Snapping back to attention, she caught up with the story. Wait, what was this about Edward? “Holy crap, this is huge.”

“Not according to the police.” Lane shook his head. “As far as Merrimack’s concerned, they have their resolution to the case. The bus has left the station, as the saying goes.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to comment—but then remembered something. Shit, the test was still out on the counter in the bathroom.

With a quick surge, she brushed his lips, rolled over him, and got off the bed. “Will you excuse me? Nature calls, you know.”

He nodded and eased onto his other side as she hurried across the carpet. “I mean, what if Edward didn’t do it? So who’s he covering for?”

“Right?” she threw over her shoulder.

In the dim bathroom, she made sure that she kept her back to the open doorway as she scooped up the pregnancy test, the wrapper, and the open box.

“Did you see Miss Aurora while you were down there?” she asked to distract him.

“Yes. It’s not good.”

Lizzie froze with the positive stick in her hand. After closing her eyes briefly, she snapped back into action and went around the corner to the wastepaper basket. Picking up some Kleenexes and an empty bottle of her Pantene conditioner, she put the Clearblue stuff in the bottom and covered it up.

“So what does that mean exactly?” she said as she went across and opened the linen closet.

“It’s time to bring the family in.”

Lizzie stashed the box with the unused test underneath the towels. One advantage of having no maid service and doing the cleaning herself? She didn’t have to worry about anyone else finding what she’d thrown out.

As she closed the door, she put her hand on her belly. The reality of miscarriages loomed, that image of Chantal on the steps of that crypt, looking down at herself in horror, the kind of thing that made nausea rise.

“Are you okay in there? Still feeling sick?”

“No, I’m much better.” She ducked into the little private room and flushed the toilet for show. “Just waking up.”

Back out in the bedroom, she went over and lay down beside him. “I’m so sad for you about Miss Aurora. I’m really sorry.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her even closer. “It’s killing me, to be honest. Seeing her there so damned helpless? It’s as if she’s already died.”

“I’d like to go with you next time.”

“Tomorrow. I’m going tomorrow—oh, shit, I have to meet with the board in the morning. Jeff and I are giving them an update. John Lenghe’s cash infusion from that poker game has helped, but we need another way out of the crunch.”

“What can I do to help? Short of winning Powerball.”

“This is what I need.” Turning to face her, he kissed her mouth. “And this . . .” Moving lower, he brushed his lips over her collarbone. “And this . . .”

Lizzie felt her body uncoil from its tension, but she knew that it was only temporary. As he loosened the side tie on her dress, she wanted him, needed him, was hungry for their connection. This time together wasn’t going to change anything, however.

Fortunately, in the moment, that didn’t matter to her.

Lane moved on top of her, and then their clothes were gone, nothing but skin and love between them.

Just as he was about to enter her, Lane pulled back. “Shoot, let me get a condom.”

“It’s okay—” As a look of shock hit his face, she shook her head. “Just, you know, pull out. I trust you.”

“I’ll be careful,” he whispered against her lips.

Lane entered her with a roll of his hips, and she closed her eyes and arched into the pleasure. It was all she wanted to feel. Nothing else was welcome.

Lane was the only thing that mattered.

SIXTEEN

Pounding on the bedroom door woke Lane up and he jumped out of bed, twisting his ankle as he landed badly.

“Lane?” Lizzie asked in the dark.

“I’ve got it.”

Buck naked and not giving a damn, he marched over, and opened things a crack. When he saw who it was, he cursed. “Richard, what the hell are you doing—”

His sister’s husband pointed down the hall, in the direction of Gin’s suite. “Where is she!”

Lane glared at the guy. “Will you lower your voice—my mother is asleep next door.”

“As if she is ever awake.”

“Excuse me—”

“Where is your sister? Is she out picking up men at the club—or maybe it’s the street now—”

Lane shut the door on the man’s face, grabbed a pair of boxers from the bureau, and yanked them on so hard, he nearly wedgie’d himself.

“Try not to kill him,” Lizzie muttered as he headed back for the idiot.

“I make no promises.”

Ripping the door back open, he nearly got his forehead knocked on as Richard warmed up for another round of pounding.

“My sister,” Lane hissed as he stepped out and closed things up behind himself, “has taken Amelia back to Hotchkiss for her finals.”

“You’re lying.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lane resisted the urge to grab the man by the throat and shove him off balance just on principle. “Look, I can assure you, when it comes to Gin and you, I do not have a dog in this fight. But if you insist on disparaging my sister’s character, that is going to change quick.”

“Don’t threaten me, Baldwine. Your family needs me.”

“How do you figure that?”

As Richard’s thin face stretched into an ugly grin, Lane decided, based on the flush and the fact that it was after midnight, that the guy had been drinking.

“I could sink the Bradford Bourbon Company like that.” The man snapped his fingers right in front of Lane’s nose. “I’m your distributor. If I want, I can stop your product from reaching all retail outlets. If I choose to, I can block you from the shelves, from restaurants, from bars. Do you think the BBC has enough cash on hand to last through a couple of months of bad sales? I’m very sure it doesn’t. From what I understand, you can’t even afford to buy corn to make mash.”

Okaaaaay, douchebag, Lane thought.

“We’re going to be just fine,” Lane bit out. “Do what you want for whatever convoluted reason you wish. But I guarantee you, we will handle it—now go the hell to bed or get out of my house. Either way, shut your mouth in front of my mother’s door and stop disparaging your wife.”

“This family is going under.” Richard waved his arms all around, indicating the long hallway. “All of this? It’s going away. You can’t save any of it, Lane. You’re nothing but a playboy slut, just like your sister—”

Annnnnnnnnd it was lights-out time.

Lane wasn’t aware of snapping, but the next thing he knew, he had his hands around Richard’s neck and was squeezing so hard, his arms were shaking. And Richard tried to fight off the attack, his fingers clawing at the hold on his throat, his body whipping back and forth like a fish on the line, but he couldn’t break free.

“Cutting off,” Lane gritted as Richard stumbled back. “You want to talk about cutting off? How’s this for cutting off ?”

As the other man tripped over his own feet, and his mouth gaped open, Lane followed Richard down as he fell in slow motion to the corridor’s carpet—and still Lane cranked his hold tighter and tighter. Everything got channeled into the effort, to the point where, in the back of his mind, he had some thought he was going to murder the man—

“Lane!” Lizzie came rushing out of their bedroom. “Lane! What are you doing—”

“Go back in the room, Lizzie—go back in there and—”

“You’re going to kill him!”

It was hard to disagree, especially as he’d come to the same conclusion. But he didn’t stop.

Lizzie grabbed on to one of his arms and started to try to pull him off—and then, from down at the end of the hall, Jeff broke out of his own suite of rooms and came hightailing over.