“No.” She gestured toward the passenger door then slid into the car.
“You could have pretended to think it over before you answered.” I opened the door on my side and drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet combination of sumptuous leather interior and new car scents.
“Maybe I’ll let you drive later if you behave,” Venetia replied. She cast a coy sideways glance in my direction. The sultry spark in her eyes excited me more than the car. “Buckle up and prepare to be dazzled.”
I’d barely secured the seatbelt when she tromped the accelerator to the floor and swerved into traffic. The shock of her impromptu launch from the curb sucked all coherent thought from my head. I gripped the dash with one hand, the armrest with the other, to keep my balance as she slalomed between cars.
“Have you decided on a color scheme yet?” She slammed a foot on the brake to avoid ramming the rear bumper of the van in front of us then accelerated to race through the yellow light at the next intersection.
“W-what?” I stammered.
“For your apartment?” Tires squealed. The driver of the Volvo beside us raised a middle finger when Venetia cut him off. She continued at breakneck speed, oblivious, her frown directed at me. “You said you’d think about it. I can’t get started if I don’t have a palette to work with.”
“Uh, no.”
The Camry in front of us flashed brake lights. I stomped a foot into the floorboard, willing Venetia to stop before we rammed into it.
She jerked the steering wheel to the left, missing the car by a hair’s breadth, and glanced into the rearview mirror to check her makeup. My heart hammered against my ribs. “It’s not that difficult, Beckett. What’s your favorite color?” Her gaze flitted to meet mine.
“I don’t care.” I stiffened my legs and braced for impact.
“Are you okay?”
“You can do whatever you want.”
“Okay.” She blazed a brilliant smile in my direction, but I was too intent on praying for my life to admire it for long. “I’ve got a few ideas then.”
Thank God, we’d reached our destination. I blew out a sigh of relief when she slid the gearshift into park and the car stilled. I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. Venetia turned to me, blue eyes wide, head tilted to one side. I stared back at her. Something rumbled in my chest, a small bubble that pinged inside my chest before lifting to my throat. The left corner of my mouth twitched upward. A chuckle shook my shoulders. I tried to choke it back until she smiled, her expression brimming with mischief. We broke into full-fledged laughter.
“You tried to kill me,” I said, brushing tears from my cheeks.
“Don’t be a baby,” she replied before biting her lower lip in a gesture so appealing I had to curl my fingers to keep from touching her. She gave my shoulder a playful shove.
“I almost had a baby, and believe me, that’s a big deal for a guy,” I chastised. “You’re the worst driver I’ve ever seen.”
I chose a trendy place on the top floor of the Milton Bank Building. The firm had a standing reservation for entertaining clients, so we were able to walk in. Every head in the room turned to look at Venetia. She seemed completely unaware of their attention. I couldn’t fault their stares. Maybe it was the pregnancy glow or her growing confidence. Whatever it was, she was becoming irresistible to me. Smug male pride swelled my chest. I put my hand on the small of her back to direct her toward our table and to let the men know she was with me, only me, and they’d better stand the fuck back. I did it out of a sense of protectiveness and because she was carrying my child, not because I was totally, completely head-over-heels crazy about her.
A sea of stars scattered across an ocean of inky blue sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Candlelight flickered over our secluded corner table. While she made a trip to the ladies room, I worried over the details. Was the location too intimate? Maybe I should have requested a table in the center of the dining room, where the low hum of conversation floated on air scented with herbs and filet mignon.
Since meeting the Seaforth clan, I’d done my best to emulate their high standards. They demanded excellence and suffered nothing less. Venetia had been born into a layer of society I could never understand. She’d just returned from a year abroad, for goodness sake. Before then, she’d attended Swiss boarding school, summered in Cannes, and spent weekends with the richest of the rich. I, on the other hand, had spent my summers baling hay, wrangling livestock, and wearing thrift store bargains. We were worlds apart in every way.
Then again, she wasn’t a Seaforth by blood, which raised an entirely new set of problems. How could I sit across the table from her, knowing this secret, and not say a word? She was the mother of my child. Our lives would be forever entwined. I owed her my honesty as well as my loyalty.
The next time I looked up, she was there, heading toward me. Our eyes met and locked over the heads of fellow attorneys, government officials, and the city’s most popular celebrities. The way she moved across the room, a vision of flowing blond hair and graceful limbs, stole my composure. A tight skirt showed off the long stretch of her legs. I stood, straightened my tie, and pulled out her chair to seat her.
“This is nice.” She glanced around the restaurant, offering a prime view of her delicate profile.
“They just remodeled a few months ago,” I replied.
“They seem to know you here.” Her gaze swept over the trio of waiters hovering around the perimeter of our table, and the crystal stemware in front of her. “Are you a regular? Is this where you bring your girls?”
“Something like that.” Lame, lame, lame. I was usually much more debonair around women. You wouldn’t know it from the way my words knotted on my tongue. I’d never cared what other women thought of me, but Venetia’s opinion mattered. I wanted her respect as well as her admiration.
“Oh, come on. You can tell me.” She peered at me over the rim of her water glass. “Sam said you had a girl for every night of the week.”
Most of my nights were spent at the office, working late, or out with the guys. The occasional weekend shag and Thursdays with Margaret served to satisfy my physical needs. I realized with a jolt that the occasional hookup had turned into a rarity. In fact, I hadn’t even looked at another woman since Venetia.
“Honesty, remember?” She tossed my words back at me.
“Okay. If you really want to know.” She nodded, so I continued, even though the topic made me uneasy. “I do have a regular. Her name is Margaret. We hook up now and then.”
“This Margaret. Is she pretty?” Her fingers curled around the water glass and usurped my attention. For a second all I could think about was how they might feel wrapped around my cock. Her lips pressed against the gleaming crystal. The smooth column of her throat moved as she swallowed.
“Yes.”
“And you like her?”
“I respect her as a colleague,” I replied. “But it’s not a thing.” Venetia narrowed her eyes before returning her attention to her plate. “What about you? I know you said there wasn’t anyone, but I find it hard to believe you don’t have a guy somewhere.”
“Before Sam’s wedding, I was dating Etienne Guillaume,” she said without looking up.
“The race car driver?” I knew of the guy. Arrogant, handsome, and an international playboy. He’d dominated the Indy car circuit for the last few years and splashed the media with his womanizing antics. “He’s a douche.”
“Beckett, you don’t even know him.”
“I don’t need to. I know his type.” It wasn’t a complete lie. I was his type. I ran a finger along the collar of my shirt to loosen it before I choked.
“Are you jealous?” A tiny smile twitched the corner of her mouth.
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you gritting your teeth?” One of her sleek eyebrows arched. “You don’t approve?”
We fell silent when our waiter returned to run down a quick list of specials. My mind wand
ered. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore—a boozing, womanizing playboy, an Etienne Guillaume. I scrubbed a mental hand over my face to wipe away the dust of my hedonistic past.
“Okay. Maybe I’m a little jealous.” I picked up the thread of conversation where we’d left off. “I just don’t want a guy like that around my child.”
“Our child,” she corrected me, the smile gone from her lips.
“Sorry. Our child.” The water did nothing to quench my thirst. I set the glass aside, wishing for something stronger.
“Do I need to get your approval on everyone I date? Should I have them fill out some kind of application? Set up an interview?” The words were spoken facetiously, but I gave them serious consideration.
“Are you going to date? In your condition?” Beneath the table, my fingers curled into tight fists.
Venetia’s features sobered. A tide of crimson swept up her neck and evolved into twin red patches on her high cheekbones. “Are you saying no one will want to go out with me?”
“No. Of course I’m not saying that. I’m—I’m—” I floundered for the proper words to state my case. In my career as an attorney, I’d made closing arguments in the Supreme Court and never blinked, but Venetia robbed me of my extensive vocabulary. Never mind that I was in the wrong or that I was treading on dangerous territory.
Her nostrils flared. “So, it’s okay for you to date around, but I need to sit at home and knit baby clothes? No, thank you, Piers Beckett.” She ripped the napkin from her lap, tossed it onto her plate, and braced both hands on the table, preparing to storm out of the restaurant.
No, no. no. Stupid fucker. I shook my head and covered one of her hands with mine. What was wrong with me? “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
We glared at each other. Frustration sparked my temper.
Her chin quivered when she spoke through gritted teeth. “I never took you for a misogynist.”
I growled then drew in a steadying breath. “I merely meant that you’re in a delicate state.” Her eyes narrowed. Wrong tactic, Beckett. I tried again. “A pregnant woman is a sacred thing.” The furrow between her brows relaxed. Now I was on the right track. I plunged ahead. “You have to be careful, now more than ever. We both do. We have more than ourselves to think about. We really need to think about who we expose our child to.”
The tension in her shoulders disappeared. She leaned back in her chair, and her breasts—mouthwatering beneath her blouse—lifted and fell with a heavy breath. Had they gotten bigger? “Okay. I get that. So, you want me to introduce you to my dates?”
“Yes. I think you should. And I should do the same.”
“Okay. I want to meet your Margaret then.”
Hell fucking no. I leaned back in my chair. “There’s no need. Margaret will never be around our kid.”
“Maybe my guy won’t be around our kid, either. Maybe I’ll just have him around for sex.”
I choked on the bite of bread in my mouth. Venetia chuckled and bit her lip. Once my gaze tore away from the fullness of her mouth, I saw the teasing glint in her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She smiled. “You left yourself open for that one. I couldn’t resist.”
“You need a good spanking.” I shook my head and smiled back.
“Okay.” Her answer sent my cock on high alert. I had a mental image of her turned upside down on my lap, round bottom pink beneath my palm. She glanced from side to side as if about to divulge a secret. “I haven’t been able to think about anything but sex lately,” she whispered. “I think it’s a pregnancy thing.”
All the blood left my head in a dizzying rush and flooded into my dick. I shifted in the chair to adjust the pressure behind my fly. Holy hell. Did she really just say that? Was she serious? My appetite for food disappeared, and all I could think about were the creamy tops of her breasts peeking through the opening of her shirt.
I coughed and changed the subject because I was completely down with the idea. If we continued along this line of conversation, I’d be forced to drag her into the ladies room and fuck her against the wall. I was pretty sure by doing this, I’d violate our friendship treaty. “So, you had an interview this afternoon? Tell me about it.”
One of our wait staff stepped forward to refill her water glass then melted into the shadows behind us. I sat back in my chair and waited, hoping she relaxed enough to confide in me, because I wanted her trust.
“I’m having trouble finding a job.” She took a sip of water then set the glass next to her plate and traced the rim of the crystal with a manicured fingertip. Her opposite hand rested on the table, fingers long and delicate. I covered it with my own. “I’ve been on six interviews, and none of them went very well. They all think I’m a female version of my father, or that I’ll leave to work with Sam.” The candlelight flickered over her hair as she shook her head. “And I can’t blame them.” Her face fell, disappointment clear in the set of her features. “I didn’t think it would be this difficult.”
“And I didn’t help matters by knocking you up, did I?” She pulled her hand away and hid it beneath the table, but her eyes didn’t leave my face. I felt the tug of attraction rekindle deep in my groin.
“No, you didn’t.” Her honesty intrigued me almost as much as the fullness of her bottom lip.
“Why are you even bothering with a job?” I asked with sincere curiosity. “You could start your own design firm. You don’t need to begin at the bottom.”
“You sound like Sam.” A small, impatient snort accompanied the flash of anger in her eyes. “It’s not like I can snap my fingers and open a business. I need to build a client base. I want to develop respect and earn a reputation as a serious designer. It’s important to me. But I’m sure you wouldn’t understand. Everything you touch turns to gold.”
Nothing was further from the truth. I could’ve followed in the footsteps of my adoptive father, taken over his hardware store in our small town, but it had never been my dream. Although he was proud and supportive of my career choice, his disappointment showed in his eyes and tone whenever he spoke about the store. Unless my youngest brother decided to step up when he graduated from college, the store would close or be sold when my dad retired, ending a legacy of three generations.
“I get it, V.” By the roll of her eyes, she didn’t believe me. “You’re absolutely right.” My chest warmed with admiration for her tenacity. She’d matured a lot since New Orleans, and I felt guilty for underestimating her. “I respect what you’re doing, and I have no doubt you’ll do your family proud. You’ve already made me proud.”
Her gaze connected with mine. The blue of her eyes softened. Venetia had a mountain of preconceptions to overcome. Her father was one of the most powerful men in the country, her brother a close second. The name Seaforth graced hospitals and schools and banks across the country. She couldn’t cross the street without facing evidence of her family’s success. I couldn’t imagine the kind of pressure that came along with a legacy like hers.
“Thank you.” The muscles in her graceful neck tensed and relaxed as she swallowed. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before.”
One corner of her mouth twitched then both corners lifted. Her eyes brightened. My pulse skipped a beat. I had missed the tiny dimples on either side of her lips. They flashed and danced as her smile intensified. I had the weirdest need to lean over and kiss one of those sweet indentations.
“That’s a shame,” I said instead, “because you’re a force to be reckoned with, and I’m sorry if I made you feel any other way.”
Her gaze flitted to my mouth. She licked her lips before disconnecting and focusing on her plate. “So what did you do today?” she asked while rearranging the napkin on her lap. “Working on anything interesting?”
And just like that, the tone of our dinner changed. Her shoulders relaxed, and the lines of suspicion around her eyes vanished. I found her witty and charming and easy to talk to. I tol
d her, in the most general terms, about the divorces I had working. She listened, chiming in with an occasional observation here and there. The way she focused on my words, nodding and sometimes laughing, sent me into an utter tailspin. I began to seek out those smiles, my ego fueled by her attention.
“I really enjoyed tonight,” she said at the end of the meal. Her hand slid across the table toward the bill. “Let me take care of this.”
“I’ll get it.” I nudged the leather holder out of her reach and shook my head. “I invited you.”
“Beckett.” Her features darkened into a scowl. The mercurial changes in her mood fascinated me. I could hardly wait for the next one.
“A gentleman always buys.” Once the waiter returned with my card, I signed the credit slip and gave her a wink.
“Okay.” Those delicious dimples peeked out again. “Next time I get to pick the place.”
“Deal.” The idea of seeing her again sent a surge of adrenalin through my veins. “But I’m driving.”
“Chicken,” she replied.
We laughed and stood from our chairs. I placed my hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the door. It felt right to touch her there, like I’d done it a thousand times before, like it belonged nowhere else.
“Have you ever been to—” Her words and feet halted. She stared at something or someone at a nearby table. My gaze followed hers across the room and landed on the curious stare of Maxwell Seaforth.
Chapter 22
Venetia
MAXWELL LOUNGED at a private corner table across from a smooth-haired brunette. The lean of his torso and the tilt of her head suggested intimacy. My stomach lurched at seeing my father with a woman who wasn’t my mother. He’d been a known philanderer during their marriage, but it still bothered me. I don’t know why. Mother had been gone for many years. It was only natural for him to move on.
“Do you want to go over?” Beckett’s breath puffed against my ear.
I shook my head, unable to move or speak. “No.” The denial came out breathy and short. “I mean, yes.” Before I could contemplate the consequences of my actions, I forced my feet to carry me toward the couple. The moisture disappeared in my mouth. It had been so long since I’d seen my dad. The lines around his mouth had deepened. All the blond in his hair had been replaced with salt and pepper. He looked the same yet different than I remembered.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 13
