“Lane. Listen, this is not—we’re not going back to the way it was before, remember? I don’t know why I did what I just did, but it doesn’t mean—”

He came at her, pulling her in for a kiss, his tongue penetrating her mouth. God help her, after a moment, she kissed him back.

Even as her head was telling her no, her body had its own ideas.

“It matters,” he said against her lips. “This matters to me even more than my family. Do you hear me, Lizzie? You have always, and will always, matter most to me.”

On that, he left and went to the door, pausing to level a stare at her over his shoulder—the kind that was a vow if she’d ever seen one.

Sitting down on the foot of his bed, she looked over at the wall they’d had sex against. The oil painting on the floor was utterly ruined, the canvas scratched and torn, but she didn’t go over to try to assess the damage. She just sat there and tried to convince herself it wasn’t a sign from God.

It was a while before she left his room, and she was careful over by the door, listening for voices or the sounds of footsteps before cracking the panels and peeking out. When there was nothing except silence, she all but leaped into the middle of the corridor and started walking fast.

Chantal’s room was across the hall and down a little, and as she passed it by, she could smell the woman’s expensive perfume.

Such a good reminder—not that she needed it—of why she should have left after that first interruption.

Instead of taking it to the next level at a dead run.

She had only herself to blame.

TWENTY-TWO

As Lane jogged downstairs, all he could think of was how much he wanted a drink in his hand. The good news—probably the only he was getting—was that when he arrived in the parlor, Samuel T. was helping himself to some Family Reserve, the sound of bourbon hitting ice needling Lane’s own craving into a full-blown addict’s claw.

“Care to share the wealth?” he muttered as he slid the wood-paneled pocket doors into place on both sides of the room.

There was so much he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

“My pleasure.” Samuel T. presented him with a healthy share in a squat crystal glass. “Long day, huh.”

“You have no idea.” Lane clinked his rim with the other man’s. “What can I do you for?”

Samuel T. drank his bourbon down and went back to the bar. “I heard about your controller. My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“You found her?”

“That’s right.”

“Been there, done that.” The attorney turned back around and shook his head. “Rough stuff.”

You don’t know the half of it. “Listen, I don’t want to rush you, but—”

“Are you serious about that divorce?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have a prenup?” When Lane shook his head, Samuel cursed. “Any chance she cheated on you?”

Lane rubbed his temple and tried to pull out of what had just happened with Lizzie … and what he had seen on that laptop. He wanted to tell Samuel T. to get with him tomorrow, but the problems with Chantal were going to be waiting in the wings, whether or not his family was going down in flames financially.

In fact, it was probably better to get that ball rolling rather than sit on it in light of the stuff with his father. The quicker he got her out of the house? The less insider information she could sell to the tabloids.

Not that he couldn’t see her becoming a talking head to the lowest common denominator if things went badly for the Bradfords.

“I’m sorry,” he said between sips. “What was the question?”

“Has she cheated on you?”

“Not that I know of. She’s just been in this house for two years, living off my family and getting manicures.”

“That’s too bad.”

Lane cocked a brow. “Didn’t know you had such a jaundiced view of marriage.”

“If she cheated on you, that can be used to reduce alimony. Kentucky’s a no-fault state for divorce, but misdeeds like affairs or abuse can be used to mediate spousal support.”

“I haven’t been with anyone else.” Well, except for Lizzie just now, upstairs—and about a hundred thousand times before that in his mind.

“That doesn’t matter unless you’re seeking support from Chantal.”

“Not a chance. A clean break is all I want from that woman.”

“Does she know this is coming?”

“I’ve told her.”

“But does she know?”

“Have you got papers for me to sign now?” When the attorney nodded, Lane shrugged. “Well, then, she’ll be aware of how serious I am as soon as she gets served.”

“Once I get your John Hancock, I’ll go directly downtown and file this petition. The court is going to have to conclude that the marriage is irretrievably broken, but I think, given that the pair of you have been living apart for about two years, that will not be a problem. I will warn you—there is no way she’s not going to hit you for support. And there’s a potential that this is going to cost you, especially because her standard of living has been so high here in this house. I’m guessing some of your trusts have kicked in?”

“I’m on the first tier. Second tier is triggered when I’m forty.”

“What’s your annual income?”