The Gamble (Colorado Mountain #1)(35)

“Considerin’ I check my e-mail about once every three months, dump most of it, check the weather every once in awhile and got nothin’ else on there, ain’t nothin’ to hack.”

I sighed and explained, “Yes but you rent this place and other people could use it, look up  p**n , maybe even icky stuff.”

He grinned. “Icky stuff?”

I ignored his grin and the way it communicated he thought I was adorable (and the way that made me feel) and continued, “Icky stuff, icky stuff that could get you into trouble. Don’t you watch television?”

“Not much.”

“Well, your every day pedophile probably wouldn’t hesitate renting a beautiful, A-Frame in the mountains and enjoying himself by accessing your one, two, three, four computer.”

“Jesus, darlin’.”

“Sick people are everywhere. Just watch Criminal Minds.”

“If that’s their subject matter, I’m thinkin’ I’ll avoid it.”

“It’s really good,” I told him, warming to my topic because I liked that show and therefore I idiotically lost myself and did not keep my mouth shut. “They have this really smart, genius guy who’s fascinating. And this really sharp, tough lady. And this hilarious computer mastermind who wears funky clothes and always has perfect lipstick. And they almost always get the bad guy.”

He was grinning down at me again when he muttered, “Sounds like I’m missin’ out.”

“It’s worth it just for Penelope Garcia’s lipstick and the stuff she wears in her hair, trust me,” I shared.

I stopped talking when I saw his eyes start glittering and his body start shaking and his face definitely said he thought I was adorable.

Instead, I looked at the computer and got down to business, clicking through the screens to take me to the window that changed the password and I asked, “What’s your favorite number?”

“Lucky number’s three.”

I pulled in breath through my nostrils. That was my favorite number.

And it was Charlie’s.

“Okay, then, something three…” I prompted.

“Make it up, Nina.”

“Give me something to go on.”

“Just make it up, I’ll write it down and hide it somewhere.”

I looked up at him. “Max –”

He cut me off and said, “Three duchess three.”

I wasn’t certain but I was pretty sure I felt the blood draining from my face.

I didn’t shift my eyes from the screen when I asked, “Sorry?”

“Three duchess three, I won’t forget that.”

“But –”

“Type it in, babe.”

“But, Max –”

“Type it in.”

I sat there paralyzed and when I didn’t move Max leaned into me, picking out the letters on the keyboard with one finger then again to confirm then his hand covered mine on the mouse and he clicked “OK”.

His hand still on mine on the mouse, he twisted his head to look at me and he said, “That should do it.”

“I have to go,” I blurted and watched his brows draw together.

“What?”

I slid my hand from under his, rolled the chair away as he straightened and I stood, repeating, “I’ve got to go.” I held out my hand, palm up and requested, “Can I have my car keys?”

His brows were still knitted when he asked, “Where you goin’?”

“To town.”

“To shop?”

“To check into the hotel.”

He took a step toward me murmuring, “Duchess.”

I took a step back.

He stopped, his brows snapped together again and his face grew dark.

“What the f**k?”

“Thanks for, you know, today and last night and everything but, I have to go.”

“Why?”

Why?

There were so many reasons we’d both be eighty if I took the time to enumerate them all.

“I just do.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Max –”

“One,” he demanded firmly.

“Okay,” I said to get it over with, “maybe I’ve got it wrong, what’s happening here, but if I don’t perhaps I should remind you, I’m wearing another man’s engagement ring.”

“You don’t gotta remind me, Duchess, you gotta remind you.”

Oh drat.

I was getting angry, I could feel it.

“I’m sorry?” I said quietly.

“No woman had my ring on her finger when I got into bed with you last night.”

“Yes, well,” I leaned toward him, “I’m glad you brought that up.”

“Because you’re pissed I did it?”

“Yes!”

“Then why’d you wake up at two and stay in bed with me until mornin’?”

I stared at him at a loss for words mainly because any explanation I could give him I was never going to give him. And I realized, belatedly, even if it was to give him something as important as a rock solid alibi when the police popped by to question him as a potential murder suspect, perhaps I shouldn’t have shared that tidbit.