Ruins of Temptation (Corium University Trilogy 4)

He’s washing dishes by the time I get it together enough to pull my clothes on. The man is a mystery. I don’t know exactly what inspired him to do that, but I know I want him to do it again. How can I make him?

Out of nowhere, he speaks, shattering the illusion. “By the way, you’re moving to the dorms first thing in the morning.”

22

LUCAS

There’s nothing like a phone call in the middle of the night to get a man’s heart racing. A hundred ugly thoughts race through my head in the time it takes to fumble for my phone, pick it up, and answer the call. “Nic?”

“Sorry I woke you, but I didn’t think this could wait until morning.” Unlike me, he sounds wide awake. I glance at the alarm clock. It’s a few minutes past three.

My heart catches in my throat. “What are you doing up?” I push into a sitting position, my thoughts racing, headed for the worst-case scenario first. Things haven’t always been great with my brother and me, but no one has been by my side like he has. “Is everything okay there?”

“We’re fine.” He sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything is fine here.”

Fuck me. I could’ve had a heart attack. “You should’ve led off with that.” I sigh. “Now, what was worth waking me up at three in the morning?”

“I found information on Delilah.”

That did it. I’m more alert than I’d be if I stepped into an ice-cold shower. “What did you find that couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Technically, it is morning, and money.”

My grip on the phone tightens. If I’m not careful, I’ll crush the damn thing before he gets to finish what he has to say. Breathe. I need to rein it in. I need to hear this. But somehow, all I can think about is how I had the girl on a table, legs spread, her fingers slicing through my hair as I licked her pussy until she creamed against my face.

“Specifics?” I croak, ignoring my hardening cock.

“Specifically, a trust fund.”

That lying little bitch.

The force of my reaction rocks me. Like a snake darting out from the shadows, fangs out, and ready to strike. That dark part of me, the part I’ve worked to suppress. All it needs is an excuse to show itself, and this might be exactly that.

“Details?” I choke out.

“Valentine’s the one who set it up. I can send you the info right now if you want.” His pause is unsettling. “I want you to see it for yourself.”

I’m moving before I know what I’m doing, walking out into the living room, pulling out the laptop, setting it on the coffee table, and flipping it open.

“Give me a second,” I mumble. It’s never taken me so long to open my email.

“I have nowhere else to be.”

I snicker, casting a look toward the guest room. She’s behind that locked door. Sleeping like a baby. Like she deserves to. “Bed, maybe?”

“At this point, why bother? You know how it is. You get deep in your work, and you lose track of time.”

Nic’s email is at the top of my inbox. I pull it up, leaning close to read some of the finer print of the PDF. It’s a bank statement, pretty standard looking—except for the fact that there are a shit ton of zeroes involved. “Goddamn it.”

“Ten million dollars.”

“That lying little—” I have to lower my voice to a whisper to keep from waking her. I won’t give her time to prepare for what’s coming. I’m not the type of man to give a warning. Plus, she didn’t give me a warning about her little trust fund. “You wouldn’t believe the sob story she’s been feeding me all this time.”

“What did she tell you?”

It makes me cringe to think of it. How easily she misled me. “That she had no money and lived in a trailer with her aunt. Dirt poor, by the sound of it. No help from her old man.”

He grunts. “Well, that could still be true. It’s not as if she could access the money yet. It has only existed for a few months.”

I zoom in on that little detail on the next attachment, and my stomach drops. This is worse than I assumed. “This is a genuine document?” I whisper, hoping against hope.

“Of course it’s a genuine document. I found it myself. Since when have I given you a reason to question my work?”

I ignore his question altogether and stare at the date the account was created. My stomach churning in a way that makes me feel like I’ve just gotten off a boat that was lost at sea for months.

“The date…” I say more to myself.

“I know.” His voice is quieter now, too. “That’s why I didn’t think it could wait. That was the day—”