Tomorrow might be Macalister’s only opportunity to speak with DuBois, which meant I was out of time. I nodded slowly and turned my gaze toward the couches. I was still weak, and no way was I standing through this conversation. “I need to—”
“Yes,” he said, releasing me and gesturing for us to sit. When I reached for my discarded underwear, he stopped me. “No. You can put that back on when we’re done here.”
My heart skipped and tumbled at his order, and I straightened slowly before moving toward the sitting area, my head still foggy and in the clouds. But reality was coming. I sensed it like I was falling and the ground swelled up to meet me.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
I wanted to smile at his offer because I’d spent the last month bringing him coffee, and I liked the idea of telling him to fetch me some—but my nerves were jagged fragments. I sat on the gray couch, and my voice went small. “Water would be nice.”
He retrieved a bottle from his mini fridge, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me. With that done, his focus went to the couches, and I could see the consideration as it played out in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he should sit beside me like a friend, or a safe distance across from me like a colleague.
It was disappointing when he moved to the opposite couch after what we’d just done, but not surprising.
I took a sip of the water and replaced the cap, turning it slowly and stalling. I’d never told anyone what I was about to. Plus, I hadn’t a clue how he was going to react, other than he’d look at me differently after this was over, and that scared the hell out of me.
Macalister settled into his seat, subtly prompting me it was time for me to begin.
“You were close, but it’s not Duncan Lynch,” I said, pinning my reluctant gaze on him. “It’s his father.”
EIGHTEEN
MACALISTER
SOPHIA SAT PERFECTLY STILL on the edge of the couch in her white dress, her back straight, knees together, and ankles crossed like a lady should, but the water bottle in her hand was shaking. I didn’t care for seeing her in visible distress. I’d hoped the orgasm she’d just had would help relax her, and it was meant to strengthen the trust between us.
Damon Lynch.
I hesitated as the name rolled through my mind. Damon was no saint, but neither were any of the men who sat on HBHC’s board, myself included. In fact, the residents of Cape Hill each had their share of secrets and dark deeds. Money was power, and power corrupted, making the people here believe they were untouchable. I hadn’t realized how twisted and uncontrolled our little hamlet had become, but Sophia’s daily briefings had clarified it for me.
We lived in a den of lies, full of betrayal and debauchery and crimes.
“What has he done?” I asked.
“For starters, he’s a hypocrite.” Fire ringed her eyes. “He touts all that ‘family first’ bullshit, but you have to know he’ll fuck anything that moves if it looks at him twice.”
Her coarse language was, unfortunately, appropriate. Damon’s only requirement with a sexual partner seemed to be that she could fog a mirror. “Yes, I’m aware he often strays in his marriage.”
“It doesn’t matter if they’re married, or in a relationship, or if the girl is too young for him. He flashes his smile, and the panties drop almost as fast as he abandons the woman the morning after.”
A chill swept along my frame, followed by a rush of possessive anger. Had he touched her? I steeled my voice. “You’ve slept with him?”
She looked like she was going to be ill. “What? No.” She shook her head, trying to cast off the horrible thought, but it did nothing to remove her frown. “Let me back up.” She drew in a deep breath. “My parents were tough on me. They had big expectations because I was their only child.”
I raised an eyebrow, both at her abrupt switch in topic and what she’d said. “I can certainly respect their desire to see their daughter achieve. I held both of my sons to a high standard.”
“Yeah. Do you know how jealous my dad is of you? Not just your money, but what you just said right there. Sons.” Bitterness smeared over her expression. “Imagine you only had daughters. No one to carry on the Hale name.”
I didn’t patronize her and pretend she was wrong. She knew how traditional my values were, and they echoed through our town. Plus, Hales were more than just their bloodlines—HBHC was our family namesake.
“I hoped for a girl when Julia was pregnant with Vance. I wanted one of each.” I scowled at myself. Why had I told her that? “Familial names carry a lot of weight, and yes, it’s rarely fair, but that is how it’s been for generations.”