Page 4 of Taming Achilles

“Well, you went from a lass who wouldn’t even hold a rifle to go stalking, aye? She would take a spa day instead, and now look at you.” I tipped my glass towards Lea. “Married to the most lethal woman in the world.” I chuckled, thinking of his ex-fiancée with a cold bitterness that roiled my guts. “The last one would never have gotten into a helicopter, and carried you out of harm’s way when you caught a bullet.”

I had once thought that she would have gone through hell and high water for me. But no. It turned out that my woman wouldn’t even spit on me if I was on fire.

“Not many women would,” Callum said with a happy nod, watching his wife belly laugh as she mis-stepped to the strange choreographed line dances that, according to her, were staples at every wedding. A chicken dance. A cupid shuffle. Something about a mambo.

“Am pure done in.” I admitted how tired I was. I couldn’t remember the last time I was able to sleep through a whole night.

“You okay getting back to the room?”

“Aye, it’s just upstairs.” I said, as if he was dense. “I’m using your penthouse, of course.”

“Lovely,” he said with a laugh. “No matter what, don’t call me for two weeks.”

I laughed. That was his time on a honeymoon. They had agreed on a river cruise from Bern to Amsterdam. Their phones would be off, and the world wouldn’t exist as the newlyweds celebrated their union.

“Turn your phone off now,” I told him. “We’ve got it handled.”

He went into his pocket and pulled out his company issued phone. He turned it off, pulled out the battery and placed it back into his pocket.

“Get back to your bride,” I laughed. “Enjoy being married to the right woman.”

I was a lousy fucking drunk. I felt myself getting angrier, and meaner as the alcohol pulsed through my veins as I recalled his former fiancée. The woman he was supposed to marry before fate, or his own common sense, stepped in. I refused to think of her name. Refused to even consider her.

“G’night, Geordie,” Callum said, sounding more like a good Scotsman than the civilised Brit he always pretended to be.

“Gaun yersel,” I said in congratulations as I punched him in the arm.

I walked down the hall, swaying as I found the elevator. I pressed the button, though it tried to dance away from me, but I got that little fucker in my sights.

It opened, and I clicked for the top floor, courtesy of Baron Strathlachlan, also known as the groom of tonight’s festivities.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I pulled it out, looking down at the screen. The number that came up wasn’t saved, but it didn’t need to be. It was an unfamiliar number, but I could feel the person on the other end. The way your joints feel the pain of cold weather long before it arrives.

I touched the ring in my pocket again, reminding myself that the woman on the other end could cut me deeper than any diamond-edged knife.

Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. She’s a liar. Don’t pick up.

But I was a fool. I accepted the call and brought it to my ear.

“You’re too late to protest, so you’ll have to keep your peace,” I said, with a cruel chuckle. God, I wanted to hear her voice and wound her all at the same time. “He’s married. You canno’ have him now.”

“Geo?” The voice on the end was small, hurt, and scared.

I sobered immediately. “It won’t work this time, Pippa. I’m through. I–”

“Please.” Her voice was a whisper. “I can hear them. They’re in my house.”

She had walked the runway at the LA fashion week just a moment ago. I knew that because I was an obsessed fool. She’d be staying at her own penthouse, not that far from here.

“I’m in the closet. I can hear them outside.” Her whisper was getting weaker. The meekness of it sent a jolt of fear through my body.

“Stay there. Don’t make a sound.” The phone cut off and I was left with nothing but the sad beeping of our disconnection.

Chapter 2

Pippa

Earlier that evening

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