Page 73 of Charlie

"Told you I should have told her first," Lach grumbles to Jack. He turns to the boat and calls up to someone on deck. A ramp is lowered and I follow Lach up, my knees like jelly. He jumps off the ramp and turns toward me, catching me in his arms and carrying me onto the boat. Everything is white and chrome and blindingly sparkling.

"This is yours?" I breathe, unable to make this boat and Lachlan fit together. He has never struck me as the ostentatious type, and this is lightyears beyond that.

"It is."

"Please tell me why someone needs a boat this big."

"And there it is," Jack laughs, "I told you."

"God, I love you," Lach whispers, pulling me into a hug and swinging me around. "Give me thirty seconds to explain," he says, setting my feet firmly on the ground, "then you can ask questions and judge all you want."

I nod, not letting on how uneasy this makes me feel – like maybe he's not the person I thought he was.

"I've been lucky," he begins, "Very lucky. I invested in some businesses that have done better than I could have ever imagined. I used some of the money to buy Whisky Business. Most of the year she's used by people with terminal illnesses to take one last dream vacation. Many of them have caregivers, nurses, and family that they would have to take with them to go on a trip. The size of the boat allows for that. I get to use the boat for pleasure and business, and I also get the satisfaction of knowing that I'm helping people fulfill their dreams before they die. Win-win."

I'm completely dazed as he takes my elbow and guides me to a gorgeous semi-circle white sofa, pressing a glass of wine into my hands.

"So..." I try to gather my thoughts and fail miserably. "You're a millionaire?" I blurt, my cheeks flushing scarlet the second the words leave my mouth. "Oh God, don't answer that. I'm sorry."

"Billionaire, Carebear," Lach says without preamble. "Not many people know anything about what I do or what I'm worth, but if we're going to make this work, we need to be open with each other." He runs his hand through his hair. "I can't tell you that without also telling you that my goal is to donate all of my money before I die."

A duke and a billionaire. This life was meant for someone that doesn't wear jeans and sneakers ninety-nine percent of the time. For someone with more than a couple thousand dollars in her bank account. Not someone barely out of a failed marriage with no job and no prospects. Fucking hell.

"Hey." Jack takes my hand in his. "None of this changes anything."

"If you say so," I whisper, finding those words incredibly hard to believe.

His jaw ticks. "It doesn't. Money and titles mean nothing."

I clamp my mouth shut as Lach returns with a phone in his hand. He pulls the antenna out and hands it to Jack. "Do you want to do the honors?"

The look Jack gives me tells me our conversation isn't over. He takes the phone from Lach, looks at a note on his cell, and punches in a number. I can hear it ringing faintly before Jack greets someone and asks for Cameron. An expression of annoyance crosses his face before thanking the other person at the end of the line and hanging up.

"He's not there."

"What do you mean he's not there?" Lach demands.

Jack shrugs. "They said he left two days ago."

"Fuck." Lach runs his hand through his hair.

"What about his cell phone? Maybe he's back in range?"

"Go ahead," Jack says, motioning for me to call. I click the call button, my heart in my throat. It rings several times before going to an automated voicemail.

"I'll get back in touch with the university first thing in the morning and we'll go from there," Jack says, frustration radiating off his skin.

"Well, that was fucking anticlimactic. Come on, let's go home. I'll cook dinner," Lach grumbles, his shoulders slumped.

Disappointment sours in my stomach as we traipse off the boat. The ride back is utterly silent, all of us lost in our thoughts.

As we pull into the manor house drive, a cab is parked along the street. Jack slams on the brakes, all three of us lurching forward, holding our breath as we watch for a glimpse of dark curls and cerulean eyes.

39

Iwhimper as dark curls become visible over the top of the car. I'm climbing over Lach and throwing open the door before either of the guys has time to react. I swear it all happens in slow motion. Gravel crunches under my chucks as I run toward him. He turns. Our gazes collide, stormy seas taking me under. My name is on his lips as he closes the distance between us, his arms collapsing around me as I plow into him.

"Charlie," he whispers, his voice cracking, "God, I missed you." We squeeze each other tight, but it's impossible to feel close enough when there's clothing between us.

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