Page 38 of The Rancher's Wedding Betrayal
While Ms. Kemp has been made to sign an NDA tighter than this columnist’s favorite skinny jeans, according to our most trusted sources (and you know my sources are impeccable, darlings), she tried to get rid of dear Evelline not once but TWICE so she could remain the sole heir of her cousin’s ten-digit fortune.
Yeah, that backfired, obvs.
She’s now unofficially persona non grata in San Antonio’s elite circles, and about to face a case of blackmail from a certain Matthew Braxton, who apparently has some rather... compromising videos she used to manipulate him. More deets about this next time, but my little birdies tell me Matt has found redemption and employment at a prestigious ranch in Montana, safely away from all the Ferguson family drama.
Until our next tea-spilling sesh, little lambs! In the meantime, yours truly shall be lurking in the shadows of the wedding reception, champagne in hand, hunting for more delicious gossip to serve piping hot!
XOXO,
Ms. Tea for Tat
THE ANTIQUE GRANDFATHERclock in the hallway chimed midnight as her husband pushed open their bedroom door, Eve still cradled in his arms.
Husband.
How surreal it still sounded to her ears, even after everything.
Hunter set her down gently, his hands lingering at her waist.
“Having second thoughts, Mrs. Ferguson?”
“No.” It embarrassed Eve to hear herself sound so shy and breathless. "N-No second thoughts at all." But that was just how it was. She loved him that much, and he...
He loved her just as much, with the way her husband was now looking at her like she was the most precious thing.
Her breath caught as he turned her slowly around, and his fingers found the row of tiny pearl buttons running down her spine. “Nervous, my love?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Eve was torn between rolling her eyes and choking out a laugh. How so very like Hunter. Did she really think this part of him would change?
Butterflies fluttered their wings inside of her stomach as she felt his knuckles brushing against her bare skin. Each undone button felt like a promise fulfilled, eight years in the making, and when the last of it finally yielded, and she felt the gown fall gently from her body before pooling around her feet...
"Turn around, wife."
The possessiveness of his tone had Eve gulping before obeying her command, and oh, the way he was staring at her now...
She was down to a lace corset and delicate thigh-high stockings, and her heart slammed against her chest as he took a step forward.
"What do you want me to be tonight?"
Eve's eyes widened at the question.
"Gentle...or rough?"
Oh, how so like of him to ask this, too!
He knew it would kill her, to be given this kind of choice—
"R-Rough."
—andstillend up making the wrong one.
"I can't hear you, Mrs. Ferguson."
Yeargh.
