He tugged down the cup of her bra, and she arched into his hand. He knew exactly how his words, his proposal, sounded to her. Easing his foot off the brake, he let the car roll forward.
“Are we going bare tonight, Daphne?” he demanded, giving her a sharp pinch, the ridges of his fingers rough on her sensitive skin. She couldn’t help but imagine what he’d feel like sliding inside her, his skin against hers as he thrust into her.
“Daph?”
She let her head fall against his shoulder. “If you can get us home in the next thirty seconds, we can do whatever you want.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lovell stood in front of the picture window that looked out onto the lake; if only he could see it. The storm hadn’t abated as originally predicted, and if he believed the weather maps, they had another twelve hours to go.
At least they had food and didn’t need to worry about running out of condoms.
He smiled. He’d never had sex without a condom before. He chose not to think about why now, why Daphne. It had been an option in the past, not only with Daisy but with a couple of different women he dated after settling into Mystery Lake. But he’d never taken that leap.
Rather than contemplate what it meant, and it did mean something, he replayed their night in his head. A much more fun series of thoughts. True to her word, she’d let him do all sorts of things to her, with her. That they were well-matched in that regard surprised him a little, but it was the good kind of surprise. She had a submissive side that he doubted she allowed many men, if any, to see. And while the physical pleasure was something he had no words to describe, what made the experiencematterwas her trust. For whatever reason, shetrusted him. Trusted him enough to be vulnerable in more ways than one. A gift he damn well knew the value of.
His phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, and he pulled himself away from the “view,” checking the fire as he ambled over. He’d add a log or two after he spoke to whoever was calling.
Reaching the counter, he snagged his phone, unplugging it as he did. An unknown number. He almost silenced it when his eyes caught on the letter he’d read the day before. Cautiously, he connected the call.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Is this Mr. Church?”
“Who’s calling?”
A relieved exhale. “This is Henry Jefferson from Marrick, Garrison, & Wheeler. I’ve been trying to reach Mr. Church for several months.”
His heart rate kicked up, as if his body sensed something was about to change forever. “I’m James Church.” The door to the bedroom opened, and Daphne wandered out, rubbing her eyes and yawning, her cardigan swinging loose over her silk pajamas. He put the phone on speaker and gestured her over. She blinked, as if just waking, then crossed the room and leaned into his side.
“You are a hard man to reach, Mr. Church.”
“I assumed the letters were spam mail, as I’d never heard of your firm and don’t generally have dealings with lawyers other than the ones who helped me and my family set up our businesses. A friend recognized the name of the firm on your most recent letter—she suggested I open it.”
The lawyer chuckled. “Hazard of my trade. I’m glad we connected, though. Finally. I have fond memories of your grandfather when he’d come to our house for poker. He was a good man.”
“He was. I remember him mentioning your dad, but as his friend, not his lawyer,” he said.
“He was both,” Jefferson continued. “Your grandfather set up a trust and drew up a will when you were ten. My father helped him, then he fulfilled the terms of the trust until he died. He passed on the responsibility to me.”
“This is where it gets hard to believe. My grandfather was not a rich man. Not even a middle-class one. Not financially. What kind of trust could he have set up?”
“And this is where it gets complicated on my end. I can reveal the existence of the trust and encourage you to take this seriously. But per the terms of that trust, I can only provide the details in person.”
“In person?”
“I’m based in New York. I understand you’re living in California now. Is there any chance you can fly out? It won’t take long.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “What kind of timeline are you thinking? We’re in the middle of a blizzard here.”
“As soon as you can safely make it would be best. By law, the contents of the trust passed to you on your thirty-fifth birthday, but nothing can be done with it until we meet and you sign the paperwork.”
Daphne dropped a kiss on his shoulder. “The storm is supposed to stop tonight. We could leave tomorrow and meet with him the day after.”
“That would work for me,” Jefferson said, seemingly unsurprised by another voice joining the conversation.
They’d have to book a flight or drive to LA, then fly from LA to New York. Or maybe they could fly from Mystery Lake to Las Vegas and catch a flight from there. That he didn’t question her coming with him was something he’d think about later. He could chalk it up to wanting to keep her safe—they still hadn’t identified who’d sent Weeks and Beeks—but he wasn’t interested in fooling himself. He wanted her by his side.
