Page 40 of Betrayal

“The dress tells me you’re upset.We can leave now.”For the first time ever, Hunter focused on her body.His gaze travelled from her booted feet, over the ruched-up emerald skirt revealing her knees and the lower half of her thighs—sheathed in fishnet stockings—to the black bustier.He finished at her face.“I’m sorry.”

Anna was studying him.“I might have misjudged you.I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.My fault.You’re not under attack.I thought I might be.”

She glanced at the majordomo, who was still grinning.“The style’s steampunk.Derives from steampunk in science fiction.The fashion came later.Victorian romanticism mixed with the Industrial Revolution.”

“I repeat, I’m sorry.”Hunter held his hands up.“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dress like that before.It has to be said.You look incredible.”

“But it’s not really a fancy-dress party.”She stood hipshot.

"I should have explained.You’re not here for my ego.You’re here for moral support.”He leaned closer.“Your scent settles me.”

“I change my perfume almost as often as I change my clothes.”Something that had annoyed the hell out of Anna’s last date.

“I know.”He took a step closer, then rested his cheek against hers.“They all settle me.”

He was sweet.A rock-hard shell covering a gooey melted caramel inside.Hunter’s acceptance of her quirks eased Anna’s doubts.Whatever happened, he had her back tonight.

“Why are we someplace you’d rather not be, Hunter?”she whispered against his ear, not a conversation anyone else needed to hear.

“Exorcising a ghost.”

“Hunter.”A cloud of too much Dior preceded the woman.“You came.”

Anna read relief and a hint of calculation in the woman’s coy smile.

“Marygai, this is Anna.”Hunter stepped behind her, sliding a warm hand down the back of her neck, before he rested firm palms on her bare shoulders.

A caress with enough intent for her knees to go weak, a warning to their hostess, who’d been puckered up and ready to pounce?Anna stepped hard on his foot, a protest for putting her in the line of fire.

“Hi”—she stretched out a hand, the charm bracelet Helen had worn at that long-ago party dangling from her wrist—"lovely house.”

“Thank you.”The older woman’s welcoming smile faded.

Marygai’s appraisal of her outfit made Anna wish she’d worn the bodycam.She’d struggle to describe her hostess’s expression to her sister.Disgust played a part, so did envy with a soupçon—a French word seemed appropriate—of admiration.Marygai looked to be in her fifties, a hard-lived fifties.Too much sun and booze, not enough contentment.

“Welcome.Anna probably won’t know anyone, but”—Marygai turned to Hunter—"a number of your mother’s friends are here tonight.Your father’s coming.Why don’t you go through?”

Anna plastered a smile on her face and headed toward the noise.The place wasHouse and Gardenmagazine magnificent.Graceful rooms opened into each other, and the building was angled for maximum sea views.A double living area opened onto a patio, a parallel kitchen dining living space opened to the same patio.Beyond that was a manicured lawn broken by a translucent blue, double-lap pool, and more lawn ending in a stone harbour wall.

Hunter was behind her, his steps matching hers, his scent settling her as he claimed hers did him.Safe, an unexpected sensation.Her favourite male fragrances were those worn by her brother-in-law and his twin.Knowing they were nearby was always a reassurance.Hunter offered more—a reassuring challenge.

Waiters, trained to react to the slightest gesture or nod, circled the room with trays of drinks.

“Sparkling water, please?”Anna said.

“A beer.”

“I’ll be right back, sir.”

Was Hunter making his own statement with that request?The waiter had offered red and white wine and champagne—all French.As anticipated, Anna’s dress was attracting a few second looks.

“You weren’t expecting your father,” she stated.

“His sperm gives him biological rights to the title.That’s all.”

“Ouch!”Anna came to a decision and turned to Hunter.“There’s a lot of history in this room.We’re going to have to split up.”

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