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A sob tore through her throat, but she choked it down and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my God. She set this whole thing up. She sacrificed me to Bill to get her grubby hands on money and more drugs. How could she?”
Owen stood and closed the distance between them, placing a heavy hand on each of her shoulders. He dipped his head, forcing her gaze to meet his. “I understand you and your mom have a complicated history, but don’t go there yet.”
“Do you really think there’s another explanation?” She hated the hope in her voice, but believing her mom had thrown her to the worst wolf of all would break her.
“I honestly don’t know.” He squeezed her shoulders and lifted his lips at the corners. “But there’s no reason to get upset before you know all the facts. It looks like Erica’s done quite a bit of homework. She’d have known you lived with Bill, so maybe she checked your background.”
His words made sense, and she clung to them like a lifeline. The rage building inside her died down, taking the tension from her muscles. She melted against him, needing the hardness of his body for support.
This whole day had been too much. As much as she wanted to help, right now she wanted an escape, a distraction from the horrible shape her world had taken. If she didn’t allow herself a minute to get a handle on her emotions, she would collapse into a puddle of tears.
Owen slid his arms around her neck, pulling her close to his body.
The same sense of peace and safety he’d given her earlier returned, and she wrapped her arms around him. The smell of the rain still clung to his skin. His heart raced under her ear. She let the rapid thud, thud, thud calm her nerves. With each steadying inhale through her nose, she breathed him in. She spread her hands wide across his back and tilted her head so her chin rested on his chest.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. He stood absolutely still, as if afraid of what he might do if he moved, his muscles tight under her touch.
Marie bit her lip. He was so close. All she’d have to do was lift herself up on her toes and press her lips to his. Common sense battled with raw desire.
He dipped his chin and fire burned in his hazel eyes.
She swiped her tongue across her top lip, folded her hands at the base of his neck, and angled him down to meet her.
His lips brushed against hers, soft and sweet, and he molded her against him.
Her reaction was so strong, so instant, she wanted to run, but only hung on tighter as courage sparked inside her. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, licking inside his warmth. The minty taste of him exploded on her taste buds, and she pressed harder, sealing her mouth to his.
Owen moved his hands down her back and matched each thrust of her tongue with more intensity, more urgency. He secured his palms at the base of her spine and dipped the tips of his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, skimming her sensitive skin.
Fire raged inside her, and she wiggled against him. The hard length of him pressed into her stomach. She wanted—needed—more.
Owen reared his head back, breaking their kiss, and hissed through his teeth. Leaving one hand lingering on her backside, he cupped his other hand around her neck. His rapid pants sounded through the quiet room, and his chest rose and fell with every breath. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on hers. “Marie.”
He said her name as if speaking a prayer, the whisper of his breath warm against her cheek.
“We can’t do this here,” Owen said through clenched teeth. “God, I want to more than you know, but you deserve better. You deserve a suite at the Ritz and me sweeping you off your feet, not trying to be quiet so we don’t wake my grandpa.”
Marie tried to pull away. Humiliation scorched her cheeks. This was why he hadn’t kissed her earlier. She’d misread him, misread everything.
Owen slipped his hand into hers and refused to let her escape.
Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her sputtering heart and gain some control of her emotions. Acting so brazenly was completely out of character, and his rejection stung, even if his tender words helped soothe her injured pride.
Long fingers lifted her chin. “Hey. Look at me.”
She opened her eyes and hoped her disappointment didn’t shine through. A lump wedged in her throat.
Trailing his fingers from her chin to her jawline, he grazed her skin with his thumb. “I don’t know how it’s happened so quickly, but you mean a lot to me. I don’t want to hurt you by rushing into something. Especially with so much going on. Not only has the past few days been one scare after another, but you just had the shock of seeing your mom’s name written down by a murdered woman you never met. Let’s take a second to catch our breath before we jump into something you might regret.”
She nodded and sucked in a large breath. Instead of hiding in her room, she needed to pretend like his rebuff hadn’t affected her. “You’re right. Instead of running from my problems by kissing you, we should figure out what Erica knew about my mom.”
His jaw tightened and his pupils dilated for a second before a small smile lit his face. “Then it’s settled. We’ll dive into what we were working on. That should take precedence anyway.”
Freeing her hand from his, she hurried to the couch and sat, tucking her feet beneath her. She’d rather burn alive than be so exposed. She grabbed Erica’s notebook and ignored the dip of the cushion beside her, the brush of Owen’s shoulder against hers. She flipped a few more pages, searching for another mention of her mother’s name, but found none.
A sliver of relief wedged itself inside her, but she tried to smash it. Her mother’s name was written down for a reason, and she needed to know why.
Using the tip of her finger to underline the unfamiliar handwriting, a different name caught her eye. “Owen, Ms. Teller’s first name is Patricia, right?”
