prey bone dry. Farmers called the beast a chupacabra.
Warner suspected it was too coincidental that the second his ex-fiancée fled their Manhattan penthouse for her native Lone Star State people noticed an upswing in this monster roaming their prairies. He knew for certain the chupacabra existed and called herself Rielle Bruni. And a moment ago, on his lawn, as he held Red’s hand, Rielle’s sulfuric stench arrived in St. Barth’s.
“I waited for ya,” she yapped from across the estate lawn.
No, no, no. Not Rielle . His ears could’ve bled. Each eardrum felt shot out.
Red’s perky stride slowed. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Garner, who’s coming toward us?”
“My worst nightmare.” Shit, I knew this felt too good to be true .
Rielle approached from the long, narrow driveway’s other side as if seizing her next victim. “Honey, I’m his fiancée, Rielle,” she drawled between cigarette puffs and flicked the fiery bud in his direction. “I’ve come to ring in the New Year with my man.” Her infamous snort got caught in her exhale, twisting her voice into a hackled cough.
Red’s warm fingers unlocked.
Don’t let go …
Every delicious inch of Red’s body went cold. She turned and stared at him, her face didn’t seem fazed. Red wasn’t anyone’s victim. A woman who didn’t have time to bullshit, Red was too good for this.
“Rielle is not my fiancée. Not anymore. I’ll call authorities to remove—” He grabbed for her arm.
She sidestepped and spun, her clutch dropped to the earth and opened. Papers, money, a hairbrush, spread at their feet. The champagne bottle followed. It landed, shattering glass shards throughout.
“I’m sorry, Red, I am.” Warner indicated with a wave he’d pick her things up. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Rielle snarled and laughed at him, walking in their direction. “I’m still wearing the ring he gave me. Ain’t I?” She held the diamond to Red’s face. Warner was surprised she hadn’t pawned it yet.
“Stop with your lies, Rielle.” Frustrated, Warner dropped to his knees and collected the treasures lost. He placed Red’s items back in her bag. “We broke up. Let me explain.” I can’t believe this shit .
Red stood over him, her long legs like something off a European fashion show that had lost their runway. Her eyes were focused on Rielle.
“I’m carrying his baby,” his ex lied and then rubbed at her belly, trying to stick it out.
“Enough, Rielle. My family knows you were not really pregnant.” On his way up, he studied Red’s body, her tense calf muscles, her hands fisted at her side. With lips pursed, Red held her breath, unshaken. Red could take Rielle down in addition to anyone else who stood in her way. Did she want to fight Rielle? He couldn’t imagine so. No, Red came off altogether annoyed. He sensed she’d bolt the second he gave her the bag. Then she’d be gone. Warner hoped not forever.
“Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. “Were you ever engaged to her?”
“Yes. Let’s talk tomorrow when she’s gone. And we’re alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage tonight for tomorrow. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn’t want to let go of her bag either. He didn’t have a choice. Red wasn’t his to keep. Not yet.
Her arms extended, ready to catch—and leave. “Your future wife is determined.”
“We’re not engaged anymore.”
Red’s tone had chilled, eyes stoned, face mannequinesque. “Maybe you two can get back together and work it out before the kid arrives.” She lowered her voice. “Hopefully she’ll quit smoking before the baby is born.”
“I’d like to explain everything to you tomorrow. Please. I put my card in your—”
Raising her hand, Red cut him short. “I left crazy back home.” Her once-captivated eyes unlocked from his with
Warner suspected it was too coincidental that the second his ex-fiancée fled their Manhattan penthouse for her native Lone Star State people noticed an upswing in this monster roaming their prairies. He knew for certain the chupacabra existed and called herself Rielle Bruni. And a moment ago, on his lawn, as he held Red’s hand, Rielle’s sulfuric stench arrived in St. Barth’s.
“I waited for ya,” she yapped from across the estate lawn.
No, no, no. Not Rielle . His ears could’ve bled. Each eardrum felt shot out.
Red’s perky stride slowed. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Garner, who’s coming toward us?”
“My worst nightmare.” Shit, I knew this felt too good to be true .
Rielle approached from the long, narrow driveway’s other side as if seizing her next victim. “Honey, I’m his fiancée, Rielle,” she drawled between cigarette puffs and flicked the fiery bud in his direction. “I’ve come to ring in the New Year with my man.” Her infamous snort got caught in her exhale, twisting her voice into a hackled cough.
Red’s warm fingers unlocked.
Don’t let go …
Every delicious inch of Red’s body went cold. She turned and stared at him, her face didn’t seem fazed. Red wasn’t anyone’s victim. A woman who didn’t have time to bullshit, Red was too good for this.
“Rielle is not my fiancée. Not anymore. I’ll call authorities to remove—” He grabbed for her arm.
She sidestepped and spun, her clutch dropped to the earth and opened. Papers, money, a hairbrush, spread at their feet. The champagne bottle followed. It landed, shattering glass shards throughout.
“I’m sorry, Red, I am.” Warner indicated with a wave he’d pick her things up. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Rielle snarled and laughed at him, walking in their direction. “I’m still wearing the ring he gave me. Ain’t I?” She held the diamond to Red’s face. Warner was surprised she hadn’t pawned it yet.
“Stop with your lies, Rielle.” Frustrated, Warner dropped to his knees and collected the treasures lost. He placed Red’s items back in her bag. “We broke up. Let me explain.” I can’t believe this shit .
Red stood over him, her long legs like something off a European fashion show that had lost their runway. Her eyes were focused on Rielle.
“I’m carrying his baby,” his ex lied and then rubbed at her belly, trying to stick it out.
“Enough, Rielle. My family knows you were not really pregnant.” On his way up, he studied Red’s body, her tense calf muscles, her hands fisted at her side. With lips pursed, Red held her breath, unshaken. Red could take Rielle down in addition to anyone else who stood in her way. Did she want to fight Rielle? He couldn’t imagine so. No, Red came off altogether annoyed. He sensed she’d bolt the second he gave her the bag. Then she’d be gone. Warner hoped not forever.
“Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. “Were you ever engaged to her?”
“Yes. Let’s talk tomorrow when she’s gone. And we’re alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage tonight for tomorrow. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn’t want to let go of her bag either. He didn’t have a choice. Red wasn’t his to keep. Not yet.
Her arms extended, ready to catch—and leave. “Your future wife is determined.”
“We’re not engaged anymore.”
Red’s tone had chilled, eyes stoned, face mannequinesque. “Maybe you two can get back together and work it out before the kid arrives.” She lowered her voice. “Hopefully she’ll quit smoking before the baby is born.”
“I’d like to explain everything to you tomorrow. Please. I put my card in your—”
Raising her hand, Red cut him short. “I left crazy back home.” Her once-captivated eyes unlocked from his with
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