into the deep end of the swamp. As is falling for his mind games. He always used crude innuendos to get under my skin. He’d laugh his ass off if I made a pass at him. And I’d have to throw myself off a cliff somewhere.
Setting my shoulders back, I cross the room, aware of my clicking heels and swaying hips, aware of Macon watching me. I’m being overtly sexual, but there is power in that. A woman can choose to embrace it when it suits. And it definitely suits me now. If my lipstick is stating, “Fuck off,” my body is saying, “This is what you missed out on, and you haven’t cowed me one bit.”
Petty? Maybe.
Enjoyable? Definitely.
But not advisable. I give myself another mental slap to stop messing around.
His expression gives nothing away as I sit down and cross my legs. “I couldn’t find her,” I say without preamble.
“Clearly.”
“I know it looks bad—”
“Because it is bad.”
“But she’s never . . .” Hell. Never what? Stolen something before? I can’t say that for certain. Never skipped town? I know for a fact she’s done that before. Many times. I feel sick. “It’ll kill my mother if Sam gets arrested.”
Macon’s lips flatten, going white at the edges. “My mother is dead. All I had left of her was that watch.”
Empathy softens my tone. “I know.”
It happened the summer my family moved to California. By the time we received word that Mrs. Saint had died of an aneurism, she’d already been buried. It was the one time I felt truly sorry for Macon, and I willingly signed the card my parents sent.
Faced with Macon’s tight expression, I feel the urge to offer some words of comfort. But he talks before I can open my mouth. “Sam knew that too. It didn’t stop her from stealing it.”
The hole just keeps getting deeper. And here I am without a shovel. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am. But if you could give me more time to—”
“No.” The word is as flat as his stare.
“I’m certain I can eventually—”
“No, Tot. Not even for you.”
I blink. Even for me? When has he ever given me any sort of concession?
Macon gives me a knowing look. “We may have hated each other, but our interactions were always interesting. That has to count for something, considering how boring our town was.”
If he says so. I’d rather kick his good shin every time he calls me “Tot.”
Don’t kick the guy holding your sister’s freedom in his hands, Dee.
“Look, Sam was a total shit for what she did. And I know I can’t replace a sentimental heirloom.”
His brow lifts as if to say, “No shit, Sherlock,” but he stays silent.
“All I can do is attempt to cover the loss.” My hand shakes as I fumble with the catch on my purse. “I have a check for fifty thousand dollars that I’m—”
“Hold up.” He lifts a hand to forestall me. “I can’t take that check.”
“But you can,” I insist. “I know it isn’t the same thing, but I can try to make amends by reimbursing you.”
His lips twitch with clear irritation. “Delilah.”
God, it’s almost worse when he says my real name. At least with “Tot” my immediate reaction is rage and annoyance. When he says Delilah, his voice works over my skin like hot prickles. It can’t be helped. The man has a whiskey voice, deep, raspy, and slumberous. It makes a woman think of rumpled sheets and sweat-slicked skin. And I really don’t know what is the matter with me; I must be ovulating or something. Because I cannot be sexually attracted to Macon Asshole Saint.
“I can’t take the check,” he repeats firmly. “Because the watch is worth two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
“Fuck. Me.”
His eyes crinkle, an unholy gleam lighting them. “I thought we weren’t doing that.”
I’m going to be sick. Legitimately ill. I’m going to throw up all over Macon’s pristine desk. I swallow against the greasy feeling crawling up my throat. “Don’t joke.”
All vestiges of humor leave him. “You’re right. It’s not a joking matter.”
“Two hundred and eighty—” I wipe my damp brow. “How the hell can a watch be that expensive?”
Macon gives me a pitying look. “It’s a rose-gold Patek Philippe with a diamond-pavé face.”
I slump back in my chair. “I know Patek Philippe watches are expensive. I’ve seen enough people around LA wearing one. But I never thought the damn thing was the price of a condo.” Macon raises a brow because real estate prices