Apparently unaware of my mood, she keeps placing her hand on me, and I keep removing it. Married women aren’t my type, no matter how eager, how easy. Neither is sex in the back seat of a limo.
Annabelle Underhill’s a beautiful woman…if you consider black widows pretty. Her brown hair and tanned face are professionally done, her body professionally toned, and her glass-cold eyes hold disdain as she continues with her verbal diarrhea.
“It’s disgusting how Elizabeth walks around, head held high and that holier-than-thou smile. Like people donate because of her,” Annabelle sneers. “Take away the tax deductions and nobody’s going to give a damn about those people. We all know the only reason they’re poor is because they’re lazy and stupid.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“What?” she says.
“I didn’t expect you to feel that way.” It’s not like she’s covered in priceless jewelry and silk for her diligence or intellect. She married money—a man old enough to be her grandfather. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have enough self-awareness to feel shame or, better yet, just shut her mouth.
“I don’t let my true feelings show,” Annabelle goes on, “because I need the invitations.”
Meaning: she needs the connections in case her husband dies—or divorces her for a fresher, more nubile woman. She’s still young enough to marry money for a third time.
“And I’m sure Elizabeth’s doing the same thing. She was always such a calculating child, even back when I was her mother.”
I almost forgot. Annabelle used to be Elizabeth’s second stepmom. Lots of bad blood between the two of them.
“And did you see how she was clinging to Nate?”
Elizabeth wasn’t clinging to Nate Sterling, but she was standing awfully close to him the entire evening—annoyingly so. She put her hands on him more than once, and he did the same, his hand always at her elbow or at the small of her back. Made me want to break his wrists.
I don’t know Nate personally. I only know what my head of security dug up. Nate is a member of the Sterling family of the Sterling & Wilson fortune. With his older brother in charge of running the company and making evermore obscene am
ounts of money, Nate does other things that bolster the family’s image, like charity work. For a man born with a platinum spoon covered with diamonds, he’s clean and upstanding—no drug use, no messy women problems, nothing that could be used to bend him to someone’s will.
Annabelle’s dark gaze seethes with jealousy, and I almost laugh. She’s upset a young, rich guy like Nate is beyond her reach. But then, he was never someone she could aspire to. I remember hearing that Nate and Elizabeth are planning to marry, except they haven’t done anything resembling an engagement…or ever had any sort of romantic entanglement, as far as I can tell.
As a matter of fact, until five years ago, Elizabeth went out with other men in her social circle. Then abruptly, she stopped dating them…and started showing up at social events only with Nate, which is annoying enough.
But his sudden proposal in the sitting room?
Marry me.
Motherfucker.
I was looking for someone to foist Annabelle on after she fainted, slowly collapsing to the floor in a graceful crumple that she must’ve practiced for months in front of a mirror. Although I had no intention of playing a role in her little theater, I wanted to make sure somebody would watch over her, mostly so she wouldn’t do something ill-advised like crawl naked into Nate’s bed. I don’t give a shit about her, but I respect her husband, Stanton, who’s a good business associate. I don’t want her doing anything to embarrass him.
Instead of finding a member of the Sterlings’ staff, I caught voices coming from a room, its door ajar.
I started to walk past it, not wanting to interrupt a private conversation. But I heard Elizabeth’s soft sigh, the kind she used to let out when I stroked her.
Stopping, I looked. She and Nate sat on a couch, her back to him. He was rubbing her shoulders, his fingers kneading her bare flesh under the dress. Instead of pushing him away, she tilted her head, giving him a better access.
The tableau sucker-punched me, and my jaw grew tight.
Did she just fucking moan?
He placed a kiss at the base of her neck, on the small bump of bone. It was all I could do to not knock his teeth out. Or bloody his nose.
“Marry me,” he said against her skin.
Instead of laughing in his face, she placed a hand over his, the rock on her right index finger sparkling. “Nate, I would’ve brought Tolyan if I…” She trailed off, her gaze colliding with mine.
Nate lifted his offending lips off her, then asked in a calm “I’m a great host” voice, “Is there something you need?”
To punch your face. “Annabelle Underhill fainted, and I was looking for someone to watch over her. I have a flight I can’t miss.”