Page 32 of Tempted

“More of a fool than you for keeping evidence from a crime scene?” He throws back at me.

My lips curl up into a snarl. “I kept it for insurance. My cousin was drunk out of his mind when he murdered my granny, and he’d never remember that detail - the one that I’ve kept for posterity. The cops here in the states are going to fuck up this case, no matter what. At least I have something to bargain with when he calls me and tries to either threaten or bribe me or Moira.”

“A lot of good you'll be serving your family when you're behind bars for tampering with evidence. If the evidence is even admissible, that is.”

“That’s just the point, Malcolm. I wasn't planning on giving it to the police. I'll use it as a bargaining chip should Callum have the audacity to call me or threaten me or do anything stupid.”

“And what if Callum decides to report you to the police, for tampering with evidence?”

“Well, then he's the fool, since he's being searched for by police, as a suspect.”

“He could report it anonymously, lass. Did you ever consider that?”

“He wouldn't take that risk, Malcolm. My cousin is a pussy. Think about it. He murdered our eighty-seven-year-old granny in her sleep.”

“He was trying to track down Moira, Steph. She was not asleep.”

I'm growing irritated. “Regardless, Malcolm. The woman weighed sixty pounds soaking wet. Achildcould have killed her. My point is that Callum is a coward. I'm not afraid of him.” I decide that it's time to change the subject. “It sounds like your investigative team missed the boat on a few points with Clare, hm?” I point out, trying to win this argument. I don't know whatit is with men. They think that they've covered all bases. They think that they're so smart. They think that women need them constantly. I do not. In fact, just by the mention of her name and by a quick social media search on the bitch, I could tell right away that she was trouble. Some would say that that's because I'm jealous of her, and that I knew a brief background of her beforehand. But I can figure out a person, I can size them up in seconds. That's another reason why I have such a great team at work. And that's also why I’m so successful, because I can sniff out a cheat in a moment’s notice.

He lifts his elbows off his legs and rests his back arm chair. His knees remain parted. As he draws in a deep breath, my eyes scan downward. Malcolm is dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a dress shirt. His pants are just snug enough to showcase his ample package. I lick my lips at the thought that he's not even hard, yet he shows well. It makes me instantly wet. What it is about this man that sets my hormones firing up is beyond me. In so many ways, I find him to be a complete asshole. But at the same time, it's a paradox. Those same qualities that I find annoying about him, also turn me on, and it frustrates me. The men that I meet in business, I never mix with pleasure, as a rule. But the men that I meet outside of business, have the same objective in mind that I do. They wantitand nothing else. Which is why, the more that I think about it, the more that I'm convinced that this is the reason why Malcolm seems unreachable, and yet he’s irresistible, all at the same time.

I take my eyes away from him as his eyes meet mine, and he responds to my jibe. “The world does not revolve around you, Stephanie. I realize that that is quite a blow for you. But as long as your cousin isn't a danger to any of my family, my uncle Dougall’s priorities lie with the business. While Rory is grounded, and isn't flying a plane, he's a backup investigator and a security guard. You're a filler. That's all.” His words sting, andhe knows it. It's his passive way of taking the reins back on this argument. The man is stubborn. And I like it.

“As I've said many times before, I can take care of myself. So, like you said to your brother, you can call Rory off, regardless of whether or not a hurricane is looming.”

Just as he says this, a gust of wind and rain hits the window in the living room, crashing against it like someone has thrown a spike at it, startling me. My feet unconsciously push back, and I set the chair off balance. Malcolm rises quickly, catching me before I fall. His scent crawls up my nostrils, setting a trap. Our noses practically touch, and his eyes are immediately on my lips. The attraction is unmistakable. I can feel the heat from his skin on mine, yet we’re not actually touching. By his eyes, and the way that they’re searching mine, I can tell that he’s battling with himself.

“I’ll go batten down the shutters outside.” He says, his voice husky.

He pulls back, but as he does, he’s scanning my body.

...and I don’t know how much longer we can both hold out...

Chapter 11

Malcolm

Her in my clothes is sexy as fuck, I have to admit. It makes me want to fuck her hard, so she’ll do what most women do, and put on my shirt...and nothing else. I can picture her hair all messed up, her face flushed, her chest still heaving, wearing my dress shirt, buttoned only enough to keep it on her body, and only long enough to cover the top of her ass cheeks. I give her a futile reason why I have to walk away from her, because my hard-on is growing so fast it’s painful. I’ve got my raincoat at theready on the hook by the door, so I grab it, toss the hood up, and go outside.

The trek outside is for naught as I’ve already tamped down everything that needs to be tamped down, but I needed to get away from Steph, before I do something stupid. She is not the girl for me, and fucking her, and then spending an unknown amount of time with her, cooped up in my house, is not a great idea. This storm could last days and then the cleanup could take several more days, and she’s completely unprepared. Unless she plans on wearing my jogging suit or prancing around naked for the next week or so, we’re screwed.

Getting battered by the winds and rain, I walk around my house, waiting until my dick is shriveled, and I try to think of a plan, as I go into the garage, checking again to make sure that the truck is parked close to the door, in case it gets forced inside by the winds and rain. So far, the hurricane hasn’t hit landfall yet, and we’re nowhere near water, so there have been no evacuations ordered in my town. However, it’s the assaulting winds and rain that threaten to damage my home and its surroundings. There is no way that Stephanie is leaving until the storm has passed. I don’t care how much we like or dislike each other, it’s murder to let her go, or suicide if she’s adamant to leave.

A spare bedroom, a bag of clothes that I haven’t gotten around to pitching, and the frozen food in my freezer, are what we’re reduced to for the time being. The spare room I have for guests is always ready, since any of my siblings or my mama and da come to visit often enough. I’ve even got a spare suite for guests in the basement, if she is so pleased to inhabit that. As far as her cousin Callum trying to pull any punches, he’ll die first, since nobody driving in their car would be expected to survive weather like this, and that’s if the roads are even open. If he wanted to make a move on either of the girls, he would have had to be therealready, which is impossible, as our security people would have seen him.

Plus, my home has Fort Knox security, and any idiot that would dare travel my way would have to be buzzed in, just as Stephanie was earlier. The only danger we have while being here is to each other. And that’s where I have to be strong. We can both bury ourselves in work. That would do it. Only, she’s not equipped, to my knowledge, with a laptop. The spare laptop in my study would do the trick. As I mentally cross off the answers to my problems, I feel more and more confident that we can do this. And just when I think that I’m out of the woods, as I grab hold of the door handle, a gust of wind grabs it, and rips my raincoat clear off my shoulders, soaking me to the bone instantly. “Son of a bitch!” I growl, walking inside the house.

“Is everything okay?” Stephanie asks, coming to my aid. When she sees that I’m now dripping wet, she helps me inside, grabbing hold of the door, and she pulls the towel off the drying rack. “Shit, did you get hurt out there?”

“No. Just the fucking door grabbed my coat.”

“Here. Get this off you.” She says, helping me out of my now soaking wet inside and out, raincoat. Tossing the towel over my shoulders, she takes my raincoat and hangs it over one of the pegs on the mantle. “Where’s your linen closet?”

“In the hall.” I gesture with my chin, taking my shirt that’s stuck to my skin like glue, off.

I watch her trot down the hallway, tits bouncing braless under my shirt, and I chide myself for watching her yet again. I am my own worst enemy here. My hard-on comes back a bit, and I think about something that always used to work for me as a kid, and that is one of my brothers. It quickly dissipates and we’re off to the races. When she returns, I’ve pulled my sopping shirt over my head, and it’s hung next to her clothes on the drying rack. As I stand there in just my jeans, I realize my folly. Her face says itall. Eyes on my chest and abs, I can see that look in her eyes that I once thought that I’d fear from her, but I don’t.

“I should...I should go change.” I stammer, feeling my heart skip a beat. The knowledge that she’s turned on turns me on, and I find myself dipping into my anti-hard-on toolbox again, trying to think of my brothers. But this time it doesn’t work as well, seeing as she’s sliding a dry towel over my shoulders, eyes smoldering into mine.

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