The Marriage Agenda (13 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Chloe couldn’t breathe. The entire point of betting Knox he couldn’t keep his hands to himself was precisely so he
would
, and the plan had backfired to the extreme. Sex was one thing, whereas sex after a maddening buildup of sexual tension promised to be especially damaging to her whole plan of walking away unscathed. To that end, as much as she wanted him, she held on to the miniscule hope that he was just toying with her.

But he quickly proved to her that he’d meant every word. As soon as the limo door shut behind him, he was on her, kissing her breathless. He walked her backward over the cobblestone driveway, his mouth and hands on her every step of the way, and fumbled with his keys and the security code without breaking contact. Poor Davis—or whatever the driver’s name—was assuredly getting an eyeful, but to her surprise, she really didn’t care. There was something intensely erotic about a man as powerful as Knox driven to such unrestrained passion…and that she was the subject of his affection was nothing short of mind-bending.

As soon as the front door closed behind them and he’d set down her little bonsai tree, he had her flat against the wall. The cool plaster left her gasping, but no more so than the hard length of his body, holding her captive. He tore at her dress, his palm finding her bare breast while he kissed her fiercely. When he granted a slight reprieve, she hadn’t the time to catch her breath before he started on her neck. “This bet,” he muttered, “has lasted too damn long.”

Her knees were liquid, and gravity had ceased to exist. She knew the latter to be true because when he withdrew enough to unbutton his pants and yank his shirt out of the way, she managed to stay upright despite all odds to the contrary. Only a second passed before he had her again, in one swift motion sweeping her dress up her thighs and lifting her, wrenching her underwear to the side as he plunged deep inside her.

He stilled, and but for the pounding of her heart and the quickness of their breaths, the world lay utterly silent. Then he shifted, pegging her hard against the wall. “Look at me,” he said, driving into her at an achingly slow pace. “The only thing I want more right now than to fuck you senseless is to watch you come for me, and I don’t want you fighting to keep it from happening because of a stupid bet.”

She nodded, her lip caught between her teeth. She couldn’t think of anything more unbearably intimate than maintaining eye contact while he sent her flailing over the edge. His every touch left her inebriated, but never too much to lose that singular focus—never so much that she wouldn’t fall headfirst in the wrong direction if she shared too much. She knew that about herself—knew she should say no to his deceptively simple request—but some irrational part of her wanted this moment for her emotional scrapbook…as if anything good could possibly come from revisiting it.

He kissed her, deeply, sweetly, as he moved in and out of her, but for all of his surety and strength, he trembled. Knox Hamilton overcome…it didn’t seem possible. The rational pace didn’t last any longer than it took her to catch her breath. Within seconds, the rocking turned into pounding, the vast entry hall echoing with the wet smack of skin on skin.

Her promise to look at him lodged in her throat for all of a minute before the impossible dam of desire inside her burst, and she was left clutching his shoulders, her ankles snagged hopelessly somewhere behind his back. She leaned her head against the wall and saw honest-to-goodness stars. And hearts…the kind that circled overhead making little tweety-bird noises.

Knox, still pulsing thick inside her, dropped his forehead to her shoulder and laughed. “I think my legs are locked.”

She squirmed, her intention to guide her own feet to the floor, but he shook his head and held her tighter. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmured. “If that’s okay. Because that was way too quick, and there’s so much we can do in a bed that we can’t against a wall.”

She laughed. “If you feel the need to redeem yourself, you won’t hear any complaints out of me. Besides, I’m pretty sure I lost the bet.” And the use of her legs.

“I think it was a tie. Don’t let go.”

As if. Her legs were numb, her arms felt like lead, and she was becoming increasingly aware of the fact her heart was in danger. She could do nothing
but
hold on.

He half walked, half shuffled to the bedroom, effortlessly carrying her despite the fact that his pants were somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles, The opulent house passed in a dizzied blur. She’d blame the champagne, but some things were so brilliantly clear…like his eyes. She didn’t dare label what she saw there, but while everything else wavered around her, his eyes were steady. Just as his arms were strong, and somewhere inside of him, a piece had to be hers.

He’d never convince her otherwise. But would that ever be enough?

By the time he lowered her to the bed, she could almost feel her limbs again. He graced her with a devilish grin, lacing his fingers with hers and settling into a flawless new rhythm. No greater intimacy existed than what they had in that moment, him staring so deeply into her eyes as he rocked against her, wearing nothing but a smile.

She was almost drunk with the medley of sensation. The thick, soft comforter at her back. A slight chill from the air conditioner. Knox’s soft lips. His hard body. And the overwhelming fulfillment only he had ever given her.

He broke free from the trail of kisses he’d left down her neck. “I’ve never done that before, you know.”

“Done what? Wall sex?”

“Bare sex.”

He’d always insisted on protection during their previous relationship, and despite the fact that they’d never gone without, they’d both been tested. It warmed her that he trusted her when she said she hadn’t been with anyone else…and that he’d chosen her to be his first.
It’s only sex,
she reminded herself.
No need to read anything into it.
But at least now she understood why he’d quizzed her so thoroughly over the birth control pills she’d left on the bathroom counter. “Was it any good?”

He grinned. “It still is.” He dropped his mouth to hers, teasing the seam of her lips until she let him in. He kissed her as deeply as he moved inside, and before she’d managed to climb back up the cliff, she was lost to another free fall, dragging him over the edge with her.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of breathing. Then he kissed her tenderly. “You’re amazing,” he murmured.

“You’ve mentioned that a time or two.”

He propped himself on one elbow, and with the other hand, teased a few tendrils of hair from her face. “I’m pretty sure I could never say it enough.”

Chloe groaned. “You’re killing me.”

His brow knit. “I thought I was being nice.”

“Never be nice. That’s the worst thing you can be.”

He looked at her in bewilderment. “What?”

“Sincere. You want to be sincere. ‘Nice’ sounds too much like you’re saying or doing something because it’s expected and not because you mean it.”

He rolled over, off her, his body disengaging from hers with a loud
plop
. It should have been funny.

It wasn’t.

“Chloe, I can’t love you. I don’t know what else to say.”

She sat up, dragging the sheet with her. “Try the truth. You don’t
want
to love me.”

“I thought we had an understanding—”

“Oh, no worries. I’m not out to change your mind.” That was the truth. He hadn’t even
looked
at her. What chance did she have of changing him?

“Then what the hell is the problem?”

“You tell me, Knox. You claim to stand for honesty, but you can’t stop lying to yourself. You’re not
Rex
. Don’t you get that? You’re
not him
.”

Now he looked at her. Dead on, and so intensely she nearly edged away from him. “Maybe not,” he said, “but I was the little boy who cried every damn time he made my mother cry. She never knew it—she never cried in front of me—but when her heart broke, so did mine. I’ve carried that burden for as long as I can remember. I used to wish she’d just take me and leave. I would have lived in a cardboard box if it meant she would be happy, because then
I
could have been happy. But no, she wouldn’t walk away. The family name meant too much to her, so she stayed. She stayed
strong
. Then Rex got himself caught, and the one thing that kept her hanging on all those years was destroyed. It was that damned name. She wanted me to have a foundation—a
legacy
, dammit—but Rex couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“No one blames
her
for that.”

“The reality can only matter so much, Chloe. She could have found happiness, but she held on to Rex because she wanted something to hand down to me. And now that he’s ruined the family name, everything she sacrificed for is gone. It’s just…wasted.”

She touched his arm. “That’s terrible, and I’m sorry for every bit of it. Truly. But nothing you’ve told me explains what you’ve got against letting yourself love someone.”

“Because, dammit, I’m
afraid
.”

The silence that followed was profound. And endless. Only the grandfather clock in the gallery carried on as if nothing had happened, the ticks grating in the quiet.

Minutes passed. Five. Ten. Twenty, for all she knew. Eventually he spoke. “Love isn’t worth it. Not for anyone, Chloe. Not even you.”

“You’re right,” she said, fighting tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re right. Loving someone is the biggest leap of faith you’ll ever take. Sometimes bad things happen, but if you don’t take the chance, you’ll miss every good thing life has to offer. Maybe your mom should have taken a chance and walked out on Rex, but it’s just as likely the chance she took was in staying. You’re not in a position to judge her. That was a personal decision on her part—maybe even a personal sacrifice—but whatever it was, I can guarantee she didn’t do it to watch you give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” he said. But he sounded defeated.

“No,
you’re
not giving up,” Chloe said. “But I think I’m going to have to.”

Chapter Seventeen

Knox stared through his windshield, trying like hell to focus on the road but seeing only Chloe. She was right—he really
was
an ass. Why had he thought he could make her forget about falling in love? Just because touching her had a way of chasing the shadows from her eyes didn’t mean it was a good idea. And now he’d gone and hurt her—
really
hurt her. She hadn’t said as much, but she didn’t need to. The expression on her face said it for her. And what she did after that made it ten times worse.

She didn’t fire back. She, who never let anything get past her, had simply rolled over to her side of that enormous bed, and she’d stayed there…not sleeping. He knew, because he’d grown so accustomed to the deep, even sound of her breathing that it had become his solace in the dead of the night. And that night, her breath was halting. Uneven. Not at rest.

He thought about apologizing, but for what? Being honest? Because when it came down to it, an apology would be a lie. He was sorry he’d upset her, but he couldn’t ease the brunt of the truth. Chloe meant the world to him, but he couldn’t love, and a woman like her couldn’t live any other way. Rebuilding that bridge between them would only harm her in the end.

She deserved more than that. She deserved more than him. And though he felt like the worst kind of man, he knew the best thing he could do was let her be hurt. Because then she would get mad, and eventually that would save her.

Something had to, because he sure as hell couldn’t.

…

There had been something different about the night of the reception—something for the longest time that Chloe couldn’t quite put her finger on. They’d been together at the charity dinner, but that hadn’t been about them. Maybe it hadn’t felt big enough. But at their reception, when he’d pulled her into his arms in front of everyone and Knox Hamilton had kissed Chloe Lochlan, the moment had been unmistakable. Something inside her had shifted.

And when he’d said he wouldn’t love her, that same something twisted. And shattered.

He was right. She knew he was. He’d made clear from the beginning she was entering a business relationship and nothing more, but facts hadn’t kept her heart from getting involved. The best thing Knox could have done was slam the door on those emotions, and though the timing couldn’t have been worse—after sex, of all times—she’d certainly felt the impact then, like no other. A rejection was one thing. One during the post-coital haze was just the kind of brutality she needed.

She was done. She had to be.

Fortunately, she had something else on which to focus. Pactron.

Eleanor Byrd was indeed the one behind Emerson Environmental’s thumbs-up on the Pactron project. Clearly they’d found a way to separate business and pleasure, but that didn’t explain the handwritten note from HL, whom she remained convinced was Pactron CEO Harold Levenworth. The files had almost certainly come from Rex, which meant the note thanking Rex for “pushing” the deal through probably belonged to him, as well.

Rex, Emerson Environmental, and Eleanor Byrd. The most bizarre of triangles, yet inexplicably connected. How…and just as importantly, why? And was there anyone else? She needed another look at those files. Knox was off at a two-day conference—convenient, because she had absolutely nothing to say to him—but he’d given her carte blanche over his files, so she grabbed her laptop and took it into his study.

His chair—the buttery soft one with which she’d fallen in love—smelled of leather. The scent, too, took her straight back to the limo and that night that had followed…how everything had been beyond perfect until he’d thrown that
not even you
at her. She had to give him credit—he was all about not misleading her—but how could he touch her the way he had and still utter those words? He could have at least waited until they were dressed. Hell, a distant text message would have been perfect. That way she could have fallen apart in private rather than given herself a headache trying not to fall apart in his bed.

But headache or not, she
hadn’t
fallen apart. Not then and not since. She couldn’t help how she felt about him, but until he got down on his knees and declared his undying love—and fat chance there—she was done with hoping anything would change. They had an agreement, and they’d both be a lot happier if she gave up the blind hope that it could ever be anything more.

She had her own career on which to focus, and she had a very strong feeling she’d find the key to it in those files.

She went first for the Pactron file, seeking any mention of Emerson. There were copies of the environmental study findings but nothing else that appeared to carry significance. Two other companies had provided environmental studies—Greenleaf and Impact—and both reports came back that the factory would have minimal detrimental effect on the site. Chloe was no expert, but the results didn’t make sense. In fact, at one time a developer had tried to put a subdivision of single-family homes on the land, but the ground had been too wet.

Too wet for houses but not too wet for a power plant?

She leafed through the rest of the files, but none were dedicated to Eleanor, Emerson, Greenleaf, or Impact Environmental. Or, for that matter, Harold Levenworth. In anyone else’s files, that wouldn’t be so unusual, but if these were Rex’s files…

The labels were handwritten. Chloe grabbed a stack and began flipping through them on a hunt for jotted notes. She found Rex’s signature and noted a similarity between the script and the printed version, but it wasn’t enough.

Then she hit the jackpot. One of Rex’s speeches, typed, but with notes in the margin. Who else but he would have written on one of his own speeches?

The files were Rex’s. They had to be. But why would he give anyone this information? Knox was probably the last person she should ask, but he was also her only option. Fortunately, she didn’t have to talk to him to find out what she needed to know. She weighed her alternatives for a moment, then picked up her cell and typed a short message in the text box.
Where did you get the files you left for me in your office?

She didn’t expect a rapid reply, considering Knox was off somewhere being fabulous, but she got one. Quickly.
My mom. She thought I might learn something useful.

“You think?” she murmured.
Are they Rex’s files?

I assume so. She said he kept them in the basement, so she figured he wouldn’t miss them.

Chloe sat back in Knox’s chair. She had Rex’s personal files, and they weren’t even that old—in fact, Pactron could logically be quantified as a current event. Why had he moved something so recent?

Her phone dinged.
Is something wrong
?

Wrong? Boy, was that ever open to interpretation.
Nope. Just wanted to make sure I had my bearings.
Thanks.

I’m tied up here through the weekend. I’m leaving Monday morning. Will I see you then for lunch?

Did it matter? She sighed.

She tapped her reply.
Not sure.

It was the easiest way to deal with Knox.

Rex presented another issue altogether.

Knowing for certain the files were his—and even better, that they had been relegated to the basement—gave her new purpose. It was generally a no-brainer that anything put in writing might be found, but private files—not from the office but from home—were another story. Rex would have had reasonable expectation these were for his eyes only…unless, of course, the feds raided his property, but that wasn’t a typical concern for most folks. Granted, Rex wasn’t most folks, but he had an ego you couldn’t fit a house around. If he was doing anything wrong, he probably didn’t think he’d be caught.

And he sure as hell hadn’t counted on her.

Chloe spent the next several hours going through every folder, page by page. Only a few facts stood out—most predominantly, the thank-you note signed HL.

And then there was the affair with Eleanor Byrd. It didn’t have to mean more than sex, but the fact she was such a big player in Pactron’s site approval gave Chloe pause. Either way, Rex had really stepped in it this time—there was nothing for connecting old dots like a very public scandal. He’d been sloppy, and if Chloe was on to anything, it was just a matter of time before someone else found it. Whatever it was.

Eleanor’s firm wasn’t the only one that gave approval to Pactron—two others had, as well. Acting on a hunch, Chloe pulled the reports from the other two companies and looked for the sign offs. Ronald Harris and Charles Martin. She didn’t turn up anything unusual for either name but made notes of them anyway.

She was just about to put the Pactron file back in Knox’s desk when she saw a piece of paper lying loose in the bottom of the drawer. It was handwritten and contained a series of numbers and letters.

Initials.

Included among them, EB, RH, and CM : Eleanor Byrd, Ronald Harris, and Charles Martin. Anything else would be far too much of a coincidence. Next to each one was a set of numbers. One—100k —suggested a hell of a lot of money. The next was a nine-digit number, and it was followed by another series of numbers. The nine-digit number was a routing number—it had to be. She typed it into her browser and pulled up the name of a bank.
Interesting.

But now what? She couldn’t exactly go trolling through his bank account records…or could she? Almost everything seemed to be online these days, but Chloe’s parents had been holdouts to that particular swath of technology, claiming they didn’t trust computers with their banking information. Rex was from the same generation…perhaps he felt the same way? She hadn’t seen anything dedicated to a bank among his papers, but it was just as Knox had said—finding something was a lot easier when you knew what you were looking for.

And soon she found it. Print bank statements. The bank account wasn’t in Rex’s name but in that of a charity. And right around the time the Pactron studies were returned, there were money transfers from the charity’s accounts to account numbers matching those labeled EB, RH, and CM…to the tune of one hundred thousand dollars each.

And a thank-you note from HL.

Had Rex paid for favorable studies? And if so, why? He hadn’t supported Pactron…at least not publicly. Very few people who weren’t behind the proposal had—it certainly wasn’t the popular thing to do, and Rex Hamilton had a real thing for being popular. He was also sloppy, unless he was keeping proof for a reason. The basement didn’t seem the most secure place for that, but there again, who would look for secrets in a bunch of old boxes in a basement? He had no way of knowing those files would ever see the light of day, much less the fingertips of a reporter for the
Washington Tribune
.

Hidden money transfers to key environmental analysts. A controversial project with inexplicable approval. And a thank-you note from the man at the helm.

Chloe had a strong idea of what was going on, but she wasn’t in a position to verify it.

But she knew someone who was.