To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(76)

Seth turned his head slightly, kissing her fingers. “Just a little paper cut. This isn’t going to leave lasting scars.”

I’ll make sure of it.

“I don’t want to see him,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Maybe that’s still me avoiding, but I just . . . I don’t know what he can say other than sorry, and weird as this sounds, I don’t think sorry is what I need from him. I need for him to leave me alone.”

“Well, the good news is that he’s still a couple time zones over,” Seth said. “And from what you’re saying, I’m sure his plea bargain involves probation, plus hours of whatever testimony he must have agreed to hand over to the feds to avoid jail time.”

She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. “I suppose. The whole thing just makes me feel tired.”

The need to care for her was fierce. “Let me take you home. To my hotel,” he clarified.

Please say yes.

Brooke dropped her hand back to her lap, giving him a small, tired smile. “I’d really like that.”

Seth smiled in victory before standing and holding out a hand to her.

The moment when her palm touched his felt like . . . everything.

Hours later, Brooke had taken a bubble bath, eaten a mountain of homemade macaroni and cheese, made by Seth himself, courtesy of Manhattan grocery delivery and some guidance from the Food Network, and consumed just enough wine to have dropped into sleep the second her head hit the pillow.

Seth smiled as he tugged the blankets up mostly over her head, knowing by now that she preferred to be nestled as deeply as possible under the covers.

He had every intention of going to clean up the kitchen before booting up his laptop and figuring out just how much he’d missed in his unexpected time off this afternoon.

Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his legs as he stared blankly at the closet door and took in the shock of the day.

Brooke’s con-man ex had managed to wiggle his way out of prison time.

Seth swore softly, his head falling forward.

For all his reassurances to Brooke that Clay would be held up on the West Coast, the truth was, Seth couldn’t count on any of that.

And even if Clay was stuck in California, the man had access to the Internet and phones. Even if he couldn’t see Brooke, he could make contact.

A man who’d betrayed her trust in the most blatant, violating way possible could hurt her again with minimal effort.

Damn it. It wasn’t right.

Seth couldn’t stop Clay from calling her, or texting her. It’s not as though he could monitor Brooke’s phone, and even if he could, he wouldn’t.

He was controlling, not psycho.

Brooke made a sleepy sound, and Seth turned his head slightly, watching as she shifted under the covers, pulling more tightly into a ball.

Seth’s chest tightened. There was no way he could sit back and do nothing. No way he would let someone else he cared about be blindsided by fate.

For long minutes, Seth sat at her bedside, thinking.

Planning.

Seth couldn’t control Clay Battaglia’s actions.

However, he could monitor them.

The question was . . . should he?

Seth closed his eyes, wishing that he could call Grant. His friend would likely have some zero-bullshit advice. But other than curt exchanges about work, the two men hadn’t spoken since their argument a week earlier. Even if Grant picked up his call, Seth had a good idea what his friend would say. Don’t do it, man.

Brooke stirred again, rolling closer to him. Her knees hit his hip, and her face emerged from under the covers, apparently wanting to see who was blocking her space.

She gave him a sleepy smile. “Hi.”

He smiled back.

“You know watching women sleep fits into the creepy category, right?”

“I thought it was fair game as long as I didn’t have a camera.”

She giggled, a happy sound that was at odds with her ragged sobbing from earlier.

Those giggles were everything, and he knew then.

Knew that he would do anything to keep her from crying again.

He waited until her breathing had resumed the slow regularity of sleep before he quietly went back into the kitchen.

But instead of tackling the dishes, Seth unplugged his cell phone from his charger, taking it into the small den off the living room and closing the door behind him.

And made the call.

Tommy Franklin picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Tyler, how can I help you?”

“Franklin. How are you?” Seth forced himself to keep his voice steady and cool, as though this were a normal business arrangement. He didn’t bother with small talk.

“Fine. Although, if you’re checking on my progress, I already told you I’ll reach out when I have something concrete.”

“I’m calling about something else, actually.”

“Ah.”

Seth took a deep breath, gave himself a chance to back out. Then he remembered Brooke’s tears.

“I’m wondering if you do business on the West Coast,” Seth said gruffly. “Or if you have any colleagues you recommend.”

“Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

Last chance to back out . . .

Seth rubbed his forehead, bowed his head. And pressed forward.