Page 85 of His Wild Attraction

“I think I’m ready to go home,” she whispered an hour later, after everyone had their coffee or after dinner drink.

Just the fact she used that word sent my soul to singing.

Home.

“Yeah? Good. I’m ready, too.”

So fucking ready.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT ELLIE

Afew days had passed since our night out.

Andres had been working crazy hours, and even though he came home for dinner every night, he went back to the office right after.

I tried to ask him what he was working on, and he told me not to worry. He was taking care of it.

Dread filled me. I knew it must have had something to do with Gary and his lawsuits.

One after the other, they came every day in the mail. The bastard was suing me for just about everything.

Mine and Sammy’s trust funds. My inheritance. Maxwell Mining. Alimony. The condo where he lived.

But the worst of it was, of course, his suit for visitation rights and sole custody of Sammy.

I’d give Gary all of my possessions and money if he would just go away. But he wouldn’t.

I knew him well enough to know he got his real kicks off of control. That man was a demon, and not in any good or sexy kind of way.

He was evil. And vile. And I hated him.

I closed my eyes, hand on my stomach. I hated confrontations. And this was one I’d been alternately dreading and looking forward to. I mean, I wanted to get it over with. But I was so afraid.

Afraid to lose my son.

Afraid to put him in harm’s way.

The meeting with Gary and his lawyers had been pushed to this evening, and my nerves were shot.

“Get it together, Ellie,” I told myself, staring at my reflection inside mine and Andres’ bathroom.

The first part of any battle was preparing for it, or so I’d been told. In this case, preparations included dressing the part.

Gary was a stickler for perfection, and I knew he would be in one of his custom three piece suits tailored to fit his thin body.

His white hair would be slicked back, not a strand out of place, and I imagined he’d be drenched in that godawful cologne he wore. He had his hair trimmed every nine days like clockwork.

He never had facial hair. Honestly, I didn’t even know if he could grow any.

Those cold, lackluster eyes would be ready to zero in on anything he deemed faulty, which was usually anything having to do with me.

He never wore even a trace of emotion on his pale face other than disdain. And I wondered for the first time if he felt anything for anyone besides himself.

Chauvinist pig.

I really didn’t know what I ever saw in Gary Peters. He wasn’t anything like the kind of man I liked.

But maybe that was because I only discovered what I liked recently.

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