Page 60 of An Improper Deal (Elliot & Annabelle 1)
Still, the sense of unease refuses to leave. I wrap a hand around her waist and pull her closer.
Her body stiffens.
I rake my teeth over my lower lip. A sudden urge to make her as pliable as she was last night beats through me. I want her eyes glazed with a painful hunger only I can sate. My free hand wraps around the bar behind me as I stare at the mirrored doors. Her gaze is fixed somewhere beyond our reflections. Josephine did well to pick out the dress. It emphasizes the hourglass figure, the body that begs to be thoroughly fucked. Anna—
Gigi, I remind myself. The name still feels unfamiliar in my mind, and it takes me a fraction of a second to orient myself before using it.
I know she wants me to call her by her real name. If I were a better man I would. But I’m not.
And I will never call her Annabelle.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabelle
I’m grateful for the reprieve of the silent drive to Elliot’s home. His physical proximity, my fitful sleep last night and the unexpected encounter with Dennis churn my emotions. My nerves are shot from tension, my pulse erratic.
One minute at a time.
I can’t let events overwhelm me, push me until I’m out of control. Outwardly, I’m a married woman with a husband to lean on. The reality is I’m more alone than ever before. Nobody’s going to support me if I falter.
Elliot’s hand is loose and careless as it rests on the steering wheel. He’s acting entirely too casual and chill. If I was just slightly less in tune with his mood, I probably wouldn’t catch it, but I can feel the tension winding around him. And the crooked grin on his face holds a brittle edge.
I tighten my grip on my purse. I should’ve known he wouldn’t buy my explanation about Dennis.
I still don’t know what to do about my ex. It’s one thing if we’d just happened to run into each other. It’s something else for him to be at a firm that’s managing my money. I don’t think he’ll do anything unethical. On the other hand, we’re both still hurt and angry and resentful of each other, and Dennis apparently had to leave Lincoln City just like me and Nonny.
My phone pings with a new text. I fish it out of my purse to take a peek.
My phone doesn’t recognize the number, but I know immediately who sent it.
We have to talk.
I keep my expression carefully neutral, but the last thing I want to do is “talk”. Dennis and I have a history far too ugly and violent for something so innocuous. Isn’t that why he changed his last name to Dunn?
I’m about to tuck the phone back in my purse, but then it hits me. He has my number. It had to have come from the client file…which undoubtedly means he knows how to reach me in other ways. I don’t want him showing up in the neighborhood, especially when Nonny’s around. She’s never talked about our parents’ deaths, and I hope with all my heart that her mind’s blocked out the event…even though a part of me suspects she remembers everything. She was thirteen at t
he time, old enough to know exactly what was going on.
I would do anything to protect her from reliving that trauma.
No time today, I type. I don’t know what my schedule’s going to be like in the next few days. I hit send.
Make time.
I scowl, then turn my head so Elliot won’t notice my expression. We’ve just married, so it’s hectic. I’ll send you a time when I’m free as soon as I know.
“Who’s that?” Elliot asks in a deceptively mild voice.
Sudden guilt knots in my belly, like I got caught cheating or something. “Nonny. She’s wondering what’s for dinner,” I say, wincing inwardly at how bad that lie is. She’s never texted me about dinner before.
Elliot shrugs. “She can have whatever she wants.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Another text: Don’t tell your husband about me.
I grip the phone so hard, I’m afraid I might crack the screen. He has no idea what’s really going on between me and Elliot, and he’s probably worried about Elliot doing something to negatively affect his tenure at the firm. Don’t worry, I reply, then create a new text for Nonny. Elliot says you can have anything you want for dinner. What are you in the mood for?
