Page 1 of Beau

Chapter 1

He ceased his endless pacing when he glimpsed her sports car, pulling into the driveway. Trying to tamp down the anger, he quelled the urge to haul the double hardwood doors open and confront her. He had been calling her phone for the past thirty minutes and nothing.

“I am sorry.” She breezed into the wide hallway, bringing in the bracing breeze of the crisp November evening with her. “My phone was on vibrate, and I did not realize it. Darling–”

“We are going to be late.” He tried and failed to resist her dazzling smile, which highlighted her exquisite face, and felt the familiar weakness invading his body. It had been that way from the first time he saw her more than a year ago, and it had not lessened.

“Ten minutes,” she promised as she glided over and kissed him on the lips. “Make that eight.” Without waiting for his response, she dashed along the hallway and up the spiral staircase.

Biting off an impatient sigh, Beau went to stand by the window, a frown touching his brow. He had an idea where she had been. She had originally gone to luncheon with Leesa, Kelly, and several of the other wives with the intention of putting the finishing touches on the

Thanksgiving gala they were planning. But he knew that the meeting had been over for hours. No doubt, she had been torturing herself again by going to the park.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark blue dress pants, he narrowed emerald green eyes as he stared sightlessly outdoors, not seeing the brilliance of the russet-colored leaves on the trees waving in the breeze. He was in love.

And it was still baffling to him that one petite woman, weighing a mere hundred and fifteen pounds, just barely topping five feet, had such a hold over him. And that had been the case since he first laid eyes on her at that party.”

His reputation, before then, had been one of a hellraiser who loved and discarded women with alarming frequency. He was the heir to a pharmaceutical fortune and was spoiled in the process. He had been allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Until her. Until Georgiana. Just thinking about her made him weak with need. Their marriage had survived its first year, and he had been lavish with his gifts and whisked her off to Paris, where they had spent two wonderful weeks in the romantic city.

Now they were back, and he knew she was again obsessed with what she considered to be a problem.

“What do you think?” Her musical voice had him turning around slowly. Even though he had lived with her for more than a year, it was still a shock to his system of how beautiful she was.

The orange-colored chiffon, molded to her surprisingly generous breasts, was nipped in at an almost impossibly tiny waist, flaring out and swirling around long, shapely legs. Her caramel complexion was highlighted by the vivid color.

Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was styled in an elegant chignon at the nape of her long, graceful neck. Diamonds glittered at her lobes, throat, and around her left wrist.

“I think I am going to have to keep you chained to my side," he remarked huskily. Her eyes showed no signs of the tears he had witnessed when she came bursting through the doorway. His wife was an expert at masking her sorrow. For now, he was going to let it go, but later, they were definitely going to have a chat.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself.” Her sultry smile came, dark brown eyes wandering over his well-clad magnificent body. His blonde hair gleamed in the overhead light, his handsome face giving her heart the usual ba-bump.

Beau Anderson was breathtakingly masculine and saved from being beautiful by the slight bump on his nose where he had broken it in his youth while playing ice hockey.

They were dubbed the “stunningly beautiful couple” by several magazines and were relentlessly pursued by the press.

“Shall we?” Bridging the distance between them, he rubbed his hands over her bare arms before reaching for her cashmere jacket and helping her to put it on.

He barely touched her, knowing that if he did, they would probably never make it out of the house. He had discovered that where his wife was concerned, he had zero control over his desire.

“We are taking the Lamborghini," he informed her as they made their way toward the multiple-car garage.

“You are driving?” Georgie looked at her husband in surprise as he guided her down the steps of their Tudor house. “What happened to Eric?”

“He asked for the night off. Something to do with his wife.”

“I hope she is okay.” She waited for him to open the door and slid in, the soft velvet seat cushioning her and conforming to her body.

“I am sure she is.” Glancing over to make certain she was buckled in, he touched the start button, and the car purred to life. “How was the luncheon?” He made his way through theelectronic gates and down the private road that led to the main roadway that would take them into town.

“We are making progress.” Sitting back, she closed her eyes briefly, trying to fight the nostalgia she felt coming on. She knew her husband had seen the tracks of tears on her cheeks, even though she had tried to hide it.

She had spent a few minutes getting rid of the evidence.

“Georgie?”

“Hmm?”

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