Trust by Design (Colorado Trust 2)

Hyper conscious of her lack of underwear, she tugged to lower the hem of Dean’s soft cotton T-shirt as she left the bedroom. She glanced over the loft railing as casually as possible while her heart raced in nervous anticipation. Other than their discarded clothes, and the tray of dishes on the coffee table, the room appeared empty.

Relief and disappointment slowed her erratic pulse a little. This morning-after stuff was new territory for her with so many emotions involved, including worrying about the depth of his feelings. She tried to caution herself against raising her hopes too high, but after the connection she was pretty sure they both experienced last night, it was a futile effort.

The delicious aroma of coffee strengthened as she skimmed down the stairs. Being it was a little after nine and knowing Dean, he was probably already hard at work.

Anxious to see his face and tell him about her revelation, she paused only long enough to don her red panties from the pile of her clothes on the back of the couch, then moved around to take the loaded tray into the kitchen with her.

A sideways glance noticed handwriting on the open page of the notebook she’d been using yesterday.

We need to talk. Don’t leave. Will be back soon.

Forgetting about the tray, she reached for the note. The dark, leaden letters were heavily indented in the paper. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll as she pictured his eyebrows drawn together while he jotted the terse-looking words.

No, Good morning.

No, Last night was great.

Certainly no, Love, Dean.

Foreboding tightened her gut as well as constricted her chest. Something had happened between the time she’d fallen asleep in his arms and when he’d written this note. Maybe command was the better description of his words. Without him here, she couldn’t ask, and her mind was already trying to come up with reasons why he’d left without waking her.

She dropped the notebook back on the table and quickly dressed in her own clothes. As she carried the tray into the kitchen and poured herself a cup from the half-pot of coffee on the warmer, she wondered if Jackson had done something to get caught last night after all? Hopefully, the answer was yes.

She’d been about to ask Dean if Jackson had been the one who’d run him off the road, why hadn’t the jerk shown up at the house, but he’d chosen that moment to declare the conversation about the thorn in both their sides over. If she could figure out if that charity organization had anything to do with Jackson’s threats, that would be one more nail in his proverbial coffin. It was a long shot, but still a shot, and the only thing that stood out in her mind.

She carried her mug back into the great room to start researching the charity, but stopped when she realized her computer wasn’t on the coffee table. Frowning in confusion, she turned to glance toward the kitchen. She was sure she’d left it out here…unless Dean took it into his office. Wondering why he would, she took the final step to snag her cell phone and then strode across the hardwood floor while checking for any new messages.

No texts or voicemails, but six new emails in her inbox. The first was from Matt Robinson, co-owner of the online media streaming company MovieMail. She’d redecorated his vacation home in Estes Park last fall, and now he was requesting she fly to L.A. to do some work in his new beach house. The business potential gave her pulse a little leap, but she’d have to reply to him later.

The second email was the daily TI News Briefs, and she scrolled her thumb to move on to the next. When it opened instead, she hit delete with a frown of impatience. The screen blinked back to her inbox just as her eyes registered the words in the first headline.

Technology Solutions announces—

She frantically pressed buttons on the screen as dread swept through her. What? Announces what?

The email reappeared in her Trash box and she read the announcement for Jackson’s impending release of Dean’s software. Her hand fisted on the phone as she thought of what Dean’s reaction would be when he saw—

She jerked her head up, eyes wide. Considering the note and his absence, no doubt, he already knew.

“Oh, no…he wouldn’t,” she whispered.

But the last time she’d woken up and he hadn’t been in the house was because he’d gone over to make Jackson pay for having threatened her. Now the sonofabitch had threatened his entire company, and Dean was gone once again. Any retalia

tion right now would give Jackson more than enough ammunition for a civil suit that could potentially break Dean—if not land him in jail.

Jackson deserved to be locked up, not Dean.

She ran to the guest room where she’d intended to sleep last night and grabbed her jacket and keys. On her way out the door, she called his cell phone and prayed he’d answer before doing anything that could ruin his future. Their future.

The call went to voicemail as she started her car and drove down the driveway that’d been cleared of hazardous ice by the bright, spring sunshine. His low voice telling her to leave a message put butterflies in her stomach, and she hoped her frantic plea not to do anything until they talked made sense enough to convince him to wait until she got there. Then she worried he wouldn’t get the message at all and sped toward Jackson’s.

Two more calls on the way went unanswered, and fifteen minutes later, she braked to a sudden stop on the road near her ex’s house. Though she recognized the dark truck in the driveway, the red BMW parked next to it was unfamiliar. With Dean’s SUV totaled in a ditch, she had only one way to find out if it was his.

Now that she was here, the thought of facing Jackson again took more nerve than she’d anticipated. But she could not let him control her life in any way again—especially not with fear. After a couple deep breaths to combat her racing pulse, she gathered her courage and parked behind the truck.

Her hands shook once she stood on the porch, and she wished she’d thought to call Joel to come with her. The back-up would’ve been nice. She hesitated, then slid her hand into her pocket for her phone.

No more than she pulled it out, raised, angry voices filtered through the door. Too late. She couldn’t make out the words in the heated exchange, but quickly jabbed a finger at the little glowing button alongside the door.