Chapter 40
SILAS
I leaned against the wall, taking in Eve, in just my shirt, fixing us coffee. Decaf this time because we’d gone through a lot of fucking coffee. I’d mastered the simple coffee maker in the cafe area. Add water, add grounds to a filter, turn on. The fancy espresso machine was another story.
Watching her was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I seemed to be doing it a lot. Just watching her.
Eve could make coffee in a man’s shirt and kill it camming. The virgin librarian version of her would have serious competition.
To me, her efficient and skilled actions were porn. Especially in my shirt.
But no more camming. This time, she was here, in front of me. Where she belonged. Where I could see her. Touch her. Make her mine.
“Take off the shirt,” I said.
She spun on her bare feet, startled. The machine hissed behind her. Her eyes raked over me in my jeans. On, but not buttoned. Nothing else. “What?”
“Make me coffee. Bare.”
She softened and responded to my deep command. Her lids lowered, cheeks flushed. And she started to squirm, just like she did in the cam room when she was turned on. “Silas.”
I approached, cupped her face. “I want all of you,” I admitted.
“You want more sex.”
Her gaze dropped and the way my dick was tenting my jeans, it was pretty obvious.
“Always. But I like this. You and me.”
Her dark eyes held something. Wariness. Hope. Many things. “This was just sex. A little fling at that bar.”
“It was just sex. This isn’t little, what’s between us. I want more. Don’t you?” I held my breath.
“We started out the wrong way,” she admitted.
There was nothing wrong about us. “The quickie in the bar?”
“All of it. The quickie, the conference room. Especially the camming.”
I set my hand on her shoulder, leaned in so we were eye level. “I’m CEO. I fix things. Help people. Giving you money does that. Why won’t you keep the money from the cam room? It was as much my fault as yours.”
“Because–”
Her cell rang and the moment was broken. She pulled back from my touch, went to see who it was. Picking it up from the counter beside the espresso machine, her shoulders slumped.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
I went to her instantly. “What’s the matter?”
It kept ringing.
“My father.” She swiped the screen and answered. “Hello.”
I could hear a male voice, but it was too soft to make out words.
I stepped back, grabbed one of the coffees that she made and leaned against the counter.
Her body language became tense. Her gaze was on her bare feet.
“Yes. Yes. No, I don’t need money. No. I’m not interested in anything Cheney has to say. That’s his problem. No. No, I wouldn’t want to upset Mother. Yes.”
She kept her eyes down as she ended the call and set the cell back on the counter.
I put my mug down, then wrapped my arms around her from behind. “Do I need to bury any bodies?”
A laugh shook her body. “No. Maybe.”
“What happened?”
Instead, I wanted to take this sudden sadness from her. To make things right so she was happy. Always happy. Taking care of Eve was something I wanted to do. Not out of obligation, but a Neanderthal need to protect.
She was more than sex. She was my woman, and her problems were mine to take on and solve.
“My father wondered if I had any luck with getting other financing. He knew… KNEW… I couldn’t get any other loan in town because he called the banks.”
I spun her around. Her hands settled on my bare chest, and I looked down into her sad eyes. Not angry, but sad. Resigned. Destroyed.
“Your father told the banks not to give you a loan?”
“Yes.” Tears welled, then slipped down her cheeks.
I tried to stay relaxed, to not let her feel how fucking pissed I was. The man was an asshole. I knew what a shitty father was like. Thought mine was the worst. He’d done nothing for me and my brothers except make us feel like shit about ourselves and our dreams. Shaming was an excellent tool.
She dropped her forehead to my chest, and I cupped the back of her neck, kissed her head. This wasn’t the naughty little kitten on the cam. This was Eve, unvarnished. No makeup. No pretense. Truly bare. Her weaknesses and vulnerabilities exposed.
I ached for her. Ached to make her sorry shit-of-an-excuse father love her like she deserved. That wasn’t going to happen, so I could help her in other ways. Hold her. Kiss her. Know that there was someone who wanted her just the way she was.
“Aren’t fathers supposed to be supportive?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t know. My father was a narcissistic prick.”
“We should get them together,” she replied.
“Mine’s dead.”
“Like I said, we should get them together.”
I agreed with that. Killing the guy was probably out, but I was going to find out what he was up to. He was using his daughter for a reason, for his gain. I wanted to know what and why.
“Fathers can be assholes,” I said.
“Yes. And this is why I won’t take your money.”
“Your father?”
“I care about you, Silas. I won’t have money ruining us. Because it would. It ruins everything.”
“Or maybe the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally are total dicks.”
She laughed. “That is a possibility.”
“Somehow, you need to let it go. Let him go. You can–”
“Are you mansplaining toxic parenting to me?”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Maybe.”
She smiled, but it quickly slipped away. “He made the local banks turn me away. What’s next?”
That was a good question. I was the fixer, and I was going to fix this.