Chapter 8: Second Night

I did not go home that night.

My father went to his study after dinner to call his lawyers.

Teddy went upstairs to his room.

For the first time in a month, the house felt too small to hold me.

At nine o'clock I drove to the bluff and rang Lawrence's bell.

He opened the door in a black T-shirt with a glass of water in his hand.

He looked at my face and put the glass down.

"Hartfield called the note," I said. "Twenty million, by Friday."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I've known since four o'clock. I was going to call you."

"Then call me now."

"I can cover it," he said quietly. "All of it. Tonight, if you want."

"No."

"Ainsley."

"No. Not from you. If my father's name is cleared with your money, they'll say you bought it, and they'll be right."

His gray eyes held mine.

"You're angry."

"I'm so angry I can't see straight."

"At me?"

"At everyone. At you for being the only person who isn't looking at me like I'm broken."

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me with my back.

"I came here to stop thinking," I said. "Help me."

He didn't answer.

He took my face in both hands and kissed me, long and slow, and it was warm after hours in the cold.

I pulled at his shirt.

He let me strip it off him in the hall.

I ran my palms over his chest and down his hard stomach, then pushed him backward through the dim house.

"Where?"

"Wherever you can make me forget it."

He caught my wrist.

"You're in charge tonight?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, and the dark, dry amusement in his voice went straight between my legs. "Show me."

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