foyer with bronze wall sconces and glazed, parchment-colored walls. “You should have told me about her earlier.”
He tilted his head toward the back of the house. “The kitchen’s that way. She’s going to need coffee. I’ll go prepare her while you make it.”
“Bram, this isn’t a good idea. I’m telling you as a woman that…”
He’d already disappeared up the stairs. She sank down on the bottom step and buried her face in her hands. A girlfriend. Bram had always been surrounded by beautiful women, but she’d never heard of him being involved in a serious relationship. Now she wished she hadn’t cut Trevor off whenever he started gossiping about Bram’s activities.
She rose from the step and began to look around. This girlfriend had exquisite taste in decorating, if not in men. Unlike so many older hacienda-style homes, this one had light hardwood floors that were either original or had been distressed to look warm and rustic. The furniture was comfortable—basic pieces upholstered in muted fabrics dressed up with embellished Indian pillows and Tibetanthrows in ochre, olive, rust, pewter, and tarnished gold. A series of tall French doors opening to a rear veranda allowed the early-morning light to spill inside, which accounted for the lushness of the lemon and kumquat trees growing in decorative ceramic pots. An antique olive urn held a luxuriant vine that twined up the side of the fireplace and along the heavy stone mantel, which was carved in a Moorish design.
The well-equipped kitchen had roughly plastered walls, sleek appliances, and earth-toned tiles with deep blue accents. An iron chandelier with tin shades hung over the center island, and the bay with six arched windows she’d seen when they’d driven in made up the breakfast nook. She found the coffeemaker and made a pot. So far, she hadn’t heard any screams coming from upstairs, but it was only a matter of time. She carried her mug out onto a roofed veranda with the same twisted russet columns and blue-and-white Spanish tile floor as the front entry porch. The filigreed metal lanterns, mosaic tables with curved iron legs, ornate wooden screen, and furniture upholstered in colorful Moroccan and Turkish fabrics made her feel as though she’d stepped into a casbah. Luxuriant vines, low palms, and stands of bamboo offered a sense of privacy.
She wrapped a cotton throw around her shoulders and settled in a comfortable lounge chair. The faint sound of brass wind-bells drifted through the chilly morning quiet. Bram obviously didn’t know his girlfriend well because the kind of woman who owned a house like this wasn’t going to accept having her boyfriend marry another woman, regardless of the circumstances. He was stupid to even imagine such a thing, which was odd because Bram was never—
She jolted upright. Coffee splashed on her hand. She sucked it off, then set her mug on a stack of newsmagazines and stomped inside. Within seconds, she’d climbed the steps and found the master bedroom where Bram lay facedown and sound asleep across the king-size bed. Alone.
Georgie had forgotten the most fundamental rule when dealing with Bram Shepard. Don’t believe anything he says.
She was ready to dump a cold bucket of water over his head when she thought better of it. As long as he was asleep, she didn’t have to deal with him. She went back downstairs and resettled on the veranda. At eight o’clock she called Trev, who, predictably, nearly blew out her eardrums. “What the hell’s going on?”
“True love,” she retorted.
“I can’t believe he married you. I absolutely cannot believe you talked him into this.”
“We were drunk.”
“Believe me, he wasn’t that drunk. Bram always knows exactly what he’s doing. Where is he now?”
“Asleep upstairs in a magnificent house that, apparently, belongs to him.”
“He bought it two years ago. God knows how he came up with the down payment. It’s no secret that he hasn’t been
He tilted his head toward the back of the house. “The kitchen’s that way. She’s going to need coffee. I’ll go prepare her while you make it.”
“Bram, this isn’t a good idea. I’m telling you as a woman that…”
He’d already disappeared up the stairs. She sank down on the bottom step and buried her face in her hands. A girlfriend. Bram had always been surrounded by beautiful women, but she’d never heard of him being involved in a serious relationship. Now she wished she hadn’t cut Trevor off whenever he started gossiping about Bram’s activities.
She rose from the step and began to look around. This girlfriend had exquisite taste in decorating, if not in men. Unlike so many older hacienda-style homes, this one had light hardwood floors that were either original or had been distressed to look warm and rustic. The furniture was comfortable—basic pieces upholstered in muted fabrics dressed up with embellished Indian pillows and Tibetanthrows in ochre, olive, rust, pewter, and tarnished gold. A series of tall French doors opening to a rear veranda allowed the early-morning light to spill inside, which accounted for the lushness of the lemon and kumquat trees growing in decorative ceramic pots. An antique olive urn held a luxuriant vine that twined up the side of the fireplace and along the heavy stone mantel, which was carved in a Moorish design.
The well-equipped kitchen had roughly plastered walls, sleek appliances, and earth-toned tiles with deep blue accents. An iron chandelier with tin shades hung over the center island, and the bay with six arched windows she’d seen when they’d driven in made up the breakfast nook. She found the coffeemaker and made a pot. So far, she hadn’t heard any screams coming from upstairs, but it was only a matter of time. She carried her mug out onto a roofed veranda with the same twisted russet columns and blue-and-white Spanish tile floor as the front entry porch. The filigreed metal lanterns, mosaic tables with curved iron legs, ornate wooden screen, and furniture upholstered in colorful Moroccan and Turkish fabrics made her feel as though she’d stepped into a casbah. Luxuriant vines, low palms, and stands of bamboo offered a sense of privacy.
She wrapped a cotton throw around her shoulders and settled in a comfortable lounge chair. The faint sound of brass wind-bells drifted through the chilly morning quiet. Bram obviously didn’t know his girlfriend well because the kind of woman who owned a house like this wasn’t going to accept having her boyfriend marry another woman, regardless of the circumstances. He was stupid to even imagine such a thing, which was odd because Bram was never—
She jolted upright. Coffee splashed on her hand. She sucked it off, then set her mug on a stack of newsmagazines and stomped inside. Within seconds, she’d climbed the steps and found the master bedroom where Bram lay facedown and sound asleep across the king-size bed. Alone.
Georgie had forgotten the most fundamental rule when dealing with Bram Shepard. Don’t believe anything he says.
She was ready to dump a cold bucket of water over his head when she thought better of it. As long as he was asleep, she didn’t have to deal with him. She went back downstairs and resettled on the veranda. At eight o’clock she called Trev, who, predictably, nearly blew out her eardrums. “What the hell’s going on?”
“True love,” she retorted.
“I can’t believe he married you. I absolutely cannot believe you talked him into this.”
“We were drunk.”
“Believe me, he wasn’t that drunk. Bram always knows exactly what he’s doing. Where is he now?”
“Asleep upstairs in a magnificent house that, apparently, belongs to him.”
“He bought it two years ago. God knows how he came up with the down payment. It’s no secret that he hasn’t been
Similar Books
