ilk.”
“It finally becomes clear…” He propped his elbow on the table, rubbed the corner of his mouth, and studied her over the back of his hand. “Poor, pathetic Annabelle. All the inappropriate put-downs you’ve subjected me to, the snide comments …A simple case of transfer. The result of growing up overshadowed by those magnificent brothers. Was it very painful to feel so neglected? Do the scars still ache when it rains?”
She snorted, a surprisingly loud sound coming from such a small woman. “I prayed to be neglected. Ballet, piano, horseback riding. Fencing, for Pete’s sake. Who makes their kid take fencing lessons? Girl Scouts, orchestra, tutors if I slipped below a B, monetary incentives to join every club with a special bonus if I ran for office. And yet somehow I survived, although the torture continues.”
She’d just described his dream childhood. Fragments of memory swept over him. His father’s drunken voice… Pull your head out of that goddamned book and go buy me some cigarettes. Cockroaches scrambling under the refrigerator, leaky pipes dripping rusty water on the linoleum. The scent of Lysol—a good memory—when one of the old man’s girlfriends tried to clean up the place, and then the inevitable bang of that warped metal door when she’d storm out.
Annabelle chased her remaining scallop to the edge of the plate and looked up at him. “I really think you’ll like Rachel.”
“I like Gwen.”
“That’s because she refused you. The two of you had no chemistry.”
“You’re so wrong. There was definite chemistry.”
“I don’t get why you need a wife right now. You have Bodie, you have assistants, and you can hire a housekeeper to handle all those impromptu dinner parties. As for having kids…It’s hard to raise them with a cell phone super glued to your ear.”
It was long past time to put Tinker Bell in her place. He settled back in his chair and let his eyes drift to her breasts. “You left out sex.”
She took a few seconds too long to respond. “You can hire that, too.”
“Honey,” he drawled, “I’ve never had to pay for sex in my life.”
She flushed, and he thought he finally had her where he wanted her, only to watch that small nose shoot into the air. “Which merely points out how desperate some women can be.”
“Speaking personally?”
“Raoul’s opinion. My lover. He’s very insightful.”
He grinned, and right then it occurred to him that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much with a woman in a very long time. If Annabelle Granger were a few inches taller, a hell of a lot more sophisticated, better organized, less bossy, and more inclined to worship at his feet, she’d have made a perfect wife.
Chapter Six
S omeone took the seat next to Heath in the first-class cabin, but he was too preoccupied with the spreadsheet he’d pulled up on his laptop to pay attention. It wasn’t until the flight attendant called for electronic devices to be shut off that he grew conscious of a dark, subtle perfume. He lifted his head and found himself looking into a set of intelligent blue eyes. “Portia?”
“Good morning, Heath.” She leaned against the headrest. “How in the world do you cope with these early morning flights?”
“You get used to it.”
“I’ll pretend to believe you.”
She was wearing some kind of a silky lilac wrap dress, slim and sleeveless, with a purple cardigan knotted around her shoulders and a silver chain at her neck studded with three bezel-set diamonds. She was a beautiful woman, cultured and accomplished, and he liked doing business with her, but he didn’t find her sexy. She was too carefully put together, too aggressive. Pretty much a female version of himself. “What takes you to Tampa?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not the weather, that’s for sure. It’s going to be ninety-three degrees there today.”
“Is it?” Heath paid no attention to any weather that didn’t affect the
“It finally becomes clear…” He propped his elbow on the table, rubbed the corner of his mouth, and studied her over the back of his hand. “Poor, pathetic Annabelle. All the inappropriate put-downs you’ve subjected me to, the snide comments …A simple case of transfer. The result of growing up overshadowed by those magnificent brothers. Was it very painful to feel so neglected? Do the scars still ache when it rains?”
She snorted, a surprisingly loud sound coming from such a small woman. “I prayed to be neglected. Ballet, piano, horseback riding. Fencing, for Pete’s sake. Who makes their kid take fencing lessons? Girl Scouts, orchestra, tutors if I slipped below a B, monetary incentives to join every club with a special bonus if I ran for office. And yet somehow I survived, although the torture continues.”
She’d just described his dream childhood. Fragments of memory swept over him. His father’s drunken voice… Pull your head out of that goddamned book and go buy me some cigarettes. Cockroaches scrambling under the refrigerator, leaky pipes dripping rusty water on the linoleum. The scent of Lysol—a good memory—when one of the old man’s girlfriends tried to clean up the place, and then the inevitable bang of that warped metal door when she’d storm out.
Annabelle chased her remaining scallop to the edge of the plate and looked up at him. “I really think you’ll like Rachel.”
“I like Gwen.”
“That’s because she refused you. The two of you had no chemistry.”
“You’re so wrong. There was definite chemistry.”
“I don’t get why you need a wife right now. You have Bodie, you have assistants, and you can hire a housekeeper to handle all those impromptu dinner parties. As for having kids…It’s hard to raise them with a cell phone super glued to your ear.”
It was long past time to put Tinker Bell in her place. He settled back in his chair and let his eyes drift to her breasts. “You left out sex.”
She took a few seconds too long to respond. “You can hire that, too.”
“Honey,” he drawled, “I’ve never had to pay for sex in my life.”
She flushed, and he thought he finally had her where he wanted her, only to watch that small nose shoot into the air. “Which merely points out how desperate some women can be.”
“Speaking personally?”
“Raoul’s opinion. My lover. He’s very insightful.”
He grinned, and right then it occurred to him that he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much with a woman in a very long time. If Annabelle Granger were a few inches taller, a hell of a lot more sophisticated, better organized, less bossy, and more inclined to worship at his feet, she’d have made a perfect wife.
Chapter Six
S omeone took the seat next to Heath in the first-class cabin, but he was too preoccupied with the spreadsheet he’d pulled up on his laptop to pay attention. It wasn’t until the flight attendant called for electronic devices to be shut off that he grew conscious of a dark, subtle perfume. He lifted his head and found himself looking into a set of intelligent blue eyes. “Portia?”
“Good morning, Heath.” She leaned against the headrest. “How in the world do you cope with these early morning flights?”
“You get used to it.”
“I’ll pretend to believe you.”
She was wearing some kind of a silky lilac wrap dress, slim and sleeveless, with a purple cardigan knotted around her shoulders and a silver chain at her neck studded with three bezel-set diamonds. She was a beautiful woman, cultured and accomplished, and he liked doing business with her, but he didn’t find her sexy. She was too carefully put together, too aggressive. Pretty much a female version of himself. “What takes you to Tampa?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not the weather, that’s for sure. It’s going to be ninety-three degrees there today.”
“Is it?” Heath paid no attention to any weather that didn’t affect the
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