Chapter Twenty-Six

Lachlan slouched on the bed, his back to the headboard, his long legs stretched out before him. I huddled beside him, inches away, though it felt like a vast and fathomless canyon separated us. My feet tucked under me, I sat angled toward him. My fingers moved of their own volition, tapping and rubbing against each other. I shoved them under my legs. I leaned one shoulder against the headboard.

Lachlan settled a hand on my knee. "You owe me no explanations."

"Yes I do." The impulse to push his hand away surged inside me, but I fought it back. His touch both comforted and unsettled me and I couldn't reconcile the warring emotions that boiled inside me. If he'd opened his arms to me, I would've climbed onto his lap and drowned myself in his kiss one more time. Stay strong. He deserves to know the truth.

"Lachlan —" My throat seized up and cut off my words. Why was this so hard?

He squeezed my knee. In the depths of his luminous eyes, I glimpsed an understanding I'd never witnessed before, from anyone. The words flowed out of me.

"I'm in trouble. It's bad, and I don't see any way out of it." I shifted my weight and then realized I'd unconsciously edged closer to him. He ran his hand up to my thigh, and the sight of it snared my focus, robbing me of words for a long moment before the trance evaporated. "I trusted the wrong man. He was one of those hot guys who turn into hot messes. He charmed me, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker — except this hook ripped me apart from the inside out."

Lachlan clasped my hands. His gaze never wavered from me.

"I was involved with Presley Cichon. He seduced me, and I believed every honeyed word he fed me." I shook my head. "I should've known he was using me. Chicago's most eligible bachelor wouldn't date an accounting nerd."

"Nerd?" he spat, then pressed his lips to the back of my hand. "I told you never to call yourself that again. You are a stunning, sensual woman. The kind any man would be fortunate to take as a wife."

My heart stuttered. He'd said — Forget it. "Anyway, Presley comes from a rich family. Old money, the kind that buys anything and anyone, and I guess I let myself be seduced by the luxury of wealth too. I slept with him, gave him all my trust, let myself be happy with this amazing guy. Only he wasn't amazing." My shoulders crumpled. I listed forward and caught my forehead in my palm. My throat had thickened, agitating my words. "He was a goddamn fucking liar."

Stock-still, radiating tension, Lachlan cinched his mouth into a line. He said carefully, "What did he do to you?"

"I worked for his family's accounting firm, one of many businesses they own. His mother put him in charge of the firm after he got his MBA because she thought the job would force him to grow up. That's where I met him." I brought the other hand up to bolster my head with both hands, overcome by the sudden sensation of heaviness, as if my head had morphed into a bowling ball. "I should've known better than to date my boss."

"You did nothing wrong."

"That's not what everyone else thinks." I wrested my hands free of his and gripped my upper arms. He settled a hand on my thigh, a comforting gesture I needed badly. "Presley embezzled a quarter of a million dollars from a dozen of the firm's clients, all of them senior citizens. He framed me for the crime. The day after I was arrested, when I got out on bond, Presley tracked me down and bragged about how he set me up. It was my word against his and the Cichon family is connected everywhere. I'm screwed." I hugged myself hard to ward off a soul-deep chill, but to no avail. "And it's my own fault."

Lachlan ground his teeth. His hand on my thigh curled into a fist.

"Presley kept asking to use my computer, said his was glitching, and I… I am such an idiot. I gave him the password for my work computer." Tears scorched my eyes, the hot liquid seeping through my lids. I sniffled and swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. "About a month ago, someone gave the police an anonymous tip that I was embezzling funds from the firm. Since Presley used my computer, it looked like I was guilty. I told the DA my suspicions about Presley, but there was no evidence. All of it pointed to me. When the shit hit the fan, Presley came out smelling like fresh linen and I stank of guilt." I sniffled, gulping down the bile that kept surging up into my throat. "I was fired. They're pursuing criminal charges. I found a lawyer to take me on pro bono, but she doesn't have the resources to investigate Presley. Odds are, I'll go to prison — unless I take a plea deal, which I will not do because it means admitting I'm guilty. So, it's off to the big house for me."

Lachlan dragged me onto his lap, enfolding me in his brawny arms. He cradled me against his chest, my legs tucked under me. The tears spilled out. I buried my face in his neck and clung to him as if he were the last thread holding me together. He stroked my hair, murmuring words I couldn't understand because my brain had shut down. I knew nothing except the strength of this man's body and the scent of his aftershave, the salty taste of my tears, and the beating of his pulse in his neck, throbbing under my lips.

"You're staying with me tonight, not here," he said, his tone decisive. "Then I'm hiring you the best bloody solicitor in the world."

I popped my head up, gazing at him through a blur of tears. "Solicitor?"

"A lawyer. To defend you."

Sniffling, I shook my head. "I like Doretta. I'm not firing her. And besides, I can't let you do that, I didn't tell you about this so you'd give me money. Considering you attacked Presley to protect me — three times — I needed to tell you the truth. But this is my mess, not yours."

"Wrong." He swaddled me in his arms, slanting his head to mine, our noses touching. "This is Presley Cichon's mess. And he will pay for what he's done. I'll make damn sure of it."

I rubbed out the tears and pushed off his lap. "You're leaving in four days."

"No." He swung his legs off the bed, his back to me, and snatched his phone off the table. "I won't leave until you're settled."

But he would still leave. What had I thought would happen? He'd profess his love and vow never to leave me? He said things like that only when he was half asleep and wouldn't remember it later.

While Lachlan made his call, I retreated into the bathroom. His voice rumbled through the door, his words inaudible but his determination clear. He was taking care of me. Fixing my mess. Why? I sagged against the door and slid to the floor, my butt striking the vinyl flooring, my palms flat on the cold surface. He needed to fix me so he could go home with a clear conscience, knowing he hadn't left me in the lurch. But he would abandon me. In four days or four months, it made no difference. A chunk of me would go with him, tearing out a bloody wound nothing could heal.

Head in my hands, I succumbed to sobs.

Presley destroyed my life. Why shouldn't Lachlan have the honor of shredding my heart and soul?

*****

Ten minutes later, I slunk out of the bathroom, after splashing cold water on my face until my eyes were no longer red and puffy. The splashing had smeared my makeup, so I took another few minutes to repair the damage. Lachlan had witnessed enough of my weakness. From here on out, I would be stronger.

Lachlan wasn't in the bedroom. I wandered down the hallway into the living room. Not there either. I scanned the vicinity and spotted him in the kitchen, perched on a stool at the island with my laptop in front of him. His attention was riveted to the screen, his eyes darting side to side, his expression stern and focused. The bruise on his jaw had grown a lump. I crossed into the kitchen and nabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer. Lachlan glanced at me only when I pressed the peas to his jaw.

He placed his hand over the bag as his focus swerved back to the computer. "Thank you."

I climbed onto the stool across from him. "What are you doing with my computer?"

"Not framing you for a crime, that's for certain."

The disgust in his voice summoned a memory of his muscles rippling when he clamped his arms around Presley's neck. Then there was the time he hoisted Presley off his feet. I sat up straighter, folding my arms on the island.

Lachlan arched an eyebrow. "What are you smiling for?"

Was I smiling? Well yes, I was. Thoughts of Lachlan pummeling Presley made me smile. Go figure. I broadened my smile into a grin. "I was remembering all the times you beat on Presley."

"And that makes you happy?"

"Mm-hm." I rotated my hips to swivel my stool back and forth. "Nobody's ever tackled anyone for me before. A chivalrous, attack-ready man like you must be very popular with the lasses in Scotland. No matter what we might say, women all fantasize about men who'll skelp scunners for us."

Lachlan rubbed his neck, averting his eyes. "I don't make a habit of it."

"Still, you must have to beat the ladies off with a caber."

He grimaced, then spun my laptop so the screen faced me. "I know what the bawbag was doing here."

I squinted at the screen. The web browser was open, displaying a travel booking website. "I don't get it."

"Look." He pointed at the middle of the screen. "Either you were planning a trip to Switzerland and paused in the midst of making the reservations to go on a road trip with me, or that filthy snake was making your travel arrangements for you."

By "filthy snake" I assumed he meant Presley. I couldn't recall Lachlan ever using my ex-lover's name, since he clearly preferred other epithets. I leaned forward to study the computer screen. It showed that not only had I opened an account on the travel website, but I'd started the process of booking a flight to Switzerland for tomorrow afternoon. "What's the point of this? I doubt he was surprising me with a free trip to Geneva."

"I found something else too." He held up a flash drive no bigger than his thumbnail. "I interrupted him before he could get this back. It was still plugged into your computer. The files on here would've made it look like you had a Swiss bank account with a quarter million dollars in it. I checked, but he didn't get a chance to transfer the files to your computer."

"That sneaky, conniving little scumbag." I stomped my foot on the stool rung. "Gah! No wonder he was so intent on getting into my house. He's not done framing me." I gripped the edge of the island. "I bet he was planning another anonymous tip to the police. Hey guys, she's about to bolt for a neutral country." I kicked the island. Pain shot through my foot. "My bail would be revoked. I'd have no chance of finding any evidence to implicate him."

"That will not happen." Lachlan stretched his arms across the island to cover my hands with his. "You have my word."

"Lachlan, I can't let you —"

"Aye, you can and you will." He pushed his shoulders back, his gaze pinned on me. "This is not charity. I help my friends when they're in need."

"Thought I was your fling."

He sandwiched my hands between his, overpowering my chill with his heat. "You are my gràidh, Erica. And I will help you whether you like it or not."

His authoritative tone brooked no argument and sent a charge through me. Whether I liked it or not? In that case…"Okay. I accept your money and your investigators and whatever you give me. I do want to keep Doretta as my lawyer, though."

"Fine."

"Thank you, Lachlan."

He strode around the island to pull me into his arms. Nestled against his chest, I felt my lips curving into a new smile as he combed his fingers through my hair. "Anything for you, mo leannan."

I shut my eyes, my arms padlocked around him, entranced by his firm body against mine and the way he'd murmured his Gaelic endearment. "Don't leave me, Lachlan. I love you."