Page 50 of Lamb

“Fine,” she grunted. “Show me what you got,Mr. Lambert. Just remember, a day will come when the student surpasses the teacher. It always does.”

“I have no doubt,” I told her.

Truth was,I was looking forward to it.There was nothing sexier than a woman who could bring a man to his knees. And I was practically crawling.

Several weeks passed and Marisela still wouldn’t let me touch her. Which was smart on her part. I’d seen the morality clause in their prenuptial agreement. Just the hint of a scandal, and she’d lose everything. And what was more scandalous than having an affair with your bastard of a brother-in-law?

It was why I was here. Why Tate allowed it. Why he didn’t fight the suggestion I made and the idea he thought he had. To tempt her. To torture me. It was another game to him. One that was easy to play when you had the dealer in your pocket and all the cards in your hand.

It was also why he would lose. Why I would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Marisela would win.

She hadn’t realized it yet. But we weren’t on opposing teams. Fighting was just part of the sport. The more she hated me, the more driven she became. And fuck if she wasn’t driven to hate me.

She chewed on the end of her pencil, so lost in thought she didn’t feel me watching her. Relaxed. More relaxed than she should be in my presence. Considering all the things I was picturing doing to her right now. She was also hyperfocused. Her legs curled up under her ass, one elbow propped up on the arm of the sofa. All her concentration on the chemistry problems in front of her.

The woman wasn’t just smart. Plenty of people were smart. She was cunning and curious and unapologetic. She knew how to read the room, how to work it in her favor, how to adapt. It was survival of the fittest. It was also something you couldn’t teach.

She scribbled down a few more equations, checking her math before shoving the paper in my direction. I grabbed it out of her hand and set it aside.

“Aren’t you even going to look at it?” She sighed. “Make sure I’m right.”

“Don’t need to. I know you’re right,” I explained.

“How? How do you know without even looking?”

“I looked at what mattered.” I lifted a shoulder. “Your face told me everything. You know you’re right. I am not going to waste the effort proving it for you. You don’t need outside validation. Trust your gut, Marisela.”

“Even when it’s telling me I should take this pencil and shove it through your eye,” she grunted, and I grinned.

“Especially then.”

64

MARISELA

The slight chill in the air had me reaching into my jacket pockets, attempting to keep warm at the same time the vibrating of my phone sent a different kind of shiver down my spine. The kind you got when you knew you shouldn’t be sticking your hand inside the cookie jar even as you were licking the crumbs off your fingertips.

I held my breath, propriety warring with curiosity as I tugged the device out and skimmed the notification across the top. An email I shouldn’t read, especially here, but couldn’t stop myself from devouring either. Every word latching on and feeding my tendency for self-sabotage. My ego too, if I were being honest. Because I enjoyed the attention nearly as much as I despised the man giving it to me.

My Dearest Marisela,

You looked particularly beautiful when you were leaving the house this morning. Sad but beautiful. What can I do to turn that frown into a smile? Would my mouth lapping at that sweet cunt help? My face is yours for the taking.

AL

I shook my head, swiped the email from my screen, and sent it directly to the recycle bin before emptying that too. Out of sight, out of mind. Except he was never really out of my mind. He made sure of it. He continued to make sure of it. No matter how long I’d been married to his brother. No matter how many times I turned down his advances over the years.

Still, for as much as he claimed to know me, he was wrong. I wasn’t sad. I was caught off guard. Shocked, I guess?

It had been sudden. At least it felt that way. Or maybe that was just something that had been so ingrained in us to think. To say. That death was sudden. Even though that wasn’t always the case. Even though sometimes death was expected. Appreciated. Like my mother. Like the man in the casket in front of me.

Maybehedidn’t appreciate it. But I sure did. And so did my husband. Who’d been left everything in the will. It was all his. Mine by proximity. The company, the estate, the cash flowing out of the multiple bank accounts…

It almost seemed too easy.

I looked up, peering past the giant hole that separated family from friends. My black veil fluttering in the wind and my hem whipping against my knees as my glare honed in on Adrian. Who hadn’t been there a moment ago. Who wasn’t even named in the obituary. The prodigal son treated like a stranger at his own father’s funeral. Not that he seemed all that bothered by Mr. Prescott’s death. More bored than anything else. And that’s when it occurred to me. He wasn’t here to mourn. He was here to see it for himself. To watch the casket get lowered into the ground, the dirt get piled on top. To ensure those bones were as forgotten as the secrets they kept.

Or maybe I was wrong about that too. Maybe he had another reason to be here. I could only guess, considering the man flipped between hot and cold, between sending me dirty emails in private and insisting I address him appropriately in public.

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