Would he toss her aside when the danger from the shooter, the investigation into her father was over? Possibly. Probably.
She told herself she could handle whatever happened. She wasn’t naive to Reid’s nature, so she could fortify and protect herself from heartache. She could savor this moment for the sheer pleasure of it and not let it draw her down a false primrose path.
She arched her back, angled her chin up, giving Reid fuller access to the sensitive pulse point at her throat. She silenced the whispers of doubt as she surrendered to sensation, to need and sensual impulses.
Eager to feel Reid’s warm skin against her palms, Penelope wedged her hands between them and began tugging at the buttons of his shirt.
He shifted to the side, giving her room to work, and continued feathering kisses along her chin and cheek. “I have to tell you, Pen,” Reid said in a husky whisper, “I’ve wanted this for a very long time. You’re beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”
She’d only fumbled through about half of his buttons before he grabbed the back of his shirt and pull it over his head. She helped untangle his hands from his sleeves, and he flung the shirt aside.
And knocked over her glass of wine.
Penelope gasped and wiggled free of him so she could sit up. She gaped in horror at the red liquid spread across the coffee table headed for the edge, ready to drip onto his carpet. “Oh, no!”
She lunged off the couch to get paper towels, and he grabbed her wrist. “Pen, it’s okay. Don’t freak.”
“It’s red wine, Reid. It’ll ruin your carpet.” She tugged free of his grasp.
“I don’t care. If the carpet gets stained, I’ll replace it.”
She paused only briefly to send him a look of disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She snatched the roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and hurried back, wadding several in her hand. She started mopping wine and gave him a scowl. “Just because you have money to throw away, doesn’t mean you have to.”
His blasé attitude toward a perfectly avoidable expense brought their differences front and center in bold unmistakable strokes.
“What’s with you? I just don’t think you have to panic about a spill.”
“Because you can afford to replace stained carpet.” An uneasy gnawing grew in her belly.
“Yes. That’s part of it.”
“But I can’t. Maybe when I was living with my parents I could have, but even then I wouldn’t have.”
He covered her hands with his, stopping her as she sopped up the merlot. “What’s going on with you? What is this really about?”
She bowed her head, feeling all the doubts she’d just so neatly cast aside for a few moments of bliss come crashing back down on her. “Every now and then, you say or do something that reminds me of all the differences between us. The reasons I always saw your family as arrogantly entitled and maddeningly extravagant. Wasteful, even. ‘Don’t bother cleaning up the wine—I’ll just buy a new carpet.’”
“I was kidding...mostly. I just didn’t want to see you get upset over it.”
“Or the new laptop...or the way I used to see you go through cars when you were Andrew’s partner. You didn’t fix that engine problem with the SUV you had, you just ditched the car and got a new one.” She hated the emotional wobble to her voice.
“The thing was a lemon! It had trouble from day one. Of course I replaced it.”
“And you talked about new TVs, new fancy sports equipment and—”
“You resent that I have money? Is that it?” he said gently.
“—you replaced every girl you ever dated as soon as you decided she wasn’t shiny and new anymore, too!” As soon as she said the words, she wished she could reel them back in.
She closed her eyes, bit her bottom lip and fought back the swell of tears in her throat. Damn!
He didn’t say anything for long, heavy seconds, but eventually, she heard him rip off more paper towels, finish wiping up the spill and take the soiled towels to the kitchen.
Like a coward, she hurried to the guest bedroom before he got back. She’d shown her hand, all but told him she was scared he’d leave her, that he’d use her up then cast her aside. Reid Colton could have any woman he wanted. He had looks, wealth and personality. Why would he want to burden himself with a middle-class single mother, whose father may have been responsible for heinous crimes against Reid and his family?
No reason she could see.
*
Even after years on the police force, Reid was surprised—or maybe dismayed—how easily information that should be private could be breached. Outside parties with just the right amount of inside knowledge, deception and ingenuity could gather a frightening amount of personal data. Bad news for the public. Good news for him as he called Hugh Barrington’s bank the next morning.
By providing Hugh’s bank-account number, date of birth and home phone number, he was able to convince the local bank employee that he was Hugh. He obtained a confirmation of the money transfer to the ME’s account, as well as a more recent transfer that boded ill. A large lump sum was sent last week, the same day as the shooting, to an account in a New Orleans bank.
Reid thought on his feet. What was that transfer about? He cleared his throat and improvised. “That’s odd. My associate claims he never received the transfer. Maybe his name was misspelled? How do you have his name?”
“It’s not a name, sir. It’s a business. Mareau Towing.”
“Oh, that’s right! I’ll remind him to check his business account. Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” Reid was typing Mareau Towing in New Orleans into the Google search box before he even disconnected from the bank.
No such business existed that he could find. So...a dummy account?
“Well?” Pen asked, looking up from playing blocks with Nicholas.
He reported what he’d learned and chewed the end of a pen as he leaned back in his desk chair to process the information. “I think it is time I filled my family in on at least some of what’s going on.”