With his blank expression in place, he stared at her.

She set the piece on the chessboard and waited for him to say something biting and sarcastic. His eyes were dark and a tick jerked the left side of his impassive face.

“You may leave any time you wish. The debt is cleared.” He turned and unlocked the door then left the room.

Allie stared after him. “Well, hell.”

***

He strode to his office, paced in front of the window a few times, poured himself a scotch, and drank it in one swallow. It burned down his throat.

Bloody hell.

Trevor turned and very calmly, very precisely, threw his glass at the James Ward landscape hanging across from his desk. A few drops of whiskey trailed over the painting, and the glass shattered and rained to the floor. He should clean that up. No reason why Frances should take care of his mess.

He’d been worried about Allie since she came down for pre-dinner drinks. She’d been quiet and wan, but as they walked to the dining room, she appeared to be on the verge of a panic attack. She hadn’t eaten dinner, wouldn’t look at him.

He merely thought she was worried about her father and Brynn.

To know she still thought of herself as a whore—it gutted him. God, he thought they were past that. But her sad eyes ripped right through him.

He couldn’t have anticipated anything like her. She invaded his life, his home. His every bloody thought. He rubbed his breastbone. Now she was leaving him. He should be used to it by now. Everyone left.

Without knocking, Allie burst into the office, her gaze darting around the room. She took in the whiskeyed landscape and the broken glass before looking at him. When she did, her eyes pinned him to the floor. “Do you want me to go? Is that what you’re saying? Because if that’s what you’re saying, you should say it to my face.” She swung the door shut and advanced toward him. Allie’s chest rapidly rose and fell and she rubbed her palms against her skirt in jerky, nervous movements.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers to keep from reaching out and grabbing hold of her. “I said you may leave any time you wish. What is so bloody difficult to understand about that?”

She stepped closer, her face a mask of anger. “Quit being a coward. If you want me to go, say the words.”

He leaned down, got in her face. “If I wanted you to go, I would have said, ‘Allison get the fuck out of my house.’ Is that what I said? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, you idiot.” Her voice broke, and she swallowed before carrying on. “I wanted to hear that you want me without the stupid debt being in the way. That you don’t just want me because you bought me.”

“I want to fuck you because I like fucking you,” he yelled. “I like having you in my home, is that too difficult for your tiny brain to comprehend?”

“Good, because I like being in your home. But I don’t like having this mistress thing between us,” she yelled back. She gave his chest a shove with her finger for emphasis.

“That’s why I said the debt was cleared. Maybe you need your hearing checked.” He poked her back gently.

“I can hear just fine. You’re shouting loud enough to bring the house down.”

“I can shout however loudly I please”—his voice raised a decibel—“as it is my goddamned house.”

“Oh, I know it’s your house. And this is your dress.” She slapped her hands at her skirt. “And you got my car fixed and forgave my dad’s loan. It’s all yours, Trevor. What do I bring to the table?”

He did reach out then and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to him. “You make me feel human.” He kissed her, hard. “And you make me laugh.” The next kiss was tender. “And you keep me from killing my parents.” He showered her face with tiny pecks, her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. Then abruptly, he let her go. “But I won’t stop you from leaving if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want.” She put her hand over his heart.

It skipped a beat. He wondered if she felt that through her palm. “What do you want, Miss Campbell?”

She looked up at him with those impossibly blue eyes. “I want—”

There was a quiet knock at the door. “Mister Blake, Miss Campbell, is this a convenient time, or shall I come back?”

Allie leaned her head against Trevor’s chest and gave a little laugh.

Trevor groaned. “Come in, Arnold.”

Allie spun to face the door, and Trevor wrapped his arms around her waist. “Yes?”

“Miss Monica is leaving. I thought you should know.”

“Where’s she going?” Allie asked.

“I’m not sure, but she’s packing as we speak.”

“Thank you, Arnold,” Trevor said. After the butler left the room, Trevor rested his chin on Allie’s shoulder. “Damn, I was hoping for makeup sex.”

***

Trevor wanted her to stay. Did that mean he cared about her? She shouldn’t get sidetracked, thinking about Trevor and his feelings. Monica was leaving—probably going back to Brad the Douche the minute he snapped his fingers.

As she left the office and made her way upstairs, Trevor shortened his stride to match hers. Allie stood outside Monica’s room, Trevor at her side. Peering down at her, he reached out and caressed her cheek.

Wanting wasn’t the same as loving, she reminded herself, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Allie entered the room, but Trevor remained in the doorway. Clothes were strewn over every surface. How it could get like this in one day?

“You’re leaving?”

Monica wadded up a shirt and shoved in her duffel bag. “What was your first clue?”

“So, I take it you’ve heard from Brad?” Trevor asked, lounging against the doorjamb.

“Yeah. He said he’s sorry. He only cheated because I came here after being in jail. He was scared he was going to lose me, and he made a mistake.”

That’s what all the drama was about, Brad cheating? That was the dumbest excuse Allie’d ever heard. And her sister was moron enough to believe it. Did Monica get dropped on her head as a baby—what else could explain this level of stupidity? Allie literally had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from trying to talk Monica out of it. Minding her own business was hard.

“Call me this week if you want to get together and have lunch,” Allie said.

Monica froze and glanced up. “What? No, ‘Monica you’re ruining your life’ speech?”

Allie shrugged. “As you’ve pointed out many times, you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.” Mistakes was the word she was looking for.

“Oh.” Monica looked a little deflated before she resumed tossing her things in the bag. “By the way, I need to borrow some money for a lawyer. The court said they would appoint one, but Brad said to get a real one.” She paused and looked from Allie to Trevor.

“Sorry, Mon, I don’t have it, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“What? Since when?” Her brow furrowed as she glared at Allie.

Allie walked further into the room and fisted her hands to keep from taking everything out of that duffel bag and refolding it. “Since you want to make your own choices. Choices have consequences.” Just saying the words about killed her. She wanted to go with Monica to pick out the best lawyer they could afford—which wouldn’t be much, but she still wanted to help. And she wanted to lecture Monica on the stupidity of dropping out of school and dating losers. But what was the point?

“You’re just mad because I said you’re fucking Trevor for the clothes and shit, aren’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Allie saw Trevor push off the doorjamb. He strode forward, but she placed a hand on his forearm. She felt his muscles tense beneath her fingers. But when she squeezed his arm, he relaxed a bit.

“Aren’t you always talking about being a family? What good is family if you won’t help me out?”

“I’m always here to listen, Mon. Call me any time.”

“Is Brad coming to pick you up?” Trevor asked.