Trust by Design (Colorado Trust 2)

“T-that’s no fun,” he complained, pulling the throw down onto his lap.

“Get over by the fire,” she ordered. “I’m going to get you some dry clothes.”

She sidestepped out of reach until he asked, “C-can I use your phone? I lost mine in the car and need to let Mike know I’m h-home so he doesn’t call the police.”

After handing over her cell, she hurried up the stairs for clean briefs, socks, a pair of drawstring lounge pants, and a T-shirt. By the time she returned, her phone sat on the coffee table, and he’d wrapped the blanket around him to sit on the stone hearth in front of the crackling fire. One quick glance at the pile of wet clothes on the floor confirmed he was naked under that Sherpa throw.

Mmm. What she wouldn’t give for a peek.

Yeah, right. You had your chance, chicken.

So true. She handed him the dry clothes, then stepped over to pick up the wet ones. “No coffee since the power is out, but I can light the burner on the gas stove and either make you some tea, or hot chocolate.”

“There’s a bottle of Frangelico in the bar in my office. Throw in a couple shots of that, and I’ll take the hot chocolate.”

Sounded good to her, too. And even better, she noticed his chilled chatter had completely disappeared.

“You get a hold of Mike?”

“Yes.”

“You should also report your accident so the cops don’t search for you if they come across your vehicle,” she suggested over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

In the kitchen, she started boiling the water in the tea kettle, opened a couple cans of chicken soup from in the cupboard, then went to spread his clothes over the utility tubs in the laundry room off the back hall. A quick trip to his office retrieved the hazelnut liqueur, and she was back at the stove to stir the soup and mix the hot chocolate.

He was still in front of the fire when she returned with a loaded tray of steaming mugs and soup bowls. A corner of the blanket slipped when he reached to take a mug, revealing his bare shoulder. “Thank you.”

Heaven help her, was he still naked under there?

She peeked sideways while setting down the tray, and breathed a silent breath of relief—or maybe disappointment—when all she saw was his T-shirt on the hearth. A glance down confirmed socks and pants visible beneath the bottom edge of the blanket.

“Did you call the police?”

He nodded.

“Good, then come and eat. I heated some soup for dinner.”

“You didn’t have to do all this, but I appreciate it,” he said as he came joined her on the couch.

“It’s the least I can do,” she murmured, swiveling to hand him a bowl of the hot soup. Then she slid back with her own. It was a big couch, yet he’d sat close enough that his thigh rested against hers, solid and surprisingly warm. Her nervous reaction was to shift away, but she checked it at the last second.

“Before, you said someone almost hit you. What happened? Clearly they didn’t stop to help.”

“A truck came up behind me way too fast for the conditions,” he explained as they ate. “I eased over toward the shoulder and when it passed, I thought it might be Jack. But by then, my tires caught in the gravel and it pulled me right to the edge. With the ice, I had no way of stopping.”

“Do you really…” She paused as the rest of the sentence registered in her head.

“What?”

“I realize it may be a dumb question given what’s already happened, but do you really think he’d do something like that? I mean, you could’ve been killed.” The thought shot agonizing pain through her heart.

“It’s precisely because of what’s already happened that I wouldn’t put anything past him,” Dean affirmed. “He’s in much deeper than just stealing from me.”

She couldn’t help a glance of surprise. “How do you know that?”

“The PI I’ve got looking into him learned some interesting things from some reliable contacts.”

Must be the guy Jackson had said was following him around, poking his nose into his business.