Page 87 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Truly, it was the definition of “worlds apart” from the neighborhood she’d grown up in and the mansion where she’d lived with Noah at the Dominion Ranch Country Club.

“So, what happened?” Blake asked, unable to stop herself.

Monroe put the soldering iron down. “It felt like a lot of things, very quickly. Maisie was sick as a baby, which got expensive. Dean fell in with a group of guys that he didn’t know very well, who promised that he could make some quick money. They knew that he worked at a construction company, and all that he needed to do was make sure that they had access. That he wouldn’t even be a part of the robbery itself. They’d said no guns.” Monroe’s head swiveled toward Blake then. “You can probably guess they didn’t keep that promise. A nighttime security guard was killed.”

Blake blinked, absorbing the information. “That’s⁠—”

Monroe waved her hand. “He deserves to be in jail. I’m not arguing that. A man died. And my brother was never the best at thinking things through. He also stupidly didn’t consider that it would be very easy for everyone to turn around and pin him as the mastermind, given that it happened where he worked.”

Starting her work on the next letter, Monroe leaned closer to the table. Blake could see her pulse point, which beat erratically even though her hands were steady. “That’s when the dominos really started falling. Josie decided that being a single parent wasn’t for her, once it looked like Dean was going away for a long time. I had been focused with Sylvia on trying to make it as a fine artist, but I also started trying to get some commercial jobs. She absolutely hated that,” Monroe said, with disdain in her voice. “It was really the beginning of the end for us, even though we didn’t break up immediately. I’d already had two smaller, successful art shows that she was parlaying into more visibility, but I needed to be making more money. Sylvia thought it was tacky.”

Blake’s lip curled at the mention of Sylvia’s name, but luckily, Monroe wasn’t looking at her.

“But I didn’t care what she thought,” Monroe continued, a hint of pride in her voice that made it clear to Blake that she and Sylvia had always been doomed. Satisfaction slithered through her at the thought, even if guilt did, too. “All that I could think about was making sure that my mom and Maisie didn’t end up homeless. I needed money to do that.”

“Seems like it worked,” Blake said, gesturing around the garage.

Blake felt like, for the first time, she was starting to finally understand Monroe.

Even if Monroe hadn’t been in Cypress Falls, everything she’d been doing was for people who lived here.

And coming back was more than just reckoning with the life she’d left behind; it was about the life she was coming back to, after so long away.

“I was lucky,” Monroe asserted, like it was clear that was the only way she saw it. “And willing to do anything. A few partnerships with smaller brands. Work for any company that would hire me. I started making pieces and selling them, and prints, directly online. Plus, I wasn’t paying for anything in New York, so everything that I was able to make, I could send here or save for the down payment on this house.”

Blake shook her head. She wished that Monroe could see her the way that Blake saw her. “No. You’re talented. And determined. Maybe luck had something to do with it, but it doesn’t negate the first two.”

Monroe gave her some side-eye. “Sure.”

With Monroe not holding any tools or actively working on a letter, Blake pushed into Monroe’s space and lingered there. “I am sure. You’re . . .” She bit her lip, before deciding to be honest. And not for any other reason than she thought Monroe deserved to hear it. “You’re incredible. Creative and beautiful and honorable, which doesn’t sound like it should be sexy, but it is.”

Well, maybe Blake hadn’t meant to add that last part, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself as she’d trailed her stare down Monroe’s body.

Even when Monroe’s sharp gaze dropped to her mouth, she hadn’t been expecting Monroe to lean across the few inches of space between them and press her lips to Blake’s.

The flicker of arousal that was always present where Monroe was concerned roared to life, and Blake melted against Monroe’s body.

“Oh,” she gasped when Monroe deepened the kiss, her tongue asking for entry, coaxing its way along Blake’s bottom lip.

“Let’s go inside,” Monroe breathed into Blake’s mouth, gentling her kiss to little nips that were driving her insane.

The words rolled from Blake’s lips, unbidden. “Only if you kiss me again.”

Because she couldn’t have the conversation with Monroe again about how this was a bad idea. Her heart and mind would revolt, even as she’d try to smile and put on a brave face.

“Deal,” Monroe said, already leading Blake toward the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Monroe was a woman possessed.

The rational part of her brain was screaming at her to stop, slow down, think this through.

But the other part? The stomach-fluttering, heart-palpitating part that had roared to life and wouldn’t be ignored?

Well, that’s what was leading her around right about now.

Or, more accurately, it was letting her lead Blake across the lawn and through the front door, to some much-needed privacy.