Page 75 of Bourbon and Proof

There’s plenty. But the most important thing to discuss is what would affect her the most. “You’ve been given the keys to your father’s entire estate while he’s under house arrest and providing he’s incarcerated. I know the ballpark numbers of what that looks like.”

She nods, letting me finish my point.

“I want you to use all of it. Pay debts to the people who did nothing wrong, and the rest, invest it where it could count.”

She rests her thumbnail between her teeth, working over what I just proposed. At the end of the day, I may have access to what’s hers, but it isn’t my decision. I simply want her to take the lead and stop allowing her father to have any type of power over her. “And then what happens?” she asks.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Maybe initially that was the plan, but she needs to understand the moving parts and the main player. “Your father will inevitably find out there’s nothing left. Likely from his attorney. Then they would need to choose either to abandon him or work pro bono. And if we’re lucky, then he ends up exactly where he belongs. And the mess he made might not be fixed, but it’ll be funded. And that’s a start.”

She nods, biting her lip, knowing all too well how risky this will be. As she’s about to say something, she does a double take at the far side of the room. Squinting and head tilted, she sets the blueprints down and heads right in that direction. It doesn’t hit me what she’s looking at until it’s too late.

One of the drawers along the top was left open and the papers that were covering it must have shifted when I opened the big window. She holds up a pair of dark pink satin and lace panties, and below it, the unmistakable black envelope with cursive white handwriting. I swear I stop breathing.

“Hadley,” I say, coming up behind her.

“How do you have these?” she asks, turning around to look at me. I can tell that she hasn’t worked out why or how just yet. “I send them to a person in Colorado who pays me exactly one thousand dollars per pair. Every month. For the past?—”

“Five years,” I answer, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Give or take.”

Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. “You? This was you?” she says, flustered.

There aren’t too many times in my life where I’ve been at a loss for words, but right now is one of them. And it seems the same can be said for her as she stares at me, and then the panties, and then me again. I never considered this ever happening—her finding out and realizing the level of crazy this turned into.

I pluck the pair out of her hands and walk back toward the other side of the room. The muscles along my forearms twitch as I grip the satin. It’s a habit to feel the material, smell what she left behind on them, imagine exactly how she looks wearing them.

“That makes no sense. How do you even know about?—”

With nerves thrumming through my body, I lift the pair up to my nose, and she watches, curiously and quietly. Keeping my eyes connected with hers, I inhale.

Her lips part, and she takes a step closer to me—still far enough away that I can’t tell if I’m turning her on or scaring the shit out of her.

“How?” She shakes her head. “Better yet,whydo you have these?”

The simple answer is one I’m not sure she’s assuming. I lower my voice when I say, “You were talking to Lincoln about needing to make money. The fact that it didn’t dawn on you to just get a job I thought was a bit hilarious. I thought that was where you were going with it, that you were going to ask himto work at the distillery, but instead, you went on and on about selling your panties on a website.” I laugh to myself, even though she might not find it all that amusing.

She clears her throat and lifts her chin. “It was easy money. And I needed to be able to pay for things like food and my own bills. I had just used everything I had to my name to?—”

“Buy that building and start renovating for Midnight Proof, I know.”

Eyes on mine, she takes another step closer. “You were paying attention.”

I chuckle at the ridiculousness of that statement.

She points at me. “Don’t do that. Don’t laugh or have a conversation about this with yourself. I’ve just found my panties in your drawer. I should be the one with the attitude.”

“I was always paying attention,” I admit. Undoing the top button of my shirt, I then unbutton the right cuff and fold it back, once, twice, three times. I do the same to my left, moving the panties to my other hand. Releasing a breath, I sit down on the leather couch, legs spread wide, and take a long look up her body, savoring every second that she’ll allow for me to look at her this way. If I’m going to tell my wife I’ve been obsessed with her for far too long, then I’m going to do it while I’m comfortable and staring at what I’ve wanted for longer than what would be considered acceptable.

Without a word, she watches me do all of this while taking small steps closer, allowing me to be in control. But she’s the one holding all the cards.

“Stop there,” I demand.

Her steps falter and she does exactly as I ask, almost begrudgingly, by the way she sends me a glare. Her hip cocks out, chin raises, and shoulders straighten, like she’s squaring off for a fight. But that’s the last thing I want from her right now.

“Tell me why,” she orders, just as she moves the left strap of her dress over her shoulder and down her arm, exposing the top of her gorgeous tit and its pretty, puffy nipple.

A trickle of relief seeps in at her developing reaction. I lick my lower lip, my mouth flooding with the need to wrap around it and suck on it until she’s moaning.Jesus. Shifting in my seat, I watch her take another step closer.

“At first, I was curious. I wanted to see what you listed. What they looked like. I wondered if they were panties you had already owned, or if you had worn them before.”

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