some noise instead of sneaking around?” At his look, she sighed. “What?”
He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “We need to talk.”
Beth’s flushed face suddenly felt like a thousand burning knives. “I have to shower first. I’ll be down in fifteen.”
“If you’re not, I’m coming up to get you.”
Beth turned and practically ran up the stairs. He wouldn’t dare barge into her bathroom. Would he?
Seven
T en minutes later Beth stood in the kitchen in a T-shirt and army-green cargo pants, her hair slicked back into a damp ponytail. Luke watched her refill her glass from the kitchen sink, glance across at him then gulp down the water.
Still, he let the silence do all the talking, a technique that not only allowed him to observe her under pressure but also showed she was extremely uncomfortable with his singular scrutiny.
“Is the room okay?” she finally asked.
“Yes. Thanks.” Then he added, “Nice house. Lots of space.”
She nodded with a small smile. “That’s why I chose it. It’s the first place I’ve actually felt at home.”
A small pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Not a good sign, considering the snooping he’d done minutes before.
He’d rummaged through her filing system, her desk and behind the books in her living room, before quickly going through her bedroom. With reluctance dogging every step, he’d been about to give up until he’d hit the back of her wardrobe.
Just who was Taylor Stanton and why did Beth have her birth certificate buried in an old shoe box?
Before he could change his mind, he’d called his P.I. Dylan and relayed the details. Now, with Beth sitting across the table, his conscience took that moment to flare.
That’s stupid. It could mean nothing—in which case, she’d never have to know.
His neck began to ache again, sharp darts of pain stabbing his muscles.
First, he’d been suspended from his job then hounded from his apartment. He’d been rendered ineffective, like an illegal vehicle banned from the road. And now he’d resorted to spying. Unease sliced across his chest, but he clamped a lid on it, wrapping his fingers around the cup of coffee he’d prepared moments ago. The scalding heat was a welcome distraction.
“You know you’ll have to make a formal statement to the bank eventually,” he said.
She sighed. “I know.”
“And I made a few calls,” he said. “Unless we get the police involved, the real estate agent isn’t legally obliged to pursue this any further. So I’m getting a copy of the deed from the titles office, which should take a few days. In the meantime, I need to talk to my aunt.”
Beth made a noncommittal sound to cover up her nervousness. This would not do. As badly as she wanted him gone, he was equally determined to keep digging until everything was wrapped up to his satisfaction. But as she watched him brush back his hair with stiff fingers, a wave of reluctant sympathy swelled at the expression on his face. Something was going on here.
“You’re not happy about that.”
“Gino’s investigation may be over but not the fallout,” he said slowly. “Everyone’s running crazy—the lawyers, investors, my family. I’m not exactly Australian of the Year right now.”
“But you are innocent.”
His expression remained impassive. “So you don’t think I colluded to launder drug money from the casino through Jackson and Blair.”
She snorted. “No.”
Skepticism riddled his frown. “Why not?”
“Because of what I’ve seen today. You may be a pushy, overconfident alpha male—” she smothered a grin at his scowl “—but ironically, your ethics work in your favor. There’s no way you’d knowingly sabotage your reputation.”
If that brief look of surprise hadn’t spoken volumes, his silence did. She couldn’t help smiling now.
“I see,” was all he said.
Then he shook his head and swept a hand through his hair again, a gesture Beth was beginning to equate with pent-up
He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “We need to talk.”
Beth’s flushed face suddenly felt like a thousand burning knives. “I have to shower first. I’ll be down in fifteen.”
“If you’re not, I’m coming up to get you.”
Beth turned and practically ran up the stairs. He wouldn’t dare barge into her bathroom. Would he?
Seven
T en minutes later Beth stood in the kitchen in a T-shirt and army-green cargo pants, her hair slicked back into a damp ponytail. Luke watched her refill her glass from the kitchen sink, glance across at him then gulp down the water.
Still, he let the silence do all the talking, a technique that not only allowed him to observe her under pressure but also showed she was extremely uncomfortable with his singular scrutiny.
“Is the room okay?” she finally asked.
“Yes. Thanks.” Then he added, “Nice house. Lots of space.”
She nodded with a small smile. “That’s why I chose it. It’s the first place I’ve actually felt at home.”
A small pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Not a good sign, considering the snooping he’d done minutes before.
He’d rummaged through her filing system, her desk and behind the books in her living room, before quickly going through her bedroom. With reluctance dogging every step, he’d been about to give up until he’d hit the back of her wardrobe.
Just who was Taylor Stanton and why did Beth have her birth certificate buried in an old shoe box?
Before he could change his mind, he’d called his P.I. Dylan and relayed the details. Now, with Beth sitting across the table, his conscience took that moment to flare.
That’s stupid. It could mean nothing—in which case, she’d never have to know.
His neck began to ache again, sharp darts of pain stabbing his muscles.
First, he’d been suspended from his job then hounded from his apartment. He’d been rendered ineffective, like an illegal vehicle banned from the road. And now he’d resorted to spying. Unease sliced across his chest, but he clamped a lid on it, wrapping his fingers around the cup of coffee he’d prepared moments ago. The scalding heat was a welcome distraction.
“You know you’ll have to make a formal statement to the bank eventually,” he said.
She sighed. “I know.”
“And I made a few calls,” he said. “Unless we get the police involved, the real estate agent isn’t legally obliged to pursue this any further. So I’m getting a copy of the deed from the titles office, which should take a few days. In the meantime, I need to talk to my aunt.”
Beth made a noncommittal sound to cover up her nervousness. This would not do. As badly as she wanted him gone, he was equally determined to keep digging until everything was wrapped up to his satisfaction. But as she watched him brush back his hair with stiff fingers, a wave of reluctant sympathy swelled at the expression on his face. Something was going on here.
“You’re not happy about that.”
“Gino’s investigation may be over but not the fallout,” he said slowly. “Everyone’s running crazy—the lawyers, investors, my family. I’m not exactly Australian of the Year right now.”
“But you are innocent.”
His expression remained impassive. “So you don’t think I colluded to launder drug money from the casino through Jackson and Blair.”
She snorted. “No.”
Skepticism riddled his frown. “Why not?”
“Because of what I’ve seen today. You may be a pushy, overconfident alpha male—” she smothered a grin at his scowl “—but ironically, your ethics work in your favor. There’s no way you’d knowingly sabotage your reputation.”
If that brief look of surprise hadn’t spoken volumes, his silence did. She couldn’t help smiling now.
“I see,” was all he said.
Then he shook his head and swept a hand through his hair again, a gesture Beth was beginning to equate with pent-up
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