Page 13 of This Time Around (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #3)

The little dial looked rusty, but the numbers spun without much effort.

She moved the digits to form her grandma’s birthday, then pushed the lever.

Nothing. Of course. Victoria Elena Ross had been savvier than that.

Then again, she hadn’t been savvy enough to burn her bondage equipment before moving into an assisted living facility. It was all relative.

Allie’s hands were sweating, which probably had more to do with Jack’s proximity and the heat of the attic than a fear of finding more sex toys. She wiped them on her jeans and tried again. This time she dialed in her grandfather’s birthdate, conscious of Jack still pawing through boxes behind her.

Nothing. She tried her grandparents’ anniversary, followed by her own father’s birthdate. Nope. Same for her parents’ anniversary and every common series of numbers she could think of like 1234 or 6666, though would Victoria Ross have thought to plug in the sign of the beast?

Unlikely.

Then again, Victoria Ross had owned a ball gag.

Allie tried 6969, just to be sure. She was relieved when it didn’t work.

Behind her, Jack was whistling something.

She thought it might be a Barenaked Ladies song, and her brain flashed to the memory of them listening to one of their albums in college.

They’d danced together in their apartment living room, not caring that the blinds were wide open and anyone in the world could see them.

She’d tossed her hair and shrieked with laughter as he spun her around while the downstairs neighbor pounded on the ceiling.

Allie turned the numbers on the combo lock again, forming her own birthdate. This time, something clicked. A shiver chattered down her spine as she pressed the lever and found it moved easily. She hesitated, not sure she wanted to open it.

Behind her, Jack had stopped whistling. She heard footsteps and knew he’d noticed the change in her demeanor.

“Please don’t be more sex toys,” she murmured as she slowly lifted the lid. “Please no more sex toys. Please no more sex toys. Please no more?—”

“Holy shit.”

Jack spoke the words this time as Allie sucked in a breath.

“I already said that,” she mumbled as she stared into the trunk. “Try something more original.”

But seriously— holy shit.

Jack leaned in over her shoulder. “Are those twenties or hundreds?”

Allie peered closer at the large stacks of bills, each one bound with a tidy yellow ribbon. “Hundreds.” She swallowed hard, pretty sure she’d never seen this much cash in her whole life. “There must be at least?—”

“A million dollars.”

She turned and looked at him, wondering if she looked as stunned as he did. “How do you know?”

“I saw a video once.” He swallowed and Allie watched his throat move.

“Paige asked me what a million dollars in cash looks like, so we Googled it. We found this YouTube video showing all the different configurations and how it would stack up.” He nodded at the steamer trunk, and Allie realized he was a lot more shaken by this than he’d been by the sex toys.

Allie stared at the money. She didn’t feel excited. She didn’t feel giddy. She didn’t feel rich.

She felt utterly terrified.

“Holy shit,” Jack said again as he stared at the stack of bills.

It had to be connected to Allie’s parents, right? He glanced at her, wondering if she was thinking the same thing. Her face was paste white, and he knew from experience what would come next.

“Um, here.” He fumbled for a plastic Easter basket on a shelf overhead, pausing to dump out the painted metallic eggs. They bounced and wobbled across the floor, one of them bumping Allie’s knee as he thrust the basket into her hands.

She took the basket with a bewildered stare. “What’s this for?”

“You looked like you might puke.”

She looked down at the basket, then back up at him. “I told you the other night I’m not a nervous puker anymore.”

But she was definitely nervous. Jack could feel the tension radiating off her like shockwaves. It felt odd to have her on her knees in front of him, but she hadn’t made any move to stand up.

“Anyway,” she said, in a breezy tone that sounded a little forced, “I really don’t think a woven basket is the best receptacle for vomit.”

“Pardon me for forgetting my waterproof bucket. I’ll pick one up on my way home.”

“That would be helpful.”

He waited for her to say something else, but she’d gone quiet again. Her gaze was back on the cash, and she started to reach for one of the tight bundles.

“Wait!” he said. “Do we need to call the police or something?”

She turned and stared at him, hand poised over the stack of bills. “What for?”

“If this is connected to a crime, won’t they need to dust for fingerprints?”

Allie frowned. “A crime.”

“Right.”

He wasn’t going to be the one to say it. He didn’t know all the details of her parents’ trial, except that they’d been convicted of bilking investors out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. This had to be tied to it, right?

Allie didn’t respond right away, but she did drop her hand to her side. When she looked up at him again, she had more color in her cheeks.

“This has nothing to do with my parents.” Her voice was firm, and the fact that she’d read his thoughts in the first place should have been damn convincing.

The old Jack would have taken her word for it.

Would have just assumed his smarter-than-average fiancée with two lawyer parents would know more about law and finance than he would.

But the Jack who’d been through a failed engagement, the death of his wife, and a decade of single parenthood had a little more confidence in his own instincts.

A giant trunk full of cash was a big deal.

Besides, he’d seen the look on Allie’s face when she’d opened that trunk. She was as freaked out as he was. “Look, I’m just saying, you probably want to look into the legal side of things,” he said. “You know, make sure this won’t get you into any sort of trouble.”

“I’m confident it won’t,” she said, not sounding very confident. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.”

“Or a perfectly criminal one. You won’t know until you dig a little deeper, maybe talk to a lawyer.”

Something that looked like anger flashed in her eyes, and Jack wondered if he’d overstepped.

But hell, he’d read the articles during her parents’ trial.

From what he understood, her mother had been the ringleader, though her dad had at least been complicit in the scam.

That made sense, based on what Jack remembered of the woman he used to call the Ice Queen and the friendly, good-natured guy she’d always seemed to bulldoze.

How many families had they bilked out of their life savings?

Didn’t Allie owe it to the families to make sure this wasn’t connected?

Allie studied him a moment longer, her expression more guarded than anything. Maybe he’d imagined the anger. She gave a tight nod, then closed the lid on the trunk. Wiping her hands down the legs of her jeans, she stood up and looked him in the eye.

“You’re right,” she said.

“What?”

“About looking into the legal aspects of it. I’ll do that, thank you.”

Something was off here. He wasn’t used to hearing you’re right coming out of her mouth.

Had she ever said that before? Not once, he was pretty sure.

Then again, how often had he actually been right?

He’d be the first to admit he hadn’t been the most astute eighteen-year-old on the planet.

He’d made mistakes, plenty of them, but then again, so had she.

His addled brain was so focused on the novelty of her words that he didn’t realize she’d moved closer.

That Allie was standing near enough for the side of her breast to graze his arm as she reached past him to put the Easter basket back on the shelf.

Her sweater rode up, exposing a swath of pale skin on her low back.

He saw something that might’ve been the top edge of a tattoo, but that seemed unlikely, and he was more interested in the hint of a lacy lavender thong above her jeans.

God, did she still wear sexy underwear? It had always driven him wild, the thought of her all buttoned-up in conservative slacks and cashmere turtlenecks, while underneath, she was gift-wrapped in satin and lace.

She set the basket on the shelf and stood facing him, eyes locking with his.

She was so close, close enough for him to feel the heat of her abdomen against his bare forearms. He watched her rub her lips together slowly, the way she used to just before he kissed her, and Jack wondered if her pink sweater was as soft as it looked.

“I’ll deal with the chest later,” she murmured. “Right now, we should stay focused.” She made no move to step away, and he felt her breath against his throat.

“Yes,” he replied, aware of a buzzing sound in the back of his own brain. Of the static swirling in her hair and the smell of vanilla and honey enveloping him in a cloud of lust.

Allie didn’t move back toward the boxes. She moved closer, and for an instant, Jack thought she was reaching for him. Instead, she stretched up again, breast pressing into his arm once more as she stood on tiptoe to inspect the shelf over his shoulder.

“Hm, this box looks familiar,” she said.

God, the sweater was as soft as it looked. Or maybe that wasn’t the sweater. There wasn’t much blood left in Jack’s brain, and he took a deep breath, flooding his senses with her.

“My grandma used to keep old letters in a box like this,” Allie was saying, though Jack could hardly make out the words through the buzzing in his head and the feel of all that softness pressed against him.

Her hair tickled the side of his neck, and Jack breathed her in again, knowing full well that was just compounding the problem.

She lowered herself to her heels and stood looking up at him.

Those dark green eyes fixed on his, and he looked deep into them, thinking of shaded forests and dark, warm places.