Page 182 of Fiery Romance

Of course it is. That’s why I keep him around.

“What are you going to do in the meantime?” Lincoln asks.

“Head for the source.” My eyes burn into the distance.

I remain parked at the side of the road as I call my mother-in-law. The phone rings for so long that I wonder if she’ll even pick up.

Just as I’m about to hang up and drive over to her house, the line clicks.

I don’t bother with a greeting and snarl out, “What are you up to now, Miss Gen?”

“Me? Nothing much. I’m just getting my hair done for the party tonight. Speaking of, what are you wearing, Clay? You should consider a tux… if your giant shoulders can fit in a jacket. You’ll look quite dapper.”

“What are you talking about? What party?” I curl forward. Panic slaps against my throat. “You’re not coming to Island’s gala tonight, are you?”

“The more donors the merrier, right? Or would you rather me and my money not come?”

I don’t want her anywhere near Island.

“I’m sure you weren’t invited.”

“This checkbook in my purse can open many doors. You of all people should know that. Seeing how you’re spending all willy-nilly on a girl.”

My fingers tighten on the phone. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I won’t let you win. You stay away from Island before things get ugly.”

“Oh, Clay. We’re way past ‘ugly’. We’re at war.”

“Miss Gen—”

She hangs up.

I curse and swing my hand against the steering wheel. Nerves twist my neck like a vice.

I don’t care what Miss Gen is planning. I don’t care what I have to do to stop her.

She’s not touching my kids.

And she’s not touching my woman.

* * *

My soul leavesmy body when I enter the ballroom where Island is hosting her award ceremony. But it’s not because of the fancy decorations, the low-hanging chandeliers, the African drum group, or the beautiful paintings from local artists.

It’s the woman at the center of the frenzy.

My eyes lock on her.

Cody’s eyes soon follow.

I’d smack him in the face for the hint of appreciation in his gaze but, to be honest, that dress demands nothing less than mass adoration.

The material stretches deliciously over every one of her curves. The hemline whispers across the floor, gliding a fraction above shiny high heels. The slit up the side plays peek-a-boo with dark, trim thighs.

Hotdamn.

That dress was created for Island.

And she was created for me.

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