Infidelity: Incentive (Kindle Worlds)

by Pam Godwin

  This isn’t fear. It’s raw scorching anger, burning through my veins and depriving my lungs of air. My ears ring. My stomach coils, and tears saturate my eyes.

  I can’t stand among my judgmental peers and flashing cameras with my back disfigured. I live in a world of superficial expectations, where celebrities don’t have wrinkles or belly fat or scars. The smallest imperfection is lambasted. I would no longer be seen as Laynee Somerset, a regal class act. I would be known as the poor, beaten-down has-been.

  Blinking away my tears, I look him in the eyes. “What story do you propose I tell the press? That I let my stalker move in with me, and when he stabbed me in the back, I had him killed?”

  He sits beside the dress on the edge of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees. “You were attacked. Bludgeoned within an inch of your life. But you survived. That’s all you tell them. Let them investigate and dig. They won’t find anything, right?”

  “No,” I say quietly. “They won’t find anything at all.”

  Only Decker, Reese, and the surgeon know about the scars. Elijah, my head of security, is the man who arranged Trey’s car accident. He knows something happened, but he never demanded details. I trust him with my life.

  But that’s beside the point. Decker made a crucial decision without me, one that impacts my life.

  “You had no right.” I drag a hand through my hair, my entire body shaking with betrayal, hurt, and fury.

  What am I going to do? I have dozens of designer gowns in my closet, but I’ve been photographed in all of them. Donning an already-worn dress would result in speculation about my finances. Has Laynee Somerset run out of money? Has she burned out her career? No wonder she moved back to Savannah.

  It’s all bullshit, but this is my life. If my fans don’t believe in me, producers won’t even look at me. My career will be over.

  Anger boils anew, vibrating through my voice. “I’m so fucking pissed off at you right now I can’t see straight.”

  “I expected that.”

  “Then why’d you do it?”

  The arrogant bastard lifts a brow as if the question is unreasonable.

  I know he’s thinking about the conversation we just had downstairs, but he altered my dress long before that. “You weren’t thinking about sacrifice when you made this decision for me.”

  “No.” Head down, he locks his hands together between his spread legs and watches from beneath dark brows. “I was thinking about how beautiful your body is. Every exquisite inch of skin. I was thinking about how inspiring it will be to other abuse victims when they see Laynee Somerset hold her head high and wear her skin with dignity.”

  He stands from the bed, crosses the room, and disappears in the closet, leaving me alone with a bubbling cauldron of emotions. His intent is honest, but he doesn’t fully grasp the ramifications. I wish I could ignore the ridicule and hatred, but I don’t have that luxury. I love my career, and I’ve worked too damn hard to lose it all over a show of courage.

  I lift the dress and hold it up to inspect the back. The satin cuts low, and the front wraps around to tie at the neck. If I’m honest, the style is sexier, more eye-catching than the original. I used to prefer backless gowns, used to love to show off the curve of my spine. But that was before.

  Footsteps approach, and he steps around me, holding a bundle of silver fur. Some kind of shawl?

  “The lady at the shop called this a capelet.” He wraps it around my shoulders and catches the drape in the back, pressing it against my tailbone. “It covers your entire back.”

  I set down the gown, and a flutter takes flight in my chest as I run my fingers over the luxurious pelt of the shawl. “Is it real?”

  “Faux fur.” He slides his hands over my shoulders, lowering the wrap to hang around my upper arms. “It’s handmade per my specifications.”

  With a shuddering breath, I step to the full-length mirror in the corner and finger the scarf-like drape of fur around my chest. Hidden hooks clasp the ends together, allowing a snug fit that won’t slide or slip.

  It’s a beautiful accent piece and appropriate for the season. Winter evenings in Savannah are chilly. It shows off my shoulders and will give the black satin gown a classy unique look.

  “I didn’t make the decision for you, Laynee.” He stands behind me and touches his lips to my neck. “I merely packaged the choice in satin, tied it with a fur bow, and gave it to you to open.”

  “I’m not opening it.” I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can’t. You know that, right?”

  Frustration darkens his features.

  “Don’t give me that look.” I return my attention to my reflection and cringe at the teary pink skin around my eyes. “You think I’m a coward.”

  “If I thought you were a coward, I wouldn’t have bothered with the dress.” He grips my waist from behind and rests his cheek against mine, taking in the view of us in the mirror. “You don’t believe this, but I already know you’re going to walk out of that event with your shoulders back, chin high, and the elegant lines of your back on full display. And I’m going to be the lovesick asshole standing at your side.”

  Is he saying he loves me? An excruciating burn swallows my chest and pricks my eyes. “I want that. I do. But I’m scared.”

  “I know, baby, but you’ll do it anyway.” His arms encircle my waist and pull my back flush with his chest. “You’re going to look fear in the face and make it your bitch.”

  CHAPTER 21

  LAYNEE

  The next night, I exit the bedroom and walk down the stairs in sky-high stilettos, following the deep rumble of Decker’s voice. My nerves are through the roof as I curl my fingers in the silver fur around my arms and curse it for the hundredth time.

  He might not have made the decision for me, but in his usual controlling, arm-twisting fashion, he’s made it painfully hard to not consider his demand. If I remove the shawl, I risk a damaging blow to my public image. If I keep it on, I face his disappointment. The former shrivels my insides, but the latter is more than I can bear.

  As I reach the bottom step, I spot him near the front door immersed in conversation with Reese. Since Decker got ready for the charity ball in the guest bedroom, we haven’t seen each other yet. They don’t notice me standing around the corner, so I take a minute to appreciate the view.

  Fingers tucked in their front pockets and postures relaxed but strong, they wear black tuxedos and easy smiles. Decker’s at least an inch taller, and his chest and shoulders are broader. Reese’s perfectly-plastered hair looks blonder than normal beside Decker’s brown finger-raked mess of sexiness.

  Sweet hell, they’re gorgeous beyond words, but Decker’s the one who steals my focus and quickens my breaths. Flawlessly tailored black pants stretch enticingly across his groin, and the crisp white collar shirt deepens the glow of his tan complexion. Plump lips crook with cocky arrogance, and dark brows maintain that roguish look I love so much.

  His eyes lift, and I’m consumed by the intensity that dominates his expression. Affection, desire, wicked intent—it’s all there as he peruses me from tits to toes and back again before landing on my face.

  “Fuck, Laynee.” Hooking a finger beneath his collar, he tugs at the silver bow tie and goes back for another full-body scan that makes me feel naked and overdressed at the same time. But more than that, he makes me feel beautiful.

  “You look like…” He wets his lips. “A movie star.”

  “She is a movie star, asshat.” Reese squints at him. “You can do better than that.”

  “I know.” Decker rubs the back of his neck, his attention glued to the vicinity of my satin-covered crotch. “I’m thinking with the wrong head at the moment.”

  The iridescence of his golden-brown eyes and the sultry smile occupying his lips burns me up from the inside out. I step toward him, devouring the trim fit of his tux, the day-old stubble he rebelliously left on his face, and the taunting way his straight white teeth sink into the corner of his bottom lip
.

  When I reach him, he curls strong fingers around my hips beneath the fur, stroking his thumbs against my abs. “You’re exceptionally beautiful. Sinful. Peerless.” He leans in, brushing his mouth along my jaw. “And mine.”

  His silken tone shivers through me and settles into a deep pulse between my legs.

  Pulling me closer, he feathers the backs of his fingers over my breast and groans into the space beside my ear. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

  “Didn’t have a choice.” Someone sacrificed the back out of my dress.

  “Gorgeous as always, Laynee,” Reese says. “I’ll be waiting in the limo.” He looks at Decker. “Try not to do any more damage to her gown.”

  The front door closes behind him, leaving me alone with Decker and his spicy masculine scent.

  “You told him?” My breath hitches at the electric caress of his lips on my neck.

  “I mentioned it while we were waiting.” He fingers a blonde ringlet dangling from the complicated twist of my vintage-inspired updo. “Ready?”

  He’s not going to jump on the topic of my dress? I’m wearing the shawl with growing certainty that I won’t have the courage to remove it. But if he pushes me, I might cave. Luckily, he doesn’t bring it up.

  He doesn’t mention it during the twenty-minute ride to the Mansion on Forsyth Park. Doesn’t say a thing when we exit the limo at the hotel and pose for the strobe of cameras flanking the red-carpet entrance. Without a word, he releases my arm and joins Reese near the front doors while I answer questions about the event.

  My security team drove separately. They won’t be entering the building, but they’ll have eyes on every exit point.

  Only a few selected members of the press are allowed inside. The hotel is completely sold out, every room purchased on my dime to ensure exclusivity to the attendees. No one gets into the hotel tonight without a ticket.

  This is the sixth year I’ve hosted the charity dinner, and I hire teams of people to organize every detail of the event. I only need to show up, give an inspiring speech, and make small talk with my fellow celebrities. I usually dread these kinds of things, but this event is different. Personal. Leveraging my clout and money, I’ve made this annual gala one of the most successful fundraisers in the country.

  Pulling myself away from the overzealous swarm of reporters, I try to ignore the dread twisting my insides. If Decker expected me to remove the shawl for the press, the disappointment on his face will rob me of strength.

  As I glide up the stairs to the entrance, I lift my head and find the molten brown of his eyes shining with happiness and aimed straight at me. My dread vaporizes, if only for a moment. The night’s just begun. If I’m going to unveil my scars, it makes sense to do it inside, safely away from the vultures. He must be thinking this, too.

  It’s a slow journey through the hotel as I’m stopped repeatedly by nosy actresses, who are more interested in the man on my arm than the objective of the charity. Reese wanders off, and I keep Decker moving toward the ballroom, limiting my answers with feigned amusement.

  He’s my boyfriend.

  He doesn’t model.

  Yes, I know he’s unbelievably handsome.

  No, you cannot take him home with you.

  Decker grins through all the flirting and lingering looks, his hand warm and possessive on my lower back, beneath the fur, directly against my scarred skin. As if I need a reminder of what he wants me to do tonight.

  In the ballroom, gowns of every color glitter with jewels in a sea of black tuxedos. We mingle with the rich and famous, sip from champagne flutes, and make our way through the crowd.

  “Miss Somerset.”

  I turn toward the feminine southern twang, and an authentic smile possesses my lips. “Mrs. Montague. Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it, dear.” The older woman presses a warm kiss to my cheek and shifts her huge blue eyes to Decker. “I hoped you would introduce me to your handsome companion.”

  “Yes, of course.” I place a hand on his muscular back. “This is Decker Gabrielli. Decker, meet Mrs. Adelaide Montague Fitzgerald.”

  Adelaide is one of the few in attendance who’s not in the movie business. But she’s an icon in her own right. The epitome of purebred Southern aristocracy, she’s the tobacco heiress of Montague Corporation and inconceivably wealthy.

  She’s also married and a few years older than me, which is why I don’t balk when Decker bows his head to her hand in a gesture I’ve never seen him make before.

  Lifting her slender arm, he touches his lips to the bend in her wrist. “It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of one of the most beautiful women in the room.”

  Oh, he’s really laying on the charm, but he isn’t wrong. Her brown hair coils in a perfect chignon at the base of her skull, baring a delicate unwrinkled face, and the slim fit of her sparkling gown accentuates a trim figure. Her sensual beauty exudes sophistication and grace.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gabrielli.” She smiles and winks at me. “He’s delightful.”

  “He has his moments.” I smile with her. When he straightens, I say, “Decker, Mrs. Montague is one of the biggest supporters of this charity.”

  She donates an ungodly amount of money toward the cause. In the few times I’ve met her, her blue eyes are always bright and alert with intelligence, but I sense something darkly familiar in the depths. She hides it well, but I know what to look for. She’s concealing scars. Perhaps not as corporeal as the ones on my back, but she’s harboring a deep hurt. I feel it in my bones.

  “You’re doing a wonderful thing here, Miss Somerset.” She scans the affluent crowd around us. “The initiative to raise awareness on violence against women is needful.” Her voice lowers. “More needful than most people care to admit.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pretending not to notice the way her gaze turns inward.

  She blinks, clearing her eyes and focusing on Decker. “I understand you ran a successful chain of combat sports schools.”

  He jerks his head back, startled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Evidently, Adelaide didn’t need to be introduced to Decker. Given the amount of money she’s sent my way, I’m not surprised she keeps tabs on me, including the man I’m dating.

  He stops a passing waiter and exchanges our empty flutes for full ones. “Mrs. Montague?” He offers her a glass of champagne.

  “No, thank you.” She laces her fingers together in front of her, eyes on Decker. “Are you interested in re-opening your sports schools? Perhaps similar training but with a different purpose?”

  Decker shares a look with me and arches his brow at her. “Yes.”

  “Very good. I have a proposal for you.” She tilts her head toward the veranda. “Care to walk with me for a few minutes? I’d like to get some fresh air before dinner.” She holds out her elbow.

  He supports her arm with his. I might’ve praised him for being a proper gentleman if his gaze hadn’t drifted to my chest, prompting his naughty tongue to slide over his bottom lip.

  “I’ll be back.” He meets my eyes.

  I give him an encouraging smile. Good luck.

  As he leads Adelaide toward the veranda, I shamelessly stare at his firm tuxedo-hugged ass until a pretty starlet blocks my view.

  “Laynee Somerset.” She erases the distance and runs her fingers over the silver fur around my arms. “This wrap is divine. Where did you get it?”

  “Thank you. Someone had it made for me.”

  I spend the next hour entertaining guests and working my way through the crowd. Decker returns just as the first course is being served. As he prowls toward me, the room seems to stand still. Groups of women pause in conversation to watch him pass. Everything about him is arresting, but it’s his gaze that narrows the world to just him and me.

  I’ve seen countless dark eyes in my life, but none compare to the ones watching me now. They’re as potent as his touch, imposing, seductive, arousing with daunting indecency. My skin ting
les and heats, and my eyelids grow heavy with every step he takes in my direction. He’s so powerfully intoxicating that by the time he’s within reach, I’m quivering and breathless with addictive need.

  “I missed you.” He rests a warm hand on my neck and guides my lips to his.

  My soft moan beckons his tongue, and I don’t even care if there are hundreds of powerful people watching and judging our display. My arms encircle his neck as he slides his fingers around my waist, pulling me closer. The feel of his mouth, the strength of his jaw, and the support of his embrace satisfies me on a fundamental level. This man is mine, and he tastes like forever.

  Too soon, he breaks the kiss to rub his nose against mine.

  I suck in a much-needed breath and rest my hands on his chest. “How was your conversation with Mrs. Montague?”

  “Very nice.” His lips lower to my neck, twitching with a smile. Then he scrapes his teeth across my shoulder, tickling my skin and making me squirm. “She’s a lovely woman.”

  Our eyes meet, and his expression asks me to trust him. Whatever he discussed with Adelaide put a cautious spark of excitement in his eyes. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.

  “Okay.” I straighten his bow tie and ghost my fingers over the sharp angle of his jaw.

  His neck stiffens beneath my hand. A vein bulges in his forehead, his attention zeroing in on something behind me. I turn, following his gaze, and my heart sinks to my feet, taking all my blood with it.

  “What the fuck is he doing here?” Decker grips my wrist, his voice low and deadly.

  Blake Harridan stalks through the ballroom with his arm around an A-list actress. The very actress who was given the leading role I recently auditioned for.

  “I didn’t look at the final guest list,” I whisper, swallowing the knot in my throat. “He’s always attended this event, but I assumed with the announcement of our divorce, he would bow out this year.”