total. But he needn’t have bothered. Rosalinda provided the sum to him at the very end, in a bolded box offset at the far right of all the columns.
It was not, in fact, fifty-three million dollars.
Nope, it was sixty-eight million, four hundred eighty-nine thousand, two hundred forty-two dollars and sixty-five cents.
$68,489,242.65.
The explanations on the withdrawals ranged from Cartier and Tiffany to Bradford Aviation, LLC, which was the corporation that ran all the company’s planes and pilots, and Bradford Human Resources Payroll—which most likely took care of the household staff’s paychecks. But there was a repeating entry that he didn’t recognize: WWB Holdings.
William Wyatt Baldwine Holdings.
Had to be.
But what was that?
The lion’s share had gone into it.
“I think my father …” He glanced over at Lizzie. “I don’t know, the trust company says he’s put himself—or the family, I guess—into huge debt. For what, though? Even with all this spending, there should be plenty of cash coming in through Bradford Bourbon Company distributions to shareholders, of which we are the largest group.”
“The rental company …” Lizzie murmured.
“What?”
“The rental company didn’t get paid—their accounts payable called Rosalinda last week and she never got back to them.”
“Who else do we owe, I wonder?”
“How can I help?”
He stared over at her, his brain churning, churning. “Letting me get into this file is a good start.”
“What else?”
God, her eyes were blue, he thought. And her lips, those naturally red lips of hers were so perfectly shaped.
She was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear her. It was as if a muffling had come down around him, making him unaware of any sounds around him. And then the computer in his lap and all of its secrets revealed disappeared, too, so that neither the glow of the screen nor the pattern of the columns nor the numbers and letters registered, either.
“Lizzie,” he said, cutting her off.
“Yes?”
“I need you,” he heard himself say hoarsely.
“Of course, what can I—”
He leaned in and put his lips to hers, brushing quick—
She gasped and pulled away.
Lane waited for her to get up. Tell him off. Maybe go eighties romance and slap him with an open palm.
Instead, she brought her fingertips up and touched her mouth. Then she closed her eyes. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
Fuck
. “I’m sorry.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not in my right head.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Perfect
, he thought. His life was on fire on too many fronts to count, so why shouldn’t he drop another load of flames somewhere else. You know, just to help the inferno along.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have just—”
She launched herself at him with such a quick shift, he nearly jerked away himself. What saved him was the wanting … the vicious craving he’d always had for her that was all pent up from the time they’d been apart.
Lizzie spoke against his mouth. “I’m not in my right head, either.”
With a curse, he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her into his lap, the computer sliding off onto the thick carpet—which was fine. He wanted to forget about the money, his father, Rosalinda … even if just for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed her down on the mattress with a twist. “I need you. I just … I need to be in you—”
Knock, knock, knock
.
They both froze, their eyes meeting.
“What,” he barked out.
As a muted female voice said something about towels, all Lane thought about was the fact that that door was not locked.
“No, thank you.”
Lizzie pushed her way out from under him, and he moved so she could get to her feet. Meanwhile, the maid in the hall kept talking.
“I’m good. Thanks,” he said roughly.
His eyes tracked Lizzie’s hands as they yanked her shirt back down and finger brushed her hair.
“Lizzie,” he whispered.
She just shook her head as she paced around, looking as if she were considering a leap-out-the-window strategy for escape.
More talk from the maid, and he just lost it. Exploding up to his feet, he stalked over and ripped open the door, blocking the way into his room. The blond twenty-five-year-old on the other side was the same one who’d been in the hallway when he and Chantal had been arguing.
“Oh, hi.” She smiled up at him. “How are you?”
“I don’t need anything. Thanks,” he said roughly.
As he turned away, she reached out and took his arm. “I’m Tiphanii—that’s with a ‘ph’ and a double ‘i’ at the end.”
“Nice to meet you. If you’ll excuse—”
“I was just going to come in and check your bathroom.”
That smile of hers gave her away. That and the little change in position where her pelvis tilted toward him and one of her legs got extended like she was wearing stilettos instead of Crocs.
Lane rolled his eyes—he couldn’t help it. The woman he really wanted had just gotten out from under him, and this piece of taffy was thinking she had anything to offer?
Make that
taphii.
“Thanks, but no. I’m not interested.”
He closed the door on her because he didn’t have the energy to be pleasant, and he didn’t want to say something he was going to regret.
Pivoting around, he found Lizzie across the room by the window. She was deliberately standing off to the side, as if she didn’t want to be seen from down below, and her arms were crossed over her chest.
“You sounded so sincere,” she said roughly.
“When I’m with you, I am—”
“With that maid just now.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You know what I really hate?”
“I can only imagine,” he muttered.
“How she just propositioned you … and still, all I can think of is taking your clothes off. Like you’re some kind of toy I’m fighting with her over.”
His erection twitched in his pants. “There is no fight—I’m yours. If you want, here and now. Or later. A week, a month, years from now.”
Shut up,
his arousal said.
Just shut up, buddy, with that timeline stuff.
“I’m not falling back into you, Lane. I’m just not.”
“You said that over the phone.”
Lizzie nodded and unplugged from the view of the garden. As the
light began to fade from the sky, she marched across the room, clearly heading for the door.
Damn it—
Not the door.
She did not, in fact, go to the door.
Lizzie stopped at him and let her fingers do the walking, taking his face, bringing his mouth back to hers.
“Lizzie,” he groaned, licking into her mouth.
The kiss got out of control fast, and he was not going to lose the chance with her. Spinning her around, he pushed her against the wall, the oil painting next to them bouncing so hard, the thing threw itself off its hook and splintered to the floor. He didn’t care. His hands shot under her clothes, finding skin, riding upward to feel her breasts.
He never thought he’d get this again, and though he would have liked to do a slow-and-sweet, he couldn’t. Too desperate.
He was rough with the waistband of her shorts, tearing at the button, the zipper, ripping them down her legs. And then he slid his hand between her thighs, pushing her cotton panties out of the—
Lizzie called out his name in a hoarse voice that nearly made him come right then and there. And as her fingers bit into his shoulders, he stroked her harder.
“Hurt me,” he growled as she dug into him. “Make me bleed …”
He wanted the pain along with the pleasure, everything that was going on with his father and his family making him raw and dark on the inside—to the point where he wondered dimly if maybe this was what drove his brother Max. He’d heard about those things Maxwell did—or rumors about them.
Maybe this was why. He felt like he had to get the darkness out or it was going to consume him.
Lifting Lizzie up off the floor, he relished the way she locked on to him with her powerful arms. One tearing jerk of the zipper on his slacks and his arousal was ready to go. He split her underwear in two, and then—
The roar he let out into her neck was like that of an animal, but he paid no attention to the sound. The slick hold of her sex was a sensation
he felt over his entire body, and he orgasmed immediately. So long … so long, that he had dreamed of her, and regretted what had happened, and wanted to do things differently. And now he was where he had prayed to be: With every pumping release into her, he was rewinding time, putting things back to rights, repairing the wrongs.
He’d wanted to get with her to briefly take himself out of the present, but it turned out that the experience was more than that. So much more.
But that had always been true about Lizzie. He’d had sex many times in his life.
None of it had ever mattered, though … until he’d been with her.
L
izzie hadn’t meant to take things this far.
As Lane orgasmed inside of her, she was swept up along with him, her release echoing his. Fast, so fast, it was all so fast and furious, the deed done and over within moments, the pair of them remaining locked together as the initial wave passed.
Had they just done this?
she wondered.
Well … yeah,
she thought as he twitched inside of her.
And then she noticed … oh, God, he smelled the same. And his hair was still impossibly soft.
And his body was every bit as powerful as she remembered.
Tears speared into her eyes, and she hid her face in his shoulder. She didn’t want him to know about the emotions—she was having a hard enough time acknowledging the confusing jumble to herself.
Just sex, she told herself. This had been only about a physical craving on both sides. And God knew, the lust thing had never been a problem for them—from the instant she’d seen him yesterday, that connection of theirs had simmered under the surface of her skin.
Under his, too.
Okay. Fine. She hadn’t been able to say no in this single, discrete instance—even though she should have.
Whether or not it was a mistake was going to depend on how she handled things from here.
Pulling herself together, she eased back in his hold, acutely aware that they were still linked where it mattered most.
The expression on his face made her catch her breath. As did the way he reached up and brushed her cheek.
He seemed so vulnerable.
But before she could make some calm, reasonable, comment, he started moving deep inside of her once more. Slowly, oh, so slowly, up and out, up and out. In response, she closed her eyes and went limp, his arms supporting her, the hard wall against her back buttressing her against him. Part of her was utterly present, every movement registering with the vividness of a lightning strike, all the panting tightness of her chest and the sizzle in her blood taking over everything.
The other half of her was on the run.
Oh, God, the feel of his hand in her hair, his mouth kissing hers so deep, his hips curling up and retreating. It was coming home in all the ways that her body had wanted for so long.
And it was also bad news.
“Lizzie,” he said in a voice that cracked. “I missed you, Lizzie. So bad it hurts.”
Don’t think about it,
she told herself.
Don’t listen—
His name broke out of her once again, the snap of pleasure making her sex contract around his erection as he jerked into her, pumping her against that wall, banging her until her head hit.
When they fell still but for the breathing, she collapsed against him.
“This can’t be the last time,” he groaned, as if he knew what she was thinking. “It just can’t.”
“How did you know …”
“I don’t blame you.” He eased back and his heavy-lidded eyes burned. “I just don’t want this to be—”
“Lane—”
The knock on the door made her jump. And him curse.
“Fucking hell!” he spat.
And considering he wasn’t a big curse man, she had to smile a little.
“What!” he bit out.
“Mr. Baldwine,” the butler’s voice cut in. “Mr. Lodge is here for you.”
Lane frowned. “Tell him I’m busy—”
“He says it’s urgent.”
Lizzie shook her head and pushed herself out of his arms for a second time. As her feet hit the floor in silence, she got a visceral reminder that they hadn’t used a condom.
And yup, everything got very, very real as she yanked up her shorts and hustled to the bathroom. She took care of everything the best she could as Lane talked to the Englishman through the door—and when she came back out, he’d pulled his pants back up and was pacing around.
She put her palm out before he could say anything. “Go see him.”
“Lizzie—”
“If even a quarter of what you’re worried about is true? You’re going to need him.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re basically done until first thing tomorrow.”
In so many more ways than one.
“Can you stay?” he blurted.
Her brows lifted. “Stay as … you don’t mean in here for the night. That’s insane.”
In a household where staff couldn’t technically use half the doors, her waking up in the youngest son’s bed and still working at Easterly was a total non-starter.
Ah, yes, she thought. The good ol’ days of dating him, when she’d exhausted herself trying to keep everything a secret.
“Anywhere,” he said. “One of the cottages. I don’t care.”
“Lane. Listen, this is not—we’re not going back to the way it was before, remember? I don’t know why I did what I just did, but it doesn’t mean—”
He came at her, pulling her in for a kiss, his tongue penetrating her mouth. God help her, after a moment, she kissed him back.
Even as her head was telling her no, her body had its own ideas.
“It matters,” he said against her lips. “This matters to me even more
than my family. Do you hear me, Lizzie? You have always, and will always, matter most to me.”