by Kati Wilde
“A lodge is fine.” A snowy lodge where we’ll be bundled up in heavy clothes and I won’t have to watch her prance around a beach in a bikini. But I let myself imagine that bikini for a second—then reality slips in and I shake my head. “Hold up. I work that week. So I’ll have to ask for the time off first.”
“Or you could quit your job,” she suggests. “You’ll be a wealthy man soon.”
“I would be if I was keeping the Wyndham money. But I’m not. So I better keep my job, instead, because I sure as hell like to eat.”
“As do I.” Amusement lightens her voice and a slight smile curves her mouth. “You’ll always have plenty to eat if Wyndham Trash becomes profitable.”
She seems to enjoy saying ‘Wyndham Trash’ almost as much as I do. “You don’t like the family, either?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Why? What’d they do to you?”
She shrugs. “Nothing to me. But if you need a complete accounting of reasons to dislike them, my lawyers will soon compile a list to help bolster your case.”
An entire list? “You don’t fuck around, do you?”
“No. I don’t.” Eyebrows furrowing, Audrey casts me a glance that seems a little confused—or a little hurt. “And I won’t after our marriage, either. Will you?”
Did she think I meant fucking around as in literally fucking around…? “I— No,” I answer, but cheating wasn’t even what I was talking about. Shit. But the mayor gets up on the platform and starts speaking into the mic, and I can’t figure out how to tell her she misunderstood me. Not that it matters. Because we’ve just established that we won’t be fucking other people and we won’t be fucking each other while we’re married.
Only the Wyndhams are getting fucked. And that’s just fine by me.
Except I’m a damn liar. It’s not fine by me. I can pretend that it is for all of ten minutes, as we watch the tree light up and then head to the fancy hotel that overlooks the town square, where the cocktail party is being held in a huge ballroom with a glass roof. Then Audrey hands off her coat to an attendant and I see what she’s wearing beneath it.
And Christ help me. Her long-sleeved red dress is sexy enough from the front, softly clinging to her breasts and her hips before hugging everything down to her knees, where her boots finish the job of making her legs look a mile-fucking-long. Then she turns, and I realize the dress doesn’t have a back. The material drapes from her shoulders and gathers at the base of her spine, and in between there’s just skin and more skin.
No bra strap. Which doesn’t mean no bra, not with all the shit women have available to boost and cover their tits, but hers are small enough that maybe she didn’t bother. And I can’t stop myself from glancing down when she faces me again. The red material of her dress is soft and thick and mostly conceals everything, unless you’re really looking. And fuck knows, I am looking. Hard enough to notice the subtle protrusion of her nipples, to see that they’d be like fat berries against my tongue.
“That looks soft and comfortable,” she says, and it takes me five full seconds to realize she’s talking about the flannel shirt I’ve got on, because nothing else about me is soft or comfortable. And I’m real fucking glad that I changed out of that damn suit, because my heavy twill pants do a better job of concealing what she does to me.
She told me to dress for a date, so I settled for what was clean and might stand up to the cold outside. And I suppose I look like some giant lumberjack escorting a sexy fairy princess into this damn party, but I can’t bring myself to give a shit if we don’t match. She takes my left arm as if declaring that I belong to her, sliding her fingers into the crook of my elbow and pressing up against my side until I can feel the curve of her hip against mine and the softness of her breast against my arm.
Putting on another show, like the diamond she’s wearing—and the kiss she intended to give. But I can’t say no to the way she’s clinging to me now.
“I need you to stay with me until we leave the party,” she says as we enter the ballroom.
“Afraid I’ll start trouble if I’m on my own?”
Or maybe thinking that I’ll get tossed out of here, since I clearly don’t belong. Everyone else is wearing business suits or what I assume is the golf club version of casual, with sweaters over white collared shirts and charcoal slacks. And there’s no high school band here. Instead an ensemble of string musicians are making Christmas carols sound like Mozart.
“I’m not afraid that you’ll misbehave.” She glances over at me, her brows arched and her gaze sparkling with curiosity. “Should I be?”
“Nah. I’ll be good.” I’ll try to, at least.
That incredible smile curves her red lips again, and I am so fucking screwed. A year or more of being anywhere near this woman—and not touching her the way I want to? It’ll be torture. I should call off this wedding now.
But I won’t. I know damn well I won’t. So maybe I’ll have blue balls for a year. Wah wah. A man who can’t control himself around a woman isn’t much of a man. So I’ll deal with it. Her effect on me will probably fade, anyway. My dick’s been hard before. But that’s just lust or whatever. Arousal. That shit always goes away. Eventually.
My hatred toward the Wyndhams isn’t going away. Not in a year, not in thirty years.
Audrey steers me toward the bar, where she orders sparkling water in a champagne flute. Pale eyes glittering with humor, she raises her drink. “To spite.”
“To spite,” I echo with a short laugh and clink the neck of my beer bottle against her glass.
She takes a sip, her icy gaze scanning the room. Searching for any Wyndhams or their acquaintances, most likely. Judging by the crowd that’s already gathered, most of the people here didn’t bother to attend the tree lighting ceremony, or they watched it from the balcony overlooking the town square. I don’t recognize anyone but that’s hardly a surprise.
And we’re already snagging attention. I can’t miss the glances being thrown our way. Because of my size, I’m used to those quick looks being followed by hesitation before someone approaches me. Sometimes there’s even a little fear. But the incredible thing is…in this ballroom, it’s not me who’s making them hesitate. I’m not scaring anyone.
Audrey is.
Their eyes follow her as if she’s a dangerous animal—though a beautiful one. Like a snow leopard that they want to get close to, maybe close enough to touch. But they don’t, as if worried she might rip them to shreds.
I glance down at her fingernails. They’re short and painted a glossy black. Not scary at all. And I’d kill to feel them clawing up my back.
Now I’m curious to see who around here isn’t afraid of her. “Are any of your friends attending this thing?”
“My friends?”
“Yeah. Your assistant said you have five.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, here is one now.” That gorgeous smile spreads across her lips again, and she lets go of my arm, stepping forward to greet…a priest. Small and wiry, with a lean face and black suit and a distinctive white collar, he wears the kind of gentle, amused expression that I usually see on grandfathers who are showing off pictures of their grandchildren.
Well, shit. That’s not what I expected. And despite her smile and the way she approached him, Audrey doesn’t hug him or kiss his cheek. She only holds out her hand for a brief handshake before reaching back and entangling her fingers with mine.
“Caleb Moore, this is Reverend Foster,” she introduces him. Not a priest, then, but a pastor—and now I remember that she mentioned the Methodist church about two blocks away from here. “He’ll be performing the marriage ceremony.”
His gaze flicks down to our joined hands and his smile broadens. “Our Almighty Father truly does perform miracles,” he says and extends his arm. “I’m pleased to meet you, Caleb.”
Audrey’s fingers are still tangled up with mine, so I put my beer bottle aside and wipe the condensation from my palm before shaking his hand. “Reverend.�
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“You’re a lucky man.” His gaze returns to Audrey. “And you caused quite the uproar in the office this afternoon, young lady. You couldn’t have made these arrangements before today so that you’d have more time to prepare? Christmas Eve isn’t far away.”
“It’s too far away, in my opinion,” she replies. “But Caleb only proposed to me today. So unless we visit a justice of the peace, Christmas Eve is the earliest date available.”
“You got engaged today?” His brows shoot upward. “Then why the rush?”
“I don’t think you’d approve of my answer, pastor,” she says in a serious tone.
He chuckles. “Perhaps I wouldn’t. But it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that answer from an overeager young couple. Still, I approve of how you are swiftly taking the appropriate responsibility.”
Shit. I start to laugh, because the preacher is thinking that we’re pregnant, and she’s just thinking that he won’t appreciate our reason for marrying. And I suppose spite and money aren’t the best answers to give a reverend.
Though she briefly appears puzzled by my reaction, after a second Audrey grins. “Ah,” she says and then laughs, too. “You mistake me, pastor. Caleb and I haven’t had sex.”
His mouth opens but nothing comes out for a moment. Then he nods and declares, “Then I heartily approve of your restraint, Audrey.” Amusement seems to shake through him as he glances at me. “Yours as well, Caleb. Resisting temptation is not always easy…but I think I better understand your need to rush the wedding.”
He really doesn’t. But before Audrey can set him straight on that score, too, a man joins us. And him, I recognize.
“Mayor Espinoza,” Audrey greets him, but doesn’t let go of my hand this time.
“Merry Christmas, Audrey. And to you, Reverend Foster. How good of you all to come.” Like any politician, he nods to me and pretends to care who I am when the reverend introduces us, then glances back to Audrey. “Can I steal your attention away from these gentlemen for a few minutes?”
“No,” she tells him bluntly, yet disentangles her fingers from mine. “But I will give it to you for a moment.”
Her attention. Because he asked to steal it. Now she folds her arms over her chest and walks a few feet away to talk with him in relative privacy—and I realize she takes almost everything literally. Which explains some of the responses she’s made since I’ve met her.
“She’s a special woman,” the reverend says beside me.
I nod, my gaze drifting down over her bare back and settling on her sweet ass. “Damn special.”
There’s a light snort of laughter, then he says in a more serious voice, “I’ve heard that the mayor plans to set off fireworks at eight o’clock.”
Is he thinking I want to do something for Audrey then? Some romantic gesture, maybe—like it’s New Year’s Eve? I’ve got no clue, but I nod again. “So noted.”
Audrey and the mayor turn back toward us, Espinoza casually placing his hand against the small of her back to guide her. Against her bare skin. She stiffens as if he jabbed her with a hot poker and I can’t stop my reaction. A growl rips from my chest as I step forward, fists clenched.
Instantly Espinoza pulls his hand back, grimacing and holding it up as if to show me he’s not touching her anymore. Tangling my fingers with hers, I pull her in close again.
“Forgive me, Audrey,” he tells her. “It’s just habit.”
I snarl. “I suggest you break that habit.”
“Of course. You’re right,” he agrees easily and offers Audrey a toothy smile. “My office will contact yours regarding that donation. And please accept my congratulations on your engagement.”
Her fingers tighten on mine. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Moore. Reverend.” He nods at us both and takes off, already aiming that toothy smile at his next target.
“I’d best go butter up my other donors, as well,” the pastor says with a grin. “Congratulations again, Audrey. I’m very pleased for you. And Caleb, I hope we will soon have the opportunity to speak again.”
I nod, then wonder if that’ll be more often than I assume. Like maybe every Sunday. When he’s out of earshot, I ask Audrey, “Do you attend his church?”
“No. But he has been a good friend since I was fourteen, and once said that if I ever got married, he would like to officiate the—”
“Audrey!” On a waft of musky perfume, a red-haired woman dripping with diamonds appears out of nowhere and rises up on tiptoe to kiss the air beside Audrey’s cheeks.
Audrey stands stiffly, not returning the gesture, and greets the woman with a cool, “Hello, Jennifer.”
Either oblivious or ignoring that icy response, Jennifer titters and exclaims, “You never attend these parties! So tell us, how did Paul persuade you to come tonight?”
Paul, the mayor. And ‘us’ is apparently the man who’s catching up to her, a bourbon in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.
“Look, darling. It’s Audrey. And…” Jennifer swipes the champagne from her husband and casts me a speculative look from head to toe before dismissing me. Her gaze catches on Audrey’s ring and then shoots back to me, her voice dropping to a purr. “Well, well, Miss Audrey Clarke. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
“I don’t share,” Audrey says bluntly.
She eyes me curiously again. “Not even a name? You seem so familiar. Have we met before?”
“No.” Not unless she brought her car in for service. Which I doubt.
Her husband steps forward, extending his hand to me. “Dan Pearson, head of Pearson Electronics.”
“Caleb Moore,” I answer. “Head mechanic at Phillips Auto.”
“Oh?” His wife seems to freeze for the barest moment, faint distaste twisting her lips. Then she looks me over again like a piece of meat. “How…interesting. Isn’t it, darling?”
Pearson grunts and checks out Audrey’s tits.
“The Pearsons are good friends of the Wyndhams,” Audrey tells me before informing Jennifer, “Caleb is Eleanor’s sole heir.”
“O...ohhhh?! Is that so?” Her eyes flare wide, then a grin of sheer rapacious delight splits her face, and Pearson tears his gaze from Audrey to give me another look over. “I knew you looked familiar. So you are Christopher’s…?”
“Bastard?” I offer bluntly. “No. I’m Robert’s.”
“The dead brother?” She seems taken aback, but only for an instant. “That’s fascinating. And you are engaged?”
Audrey answers. “We are.”
“Does Meredith know?”
“I don’t see how she would. You are among the first people we’ve told.”
“Oh.” Eyes glittering with excitement, Jennifer clutches her hands to her chest, the champagne sloshing dangerously near the rim. “Will I be treading on your toes if I share the news? Everyone will be so”—her gaze slides over me again—“astonished. And thrilled for you, of course!”
“Tell anyone you like.”
I suspect she would have even if Audrey hadn’t given permission. As it is, the woman damn near breaks a speed record pulling a phone from her tiny bag.
Audrey leaves her to it, turning away and glancing up at me. “Robert Wyndham didn’t marry your mother?”
“No.” When I said bastard, I meant it literally.
“Ah.” Her gaze searches my face. “Is that what’s behind the spite?”
“Some of it.” Though not most of it. The truth is, my mother’s life would have been a living hell if she’d married him and lived in that house with the other Wyndhams. They’d have destroyed her.
Just like they tried to do anyway.
So it’s not that he didn’t marry her. It’s that the love and marriage he did offer was a lie, because he didn’t think she was good enough to become his wife. Or good enough to even offer her some support, despite her being pregnant with his kid. And the rest of the family thought the same.
But they didn
’t leave it at simply thinking she was trash. And they didn’t leave her alone, either.
Audrey tilts her head, studying me. “If he had married her, would you be like the rest of them now—just another Christopher, Meredith, or Sylvia?”
“My mother would never have let me become what they are.”
Something in her eyes clouds. “She was a good mother?”
“Yeah.” My voice roughens. “She was amazing.”
“You were fortunate, then.” Her fingers gently squeeze mine and she begins leading me away—but we don’t get more than a few steps before we’re stopped by a “Miss Clarke!”
After that, the floodgates open. As if everyone watched the Pearsons approach her and walk away unscathed, so they line up to do the same. Though most of them aren’t as bad as the Pearsons, just about every single one shows a marked change in attitude toward me when they discover a mechanic might be worth a couple hundred million dollars. At first, it’s amusing. After a while, though, it just pisses me off.
I can’t tell if it bothers Audrey. Mostly she doesn’t seem to give a fuck—about anything. After a while, people are lucky to get more than a “hmmm” from her in response. Yet her fingers cling tighter and tighter to mine.
Finally I’ve had enough of this shit. If our purpose here was to give the Wyndhams a heads-up, we accomplished that just by talking to the Pearsons.
I’m pretty sure the next person to come up reads how irritated I am, because he gives a hesitant smile before slowly backing away. I glance down at Audrey. “We ready to get out of here?”
“Almost.” Her gaze is fixed across the room. “There’s Neil Prescott.”
The Wyndhams’ lawyer. And speaking to him is someone I finally recognize. “He’s talking to the fucker that I tried to hire.”
“Keith Shayne?”
“Yeah. He said I didn’t have chance in hell of winning against the Wyndhams, wouldn’t even take me on. Because I couldn’t afford his firm’s fees.”
“Be glad of it,” she tells me. “He’s lazy and incompetent, yet arrogant enough to believe that he’s worth five hundred dollars an hour.”
“So he’s a shitty lawyer?”
