Chapter 28
Chapter 28
The days passed. Daphne felt the urgency of the investigation, sensed the fact that they were closing in on some real answers. She still had a lot of work to do to prepare her report for the sheriff’s department, and most of it detailed the mismanagement and banal overspending she’d anticipated.
Everything except the failed renovation that lurked at the back of the building like a monster in the dark. Through that plastic-covered doorway was evidence of something that had gone wrong in this place. The more Daphne dug into the details, the more clearly she saw that something criminal had occurred.
Outside work, Daphne and Calvin circled each other. She’d backed away from him three times: after their kiss in the kitchen, then on the couch, and finally in his office. She knew, from the way he kept himself at a slight distance, that he was giving her space.
The problem was, she didn’t know if she wanted it. She fell asleep wondering if she’d taste his kiss again. She woke up needing to slide her hand between her legs to ease the pulsing ache he’d caused there. She stole glances at him every chance she got.
But taking that final step toward him required more courage than she possessed. It meant baring her soul in a way that terrified her. It meant trusting that he wouldn’t toss her aside when he got bored of her. If he got bored of her.
He’d never actually said that he wanted something beyond the vow renewal. What if he was just running out the clock on their attraction too?
But as the tension wound her tighter every day, Daphne wondered if he was simply responding to her cues, and if that’s what her family had done her whole life. Did they treat her like the Good One because that’s all she showed them? Was Calvin handing her the reins because he could tell that’s what she needed to feel safe?
“Barela’s quote was different,” she told Flint almost two weeks after they’d discovered Bobby Troy’s involvement, on a Monday evening, when the contractor had finally responded with the documents. “Nearly twenty percent lower than what the department ended up paying for the renovations.”
Calvin glanced at the papers she presented him, laying them out on his desk side by side. Daphne had ditched the crutches over the weekend, her ankle now able to bear her weight with the help of a soft wrapping. Still, it was a relief to sit down across from him as she watched him study the two documents.
“Renovations that never happened,” he said, knitting his dark brows. The sun had set only a half hour ago. The days were getting longer. The fluorescent lights above cast Calvin’s face in harsh shadow, but he still looked like the most handsome man Daphne had ever seen.
The sheriff lifted his gaze to Daphne’s. “What does this mean?” He pointed to the documents.
She blinked down at what she’d found. “My theory is that the company, BDT, acted as a middleman. Money goes to the business, they skim some off the top, and the rest goes to the contractor. I don’t know why they never paid Barela. If they had, and the renovations had been completed as planned, I never would have caught it.”
Calvin rubbed his jaw, a long exhale slipping through his nose. Daphne wanted to lean across the desk and run her thumb down his furrowed brow to ease the worry from his expression. The urge to touch him had only gotten worse in the days that had passed. They ate together, drove to work together, spent their evenings together. But since she’d shied away from him the day she’d tried on his mother’s dress, Calvin hadn’t pressed her.
And she hated it.
She wanted his hands on her body. Wanted his kiss. Wanted his cock. The longer they danced around each other, the more unbearable it became to not have the right to be with him. Truly be with him.
But how could she think that, when what they had was based on fakery? Sleeping with him would complicate everything. It was better to keep her distance, to focus on doing her job, and get this vow renewal out of the way. She was only Daphne Davis. She wasn’t the one who was chosen in the end. She wasn’t good enough, or exciting enough, or spontaneous enough.
She was only good at doing what she was meant to do. Work. Save. Plan for retirement. Make good decisions that somehow never ended up as good as they were supposed to be.
Except . . .
There was Calvin, who looked at her with eyes that said she was special. He made her laugh. Made her feel like she’d discovered none of life’s secrets before he showed them to her. When he watched her the way he was watching her now, Daphne saw the world brighten. His focus was all she needed to feel beautiful and important and worthy.
It was folly. Of course it was. He was just a man, and she was just Daphne. They’d struck this stupid deal, and she hadn’t told him the truth about the heirloom she’d decided to retrieve from his mother’s house, if it even existed. But they’d worked together, eaten together, lived together, and Daphne felt like so much more than she’d been before.
She was sick of holding back.
The change within her happened quietly. One moment, she was terrified of letting him get too close. Then he glanced up, and the frown on his brow cleared. His eyes went soft the way they sometimes did when he looked at her, and Daphne wondered how she’d ever managed to hold out this long.
This man was everything she’d ever wanted. She’d be a fool to let him go.
“You have a funny look in your eyes,” he said.
Her throat was dry. “I think I want to go home now.”
Eyes flickering, he licked his lips. “Your home or mine?”
He was giving her an out. Leaving her the space she’d requested, even though the desire was written plainly on his face. She knew that if she told him she wanted to go back to her sad little apartment, he’d offer to drive her there. And it would be the end of something they hadn’t ever defined. They’d go to the vow renewal—and? Then what?
Despite everything that had happened over the past few weeks, Daphne was tempted. The big slice of her that wanted to curl up in her shell where she was safe and warm begged her to take the lifeline he offered. She could be responsible. She could do what was best in the long run.
Finish her work here. Find a new job. Start her life. Work. Save. Meet and marry an accountant or an actuary who understood her need for fail-safes and safety nets.
The urge to keep herself small and safe was an anchor chain wrapped around her waist, dragging her down below the surface. The longer she spent in Calvin’s presence, the more her shell felt like a prison.
She’d been punched, tackled, and challenged. She’d taken a risk on agreeing to the date. And she’d survived. She’d belonged . For the first time in her life, Daphne didn’t feel overshadowed by the people around her. She didn’t feel like the square peg. Her sharp edges were being worn down, and she fit .
She fit—with him.
“Your home,” she croaked.
Calvin didn’t leap out of his chair. He didn’t vault over the desk and ravish her where she sat. He hardly moved at all. But a slight tension stole over his shoulders for a moment. His eyes grew sharper as he watched her. Then he nodded and stood.
Extending a hand toward her, Calvin helped her out of her chair. His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist and sent delicate shivers racing over her skin. He stood half a foot away from her and let his gaze drop to her lips, and Daphne trembled with the need for him to kiss her.
Weeks. Weeks of this torture, and she’d reached her limit.
Calvin’s lips quirked. “Let’s go, Cupcake,” he said, and in Daphne’s addlepated mind, the stupid nickname actually sounded good. His hand traced down every bump of her spine to rest on her lower back, the heat of it blazing through the layers of her clothes.
They walked out of his office, leaving the documents and the computer and all their work behind without a glance. All Daphne’s focus remained on the hand at her lower back, the brush of his chest against her shoulder, the sound of his breath, steady and calm.
The more unruffled Flint was, the more Daphne felt herself unravel. She sat in the passenger seat of his truck and watched him close her door. She followed his unhurried movements as he circled the front of the vehicle and got behind the wheel. His hands, broad, strong hands that Daphne was desperate to feel on her skin, gripped the steering wheel and the keys as he started the truck. Every movement was deliberate and composed.
It was torture. Sweet, awful torture. Her thighs clenched and rubbed together, and other than the flicker of Calvin’s gaze to catch the movement, there was no reaction. They pulled up outside his house and looked at the low roof, the dark windows, the scraggly bushes on either side of the front door. The engine rumbled and turned off.
And Daphne had had enough. She waited long enough for both of them to unclip their seat belts; then she had two handfuls of Calvin’s shirt gripped in her white-knuckled fists, and she was pulling him to her where he belonged. He let out a short sharp grunt of surprise when her lips collided with his, and then those big hands were cupped around her face as he kissed her back exactly the way she needed.
His tongue slid against hers the moment she opened her mouth to taste him. He traced her cheek with his thumb while his other hand dove into her hair and loosened the bun at the nape of her neck. His groan lit a fuse in her veins. She clawed at his uniform, needed to feel skin. Needed him .
“Daphne,” he said, kissing her jaw, her neck. His stubble was rough enough to abrade, and she wanted to feel it against her inner thighs. With one hand gripping her nape, Calvin let the other slide down her chest. He squeezed her breast before feeling her waist and stomach, rough and needy as he touched her. When he slid his hand between her legs, Daphne spread her knees and rolled her hips toward him. He squeezed her there, over her pants, and Daphne moaned.
“Now,” she panted. “Right now.”
He huffed, kissing her jaw, her neck. His teeth closed over her earlobe. “All this time, I waited for you. And now you try to rush me?”
Her veins were full of fire. His fingers rubbed against the seam of her pants as Daphne found his lips and kissed him. Her fingers trembled as she slid his buttons free, greedy hands clawing at the expanse of chest she exposed. She’d never felt like this. Out of control. Needy. Desperate.
Something had snapped. Or maybe it had broken, like a dam bursting. All her tightly held control, her careful walls, her responsibilities. They’d rushed out of her, and now she was left with ragged edges and grasping need.
Calvin pulled back. His eyes were dark as midnight, lips wet from her kiss. Between her legs, his fingers teased her clit with far too many layers of fabric between them. “What changed?” he asked, his voice rough.
“When?”
“Why now?”
She huffed. “Do we need to talk about this right now?”
He hummed and squeezed between her legs. A dart of white-hot pleasure streaked through her. “Yes, sweetheart. We do.”
Frustration burned her from the inside. She’d succeeded in unbuttoning Flint’s uniform, and her fingers were sliding through the coarse chest hair between his pecs. His skin was warm, stretched taut over his muscular frame. She wanted more than a slice of chest. She wanted him naked beneath her, so she could enjoy all of him. Never had Daphne felt so ready to reach out and grab her own pleasure.
And, she realized with a start, never had she felt so safe to do it.
She met his gaze and said the only words that could come close to explaining the seismic shift that had happened inside her. “I’m sick of being good.”