to Aubrey and Liz. The cop had nothing but suspicion. If he had any evidence, their talk would have been down at the police station.
Clint had been careful and used Aubrey’s past and crazy threats to hurt herself against her.
He smiled as he walked back into his kitchen.
The cop couldn’t prove a damn thing. Not even stealing Tate’s phone and the texts to Liz.
The grin faded to an angry frown. That bastard Tate talked his way out of it and got back together with Liz. He made Liz believe Clint had sent the texts.
Well, just like he had with the cop, he’d make Liz doubt Tate once again.
She’d see Tate as a fraud and come back to Clint where she belonged.
Chapter Nineteen
“Did you sleep well?”
Liz handed the plate of eggs and fried potatoes to Declan. A self-conscious blush burned her cheeks despite his innocuous question. Being a redhead made it hard to hide such things. “Yes.”
She’d slept better the last four days than she had in a long time. Not that she and Tate got much sleep. They’d been messing up the sheets every night on some unspoken mission to make up for lost time.
And she couldn’t help but revel in it.
And with thoughts of all they’d shared, her blush deepened.
Declan, ever the gentleman, ignored it.
She never thought it would be like this. Oh, she’d imagined they’d be close, in sync, and get along well, but nothing her mind conjured came close to the depth of feelings Tate made her feel for him and about them when they made love.
It gave her a newfound optimism for their future.
The initial awkwardness and apprehension faded into oblivion after their first night together.
It felt damn good to look at Tate and know—all the way to her soul—he wanted to be hers.
She didn’t question it anymore. Tate didn’t give her any reason to deny it, and every reason to believe it. She finally saw that he did everything he could each day to show her he loved her.
Declan took his seat at the table and dug in. Mouth full, he moaned, then stuffed another bite into his mouth even though he hadn’t finished chewing the first one.
“You act like you haven’t eaten in a month.”
“You’re a better cook than me and Tate.” He held her gaze. “So, how long do you plan to stay?”
“For a while. Until it’s safe for me to be at home. Is that okay?”
Tate didn’t have the only say. This was Declan’s home, too, and she didn’t want to put him out or become an unwelcome guest who overstayed her welcome.
Declan shrugged and scooped up a pile of eggs on his fork. “Fine by me. Drake and Adria got home yesterday from their honeymoon. They’re up at the cabin now, packing their stuff. Tate plans to move in to the cabin after that. You guys can be alone there.” Declan’s knowing grin made her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
She couldn’t believe he assumed she and Tate would move in together permanently. She and Tate hadn’t made any plans or talked about what came next.
“I thought we could fix up the cabin, add on to it. Make it ours.” Tate came up behind her, put his hand on her shoulder, turned her to him, and kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in weeks. And just like last night, she melted against his big body. She gave in to the need to be closer to him. Her mind scrambled and she completely lost track of what he said and the unbelievable joy those words evoked—at the same time she was surprised as hell he’d simply say that’s what he planned to do for them.
Tate pulled back way too soon. “Morning, sweetheart.” His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed from lack of sleep.
It made her smile. “Morning.” She placed her hand on his jaw and brushed her thumb over the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave before or after his shower this morning.
He leaned into her touch and stole her coffee mug off the counter at the same time. The mischievous grin made the butterflies in her stomach take flight and fill her with anticipation in hopes that she and Tate repeated everything they did last night again soon.
Tate took a sip of her coffee and stared at her over the rim. “Where do you think you’re going?” He didn’t miss a thing, like the barest glimpse of her work shirt under her sweatshirt.
“You heard Detective Valdez.” He’d called after his interview with Clint