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The envelope Lachlan had given me is crushed beneath the weight of my smutty book. I hadn’t wanted to open it there in the truck, and forgot about it afterwards, but I open it now and stare at the numbers.

I wait to feel something. Elated, maybe. Relieved? It’s not everything he owes me but it’s a little more than half. Definitely more than I expected. It feels like a lot when all the numbers are put together on paper.

I lay it on the counter and take a photo with my banking app. The sum will automatically get deposited without me having to visit the bank itself. Efficient and easy. But I know Bron will get a notification in a day or so that money has been withdrawnfrom his account. That gives me roughly two days to get everything in order.

My coffee machine chimes. I pour myself a cup, then take it and the check into the living room. I drop the letter on the coffee table. Myself on the sofa and watch the clock over the mantel while I wait.

It has to be timed to work.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

VAN

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I should have waited for Lachlan.

I have come to the conclusion too late as I stand on Everly’s front porch. The sound of my knocks, too loud in the morning air.

I don’t know what possessed me to make the journey alone, to confront her with no excuse to give. I don’t even know if she wants to see me. But it’s too late to turn back now, especially when the lock twists and the door is thrown open.

Everly stands before me in nothing but a t-shirt with her beautiful face flushed and glistening with perspiration. Her cheeks blaze pink under her freckles and there is relief behind her hazel eyes that makes my cock twitch.

“Oh, Mr. Weaver,” she pulls back to let me into the foyer. “Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve made a terrible mistake and I need you.”

I arch an eyebrow as she shuts the door.

“What’s wrong?”

Her small hand captures mine. “Please don’t tell anyone. I would die of embarrassment.”

“Iwon’t tell.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip before leading me up the stairs. I follow, pulse thudding hard in my throat. The shirt hangs loose on her but rides up with every bounce, just enough to show me the curve of her ass. No panties. My mouth goes dry.

She leads me to the bedroom. The sheets are messy. The air is thick, humid with heat and something else, something unmistakably hers. The kind of scent that crawls under your skin and makes a man lose his mind.

She climbs onto the bed on her hands and knees. Doesn’t say a word at first. Just shifts forward, the shirt barely covering her now. Then she glances back at me, cheeks flushed, lips parted, embarrassment burning in her eyes.

“I thought I could take it, Mr. Weaver,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “I just wanted to get ready for you ... but now it’s stuck. It won’t come out.”

My breath catches.

Her hand reaches back, tentative, like she’s tried this already. She winces, pulling away with a soft whimper. I’m frozen for a second, staring, throat working around words I don’t even know how to form.

“What did you put in your pussy, Everly?”

“A toy.”

I move forward slowly. My knees hit the edge of the mattress. She spreads her legs a little wider, the shirt tugging tighter across her back, giving me the barest glimpse of where she’s parted and wet and desperate. And God, I am desperate.

Her voice trembles, soft but sure. “Please.It’s been vibrating inside me for hours and it’s gone so high.”

I kneel behind her. My hands are shaking when I reach for her. Not because I’m scared.

Because I’ve never wanted to worship someone more in my life.

She’s on the bed, on her knees, head down, back arched, completely bare except for the flush crawling up her skin.