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Her big dark eyes tear up. “Don’t ever think that. Any woman would be beyond lucky to have you.”
“Just not you.” I yank from her soft grasp. “I wish you all the best, princess.”
That full bottle of whiskey is calling my name and I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to answer. Fuck that, to drown.
“Same to you.” Suddenly, I hear the tink of something metallic on the nearby counter. She sets my house key on the gleaming surface. The engagement ring I settled on her finger a few short days ago wobbles just beside it.
The sight rips out my heart.
“I’ll send for the rest of my things, and I’ll let you know if I’m pregnant,” she murmurs. “I hope you fulfill your dreams and achieve everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Suddenly, she lays a gossamer kiss on my cheek. In that moment, I’m terrified that if I let Corinne go, I’ll never touch—hell, even see—her again.
Whirling to her, I grab her shoulders and pin her to the nearby cabinet. She lets out a startled gasp—a sound I swallow by slanting my lips over hers and barging my way into her mouth. It’s desperate. I feel desperate.
Corinne stiffens, splaying her hands against my chest as if she means to push me away. Frantically, I cup her nape, sink deeper, and tangle my tongue against hers. She releases the breath she’s holding, exhaling with me, then melts against me, giving me her tongue. Her hands follow suit, creeping from my chest to curl around my shoulders before she pulls me closer. The whimper at the back of her throat lights the powder keg of my desire.
The sudden honking of a car horn has her leaping away, startled fingers pressed to her lips. She stares at me like she’s made a grave mistake. “I’m sorry.”
Why is she apologizing when I kissed her? “Who’s honking?”
Corinne skitters back out of the kitchen. “Riley is waiting for me. I’ve got to go.”
And she’s running out on me because that asshole beckoned curbside?
Yes, because he’s funding her business and she’s choosing the safe, familiar option.
“You’re going to let him dictate whether I see you again?”
Her eyes mist over again. “I think it’s for the best…but I’ll never forget you.”
The catch in her whisper rips out my heart as she lets herself out the front door and closes it behind her with a final, quiet click.
I pound my fist into the nearest wall, then wrench open the liquor cabinet, ripping the lid off the bottle.
My life will never be the same without her.
I don’t even know what fucking time it is when the ringing of my phone jerks me out of my stupor. The glare through the living room window blinds me with the fact the sun is about to set. In one hand, I grip the neck of the whiskey bottle that’s now mostly empty. In the other, I’m holding my vibrating phone.
The last ten hours of my life are gone. I have no idea what happened.
All I know is that Corinne isn’t coming back, and I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.
The cell continues to jangle. With a curse, I slam the bottle on the coffee table. My head pounds. My mouth feels like a fuzzy rodent crawled onto my tongue and died. My head throbs like someone beat it with a hammer.
That’s nothing compared to the agony in my chest.
Since I’m too bleary-eyed to read the display, I scowl as I answer whoever this disruptive bastard is. “What?”
“Hey, Costa. Sorry it’s taken me longer than expected to get this information to you. But I hope you’re sitting down. You’re going to love this.”
Owen, the PI. Vaguely, my brain recognizes his voice. But between Corinne and my colossal drunkfest, I can’t remember what he was investigating.
“Put it in an email. I’ll read it in the morning.”
“Are you sure? Last time we talked, you seemed pretty adamant that you wanted everything I could dig up on Riley Stephens ASAP. I got the dirt—and then some.”
That’s right. I did ask Owen for that cocksucker’s secrets. Unfortunately, it’s too late for them to make a difference.
“For instance…” he goes on. “I found out that he stopped making his student loan payments a little over a year ago.”
I shouldn’t care. But unsolved puzzles and things that don’t make sense bug the shit out of me. How is Riley going to lend Corinne money if he can’t pay his own bills? Still… “He’s not the only person struggling to settle that debt.”
“Nope, but he’s the only person having his payments made on their behalf every single month for the last year by Parker Emerson.”
That tidbit bolts me up from my slouch on the sofa. “No shit?”
Why would Parker do that? The answer is right there. My whiskey-soaked brain just can’t unravel it.
“No shit. Last year, Stephens returned the engagement ring he bought for Corinne on a Saturday. Emerson made the first loan payment for him three days later. He’s been making them since.”
