Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“You were right,” he says, his voice soft, but with an edge. “I was prepared to do everything in my power to make sure you and your daughters got out of this as unscathed as possible.”
Hot emotion gathers behind my eyes at his kindness, his care for the girls and me when my own husband hasn’t shown even a measure of it. I clear my throat, testing the steadiness of my voice before speaking.
“I appreciate that, Judah.”
“Luckily I didn’t have to do much convincing. Delores insisted anyone who would tell her to her face that her pan sucked would not be in cahoots—her word. I’ve never used the word cahoots in my life—with her husband to steal millions of dollars.”
“Seriously?” I gape at him, a wide smile breaking out on my face. “That’s amazing. Delores in my corner. Who would’ve thought.”
“That’s what we get for sending you to fetch the…” Hendrix lets her words trail off and her gaze wander up and down and up again over Judah’s tall, athletic build. “The wine. Well, hello. Who do we have here?”
“Oh.” Yasmen is close on her heels. She pings a look from Judah to me a few times, interest sharpening in her eyes. “Sorry. We didn’t know you were expecting company, Sol. I mean other than us.”
She stretches out her hand. “I’m Yasmen. Nice to meet you.”
“Judah Cross,” he says, accepting her hand with a brusque shake.
“The accountant?” Hendrix demands, disbelief loud in her response. “My taxes would stay done if my CPA looked like you.”
I’m mortified, but to my surprise, the straight line of Judah’s full lips twitches.
“I’m not that kind of accountant,” he answers teasingly. “But if I were, I’d take care of you.”
“Oh, I just bet you would, honey.” Hendrix steps closer and I stop her with the wine bottle shoved in her chest.
“Here you go, Hen,” I say pointedly, nodding to the bottle and handing her the bowl of olives. “I think you were looking for this.”
Humor and speculation light her eyes. “Come on, Yas. They obviously want to be alone.”
She weighs the last word with suggestion, and I roll my eyes, silently begging her not to embarrass me any further. Blessedly, she and Yasmen return to the living room.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize, sliding my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “They’re… well, they are—”
“Friends,” he cuts in, his voice softening, his usually cool eyes warm. “I’m glad you have people who care about you the way they seem to. The FBI will unfreeze your assets, and CalPot won’t go after your property when you turn over the drive, but you still have a long road ahead.”
“Long road ahead, huh?” I spew a sour laugh. “The father of my children most likely going to prison. Me having to figure out how I’ll support us. Divorce.”
His gaze latches onto my face. “Divorce?”
“Did you think I’d stay with Edward after all he’s done? I’m getting my divorce as soon as legally possible.”
“I’m glad.”
I can’t force myself to look away, and I don’t think he’s even trying. There’s a filament connecting us. It burns hot and bright and is impossible to ignore, but also impossible to pursue. We both know it.
“I better go,” he says after a moment of charged silence. “I need to pick up Aaron and Adam from my ex’s.”
“Of course.” I move with him toward the door.
“Could you bring the drive to the office tomorrow?” he asks from the front porch. “I knew you would want terms in writing. An agreement has been drawn up. You come in tomorrow and sign, then hand the drive over to us, and we’ll share it with the FBI.”
“And you’ll have more than enough evidence to prosecute my husband.” A brief prickle of guilt disrupts my relief. “He’ll never forgive me.”
“He should be the one begging for your forgiveness,” he says, his words as harsh as the scowl on his face. “And he left you no choice.”
“I agree, but it feels very cut-and-dried until you have to explain to your children that their father is in prison because of you.”
“He’s in prison because of himself. Not you. They’ll understand.”
“I think you’re right for the most part,” I say, “but one of my daughters, the middle one, is a real daddy’s girl. Edward can do no wrong in her eyes.”
Judah clasps my chin between gentle fingers, tipping my head back so I have to look at him. “Edward did a lot wrong, and once she sees that, it’ll work out.”
My breath hitches and my heart sprints at his touch, at the light caress on my cheek before he releases me. I resist the urge to put my hand there to relive that gentle touch.
“Are you always so sure?” I ask, half laughing, half really wanting to know. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so certain.”