Allie crossed her arms, pretending that the warm pressure of his hand wasn’t making her skin tingle or her nipples tighten. Should she feel this way right after a deliciously powerful orgasm? Seriously—he was addictive.

Gazing out the window into the lighted garden, she cleared her throat. “I’d have thought you’d be glad your folks are getting back together. Instead, you’re in here, pouting like a child.”

He yanked his hand from beneath her skirt and shoved her off his lap. “You’re not here to think, Miss Campbell. Now run along. I have work to do.”

His words stung. Not only was she back to Miss Campbell, but he had also reminded her she was here for one reason. She’d fulfilled her obligation and now she was being dismissed. The satisfying afterglow she’d felt a moment before dimmed to a flicker.

“Right, I’m the whore. Sorry, I won’t forget again.” She made her way to the door.

“Wait.” His command stopped her in her tracks. “I thought you were hungry.”

Without looking back, she reached forward, her hand on the doorknob. “I changed my mind.”

“So did I. I’m feeling peckish after all.”

She dropped the handle and turned.

The look in his eyes was intense, but with a blink it was gone, and the old, sardonic Trevor was back in place. “So, tell me, what’s so special about these hamburgers?” He unfolded himself from the chair and grabbed his jacket.

***

The diner was a kitschy throwback to a 1950s soda fountain. Doo-wop music played from a jukebox in the corner. Could anything scream Vegas more than Elvis movie posters plastered to the wall and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling? Trevor hated it on sight.

Allie munched on a double cheeseburger and onion rings. “Mmm. This is the good stuff. My mom used to bring us here after back-to-school shopping when I was a little girl.”

“Fascinating.” He was still aggravated that she’d referred to herself as a whore. She wasn’t a whore, far from it. She was sweet and funny and responsive to his touch. Being inside her had been fucking fantastic. Mind-numbing.

And why was he becoming so heated about a word, anyway? She could call herself what she liked. He had other things to worry about, like how fast he could get rid of his parents.

Allie stole one of his fries, and he lightly smacked her hand. “What was it like for you, growing up with only one set of parents and playing the role of big sister?” Allie and her family were like a foreign tribe he wanted to understand, but he didn’t know the language. His stepsiblings, temporary though they were, had been dreadful.

“It was nice,” she said. “Lots of laughter, lots of bickering with my sisters, but not in a hostile way, like it is now. We were happy. Until my mom got sick.” Her eyes clouded with sadness. “Your parents must have hurt you very much.”

He looked down his nose at her. “Fuck your sympathy, Miss Campbell. I don’t need it. I’m perfectly content with my life. I doubt you can say the same. And I don’t need you to analyze me either. You’re a hotel clerk, not a shrink. When we get home, I’ll show you what your role is. I do hope you’re comfortable on your knees.” He hated that she felt sorry for him, viewed him as weak. He had rubbed along very nicely without the benefit of two competent parents, thank you very much. He’d had his grandfather, after all.

Allie stared at him silently for several moments, her blue eyes assessing him and eventually shrugged. “Yeah, I got the memo, I’m your whore. I’ll buy kneepads tomorrow. But I could see they upset you. Whatever went on in the past, I think it’s kind of nice that they want to include you in the wedding.”

There was that goddamned word again. Whore. Hearing it pissed him off. So did her opinion of his parents. “You don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about.” He glanced down at her plate. “Are you almost through? I still have work to do.”

“At ten o’clock at night?” she asked, munching on an onion ring.

“Foreign stock markets open at different times. There are countries other than yours, Miss Campbell. I know it’s hard for you Americans to comprehend that.”

She sipped her shake. When she released her straw, she handed him an onion ring. “Try one.”

He bit it in half. “Now let’s go.”

“In a minute. So, what do you invest in? Besides small businesses?”

He pushed his plate away. “Stocks, bonds, money markets, commodities. Why?”

“Just curious. Did my dad seem like a good investment to you?”

On paper, yes, Brian Campbell seemed like a very good investment. He owned a small used-appliance business that had turned a profit, and he wanted to expand into commercial refrigeration. All well and good. He didn’t need much capital—at least it wasn’t much to Trevor. To Brian, it had been a small fortune. But Trevor’s gut had told him no. And he rarely went against his gut.

But he’d been slightly—ever so slightly—moved at Brian’s optimism and his story of three daughters, one in college. Brian was a happy family man who wanted to give his wife and daughters a good life.

Against his better judgment, Trevor had loaned Brian enough money for tools, equipment, and office space. It had been a mistake, not following his instincts.

But if he had, Trevor never would have met Allison. Since she breezed into his office, she’d been playing havoc with his schedule and his libido. Still, he wasn’t sorry she was here with him. “I loaned him money, didn’t I? I must have thought so.”

“You know the business wouldn’t have failed if my mom hadn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

“But the reality is, she did get sick. She died, and your father defaulted, and you’re paying off his debt.” He knew he hurt her, could see it on her face. That lovely, delicate face. But he didn’t care. She needed to toughen up, the way he’d had to. Playing the what-if game was a waste of time. His voice softened. “It’s no good wishing things were different, Allison. You’ll never get ahead that way. Accept what is and use it to your advantage if you can. If not, move past it.”

She pushed her plate away and leaned toward him. “I don’t want to get ahead, English. I just want to get my family on track. That’s the difference between us. I give a shit about people.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You only care about yourself. And that’s what makes you an asshole. Now, I’m ready to go.”

She stood and waited for him to do the same. When they stepped outside, her spine was rigid beneath his touch, and she hugged herself against the cold night air. Trevor shrugged off his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

They didn’t speak on the way home. Inside the house, he walked her to the bottom of the steps, and before she could dart off, Trevor grabbed Allie’s arm. “You’re not a whore. Don’t ever refer to yourself that way again. It offends me.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her huddled in his jacket, holding on to the banister.

Chapter 8

Allie walked into the breakfast room the next morning and found Trevor sitting in his usual spot, phone in hand. He glanced up and did a double take.

“What the devil are you wearing, Miss Campbell?”

Allie almost smiled at the look of horror on his face. She stared down at her green polyester vest and black slacks. “My uniform, Mr. Blake.”

When Arnold set a full plate in front of her, she glanced down in confusion. “Are these baked beans?”

“Mr. Blake Senior asked for a fry-up. Very popular back home.”

Allie stared at the toast, hash browns, a tomato, bacon, sausage, a fried egg, and baked beans.

“If you eat all that, you’ll explode,” Trevor said. “And by the way, Arnold, Mr. Blake Senior doesn’t pay the bills around here. I do. So I’ll thank you to listen to my breakfast orders, not my father’s.”

“Of course. When he makes his next request, shall I refer him to you, sir?”