Page 6 of Crossing Every Line

“Then change it.”

“They’re nonrefundable tickets,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Then we have a problem.”

“No”—she stood—“you have a problem.”

He clamped his fingers around her wrist. She could walk out the door, and he would follow her—eventually. He’d have to find the house they now co-owned and figure out what to do with it. But he needed to settle the will first. And he didn’t trust her not to do something stupid back in Fuckbum, New York, that would screw him over.

Hell, she could sell the house to a friend for a dollar and give him fifty cents if she was crafty enough. He didn’t know anything about Winchester Falls to know what the housing market was like. “How can you trust that I won’t find a way to screw you out of your house, Miss Proctor?” He could feel her pulse fluttering wildly under his fingers. He had her on the hook. Instead of forcing his hand, he let her spin her own worst case. He could see it in the set of her shoulders, the way she stiffened.

Then her eyes went flat and cool. “You’re good.” She stared at his hand pointedly. “Scare tactics with a side of adjective changes. Better men than you have tried to manipulate me, Mr. Justice.”

He let her go and sat back, crossing his arms. No, she was no pushover. Charm had been Lawrence’s gift. And while they were father and son in all but blood, he definitely didn’t have that particular talent. Shane had been responsible for the work done after the schmoozing. He held the respect of over eighty men on various crews, but it had been through hard work, not charm.

“Straight talk, then.”

She sat back down. “I’d appreciate that.”

He laid his hands on the table. “I’m sorry you were dragged into this, and I’m sorry that my father put this in your lap.” He gentled his voice at the flicker of hurt in her eyes. Larry had been her father too. “We’re going to have to work together.”

“I want to help you, but I’m afraid my finances don’t allow me to flush an eighteen-hundred-dollar plane ticket down the drain.”

“So change the flight.”

“Nonrefundable, remember?”

He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Not until he knew more. “It’ll be on me to get you home.”

A slim honey-colored brow lifted. “Thirty seconds ago you told me I couldn’t trust you, Mr. Justice.”

“Thirty seconds ago you called my bluff.”

“I don’t trust you.” She emphasized each word.

“You’re smart.” He shuffled his chair to face her, dragging hers around so they were face-to-face.

Grabbing instinct by the balls, he clasped her hands until they were knee to knee and palm to palm. He tried to ignore the way she fit him. As small as she was, her slim fingers curled around his. Christ, she felt good. Too good, but he didn’t drop her hand. Even if every self-preserving part of him struggled to do so.

Making her understand was more important. “Whether we like it or not, we’re in this together. We,” he paused, making sure their gazes locked. “Us.”

“I have a business to run.”

“Is November a busy time in the B and B business?”

Her chin lifted. “My—our—house is on a lake. We have year-round bookings.”

“I’m assuming you don’t run the entire place by yourself.” She tried to untangle their hands, but he held her still.

“No, my mother does the day-to-day in the house, but I run the boat tours and trails.”

“And you don’t have any other help?”

Her gaze slid away. “No.”

“Do you really have customers lined up?”

“It’s a light week,” she said evasively.

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