Charlene Sands - Fortune's Vengeful Groom

Her gaze traveled around her beloved room, where she’d spend hours dreaming up designs and wishing that one day she could open her own studio. She realized suddenly—and perhaps too late—how the room appeared. In an effort to conceal the mess, she’d arranged beautiful lengths of silk and satin cloths, draping them over bolts of fabric, design charts, spools of thread and ribbon. With soft lighting, her work area hidden and colorful material flowing in an array of delicacy, she’d unintentionally created a dining area that one might conceive as seductive.

“I think this might be a mistake, Nic,” she said slowly, trying to calm her impending panic.

“You’ll do fine, Lizzie. You always do. Just keep your head up, your mind on something else and you’ll get through this evening.”

That had always been her problem with Reese. Whenever he was in the room, she couldn’t focus on anything but him. She’d met him right after watching the rodeo and walked up to him in a meet-’n’-greet line to shake his hand. He’d held on to her hand a little longer than the other cowboys had and looked deeply into her eyes with a certain sweet promise, then released her to shake the next person’s hand. She’d been fascinated, transfixed in the moment—and disappointed when she’d left the rodeo without seeing him again.

So when he slid in the seat right next to her that night at her hotel bar, she’d been captivated by his slow and easy manner, quick wit and undeniable sex appeal. She’d fallen hard for Reese Parker, and she’d realized right then, that what she’d felt for Warren Keyes wasn’t love at all. She’d dismissed her feelings for him quite easily after meeting Reese.

She’d had the real thing with Reese—or so she believed. And when he’d betrayed her, her world had crumbled apart.

“Thanks, Nic. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She’d never regret telling her dear friend the truth. She’d been a godsend today, coaching her through the cooking and giving her moral support.

“So, are you wearing a knockout dress?” Nic asked.

“No, just a plain black cocktail dress with simple lines. I don’t really care how I look to Reese.”

Nic sighed. “Eliza,” she said, taking a serious tone, “you were married to him. I mean, you’re still married to him. A woman who’s been placed in your situation would surely want the man to eat crow…at least for a little while.”

“It’s not crow, Nic. It’s pot roast. You helped me with the recipe, remember?”

“Is that a joke coming from my worried friend? Maybe there’s hope for you after all. Besides, I know that black dress you’re talking about. And it’s killer on you. You could make a burlap sack look great with your figure.”

Eliza closed her eyes briefly, wondering if Nicole had a point. After all, why had she chosen Reese’s favorite meal to serve unless a small part of her wanted him to see what he’d missed out on these past years. A small part of her wanted him to recognize that he’d thrown away an abiding love. Maybe she had chosen a dress, though conservative in design with a high neckline and a decent hemline, that seemed to set off her curves. With Eliza’s body, unless she truly did choose a sack to wear, she could hardly conceal her womanly form.

When the doorbell rang, she froze. I need more time, she thought. I’m not ready for this. “He’s here,” she breathed into the phone.

“Eliza, keep your cool. Be honest with him. And whatever you do, don’t…”

“What, Nic? Don’t what?”

“Don’t fall for the guy again.”

“Not a chance. I’m immune to his charm now. I’ve learned my lesson with Reese Parker.”

She clung dearly to those thoughts as she descended the stairs and greeted her estranged husband.

Reese Parker stood outside the Fortune estate, barely containing his temper. The last time he’d been here, he’d been effectively tossed off the property. Now he was an invited guest. Hell, not exactly. It had cost him to get this invitation, but it would be well worth the money paid to see Eliza’s reaction when she learned the truth about him. She’d toyed with his affections in the past, then cast him aside. Reese would only give her a dose of her own medicine.

He rang the doorbell, and when the door opened, he was surprised to find a nervous Eliza standing there instead of one of the staff. “Still keeping secrets, darlin’?”

Her chin jutted up, angling her nose in the air, but she couldn’t conceal the rosy color flaming her cheeks. “I thought we could be civil to one another tonight.”

Think again, he wanted to say, but she did have a point. Nothing would get settled if they couldn’t stand to look at each other all evening.

Although looking at Eliza had never been his problem. She’d captured his attention from the moment they’d met. Tonight, she dressed in a classy black dress that attempted to hide a body he’d tried damn hard to forget. With blond hair caressing her shoulders and those soft blue eyes—glaring at him right now—Reese remembered her all too well, in and out of her clothes.

He stepped inside and handed her a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

A faint smile crossed her lips when she glanced at the bottle he’d given her.

When I make my first million, we’ll celebrate with Dom Pérignon.

Reese had always wanted the best for her, no matter the cost, and now that he could afford it, he knew the champagne would taste bitter to them both.

“I keep my promises,” he said quietly.

Eliza nearly dropped the bottle she held. “Except the most important promise of all,” she said, handing him back the champagne. “Dinner is waiting.”

Reese set the bottle down on an entry table and arched his brows. He hadn’t really wanted to drink champagne with her. No, his intention was to make a point, and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d succeeded.

Eliza led him up a wide winding staircase to the second floor. It irritated him to no end the pains she took in order to keep their marriage a secret. She’d probably arranged for the entire family, as well as the staff, to be gone this evening. Fine by him. He wasn’t overly fond of the Fortunes anyway, from the little Eliza had shared with him about her family. And now she was tucking them both away somewhere on the second floor.

“You have a dining room up here?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “We need privacy. We’ll dine in my studio.”

“Ah, worried that your father or brother might stumble upon the domestic scene? Wonder what they’d say to see you actually dining with your husband?”

“Shhh. Please, Reese. Keep your voice down.”

Reese clammed up, but not to ease her distress. His plan of action called for charm and wit, not anger. He’d had six years to stew and now he’d have to control his boiling point.

He followed her into a large room that appeared welcoming and warm, a room that clearly wasn’t ordinarily used for dining. Yet she had a table set beautifully with all the finery he’d have expected from a Fortune and she’d obviously gone to some trouble to conceal a work area using drapes of material. Reese felt himself relaxing some. “This is nice.”

Eliza shut the door behind them, then let out a deep sigh of relief. “We can talk in here without…”

Reese raised his brows. “Without?”

“Interruption. Would you like to have a seat?”

So formal, he thought. Had she forgotten how it’d been with them? The laughter, the sweet promises, making love anywhere and everywhere, including the backseat of his truck. Reese shoved aside an image of Eliza straddling him on a chair not too unlike the one she so properly offered him just now. She’d been beautifully naked, gripping him tight and rocking that chair for all it was worth.