Page 16 of Malicious Marriage
“Thanks, man.” I clap his shoulder and grimace, laughing. “You’re fucking sweaty.”
“Ain’t so hot yourself, fucker.” Jack tosses his water into my lap and groans. “Working out sucks.”
“A terrible necessity,” I agree. “I gotta get cleaned up. She’ll be here soon.”
Clover arrives a few hours later, giving me time to shower, groom, and tidy myself up for popping the question to her. There’s no guarantee it will work. For all I know, she’ll run for the hills screaming about how crazy I am. Wouldn’t be the first time a woman has done that to me, but something in my gut tells me Clover is different.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
Jack brings her to meet me in the garden where I wait with iced drinks to chase away the sweltering May heat. He greets me with a smile, but I’m instantly distracted by Clover as she steps through the patio doors and the slight breeze that rushes by, catching some of her hair. It lifts away from her oval face and she cutely squints against the glare of the sun, despite the protection of her shades.
She’s wearing a warm pink sundress that flows in the wind and moves around her as if she’s surrounded by water. As the hem of her dress lifts, I glimpse her wedge sandals and her pale ankles. Warmth grows at the back of my neck as I follow the shape of her body upward, her legs to her wide hips almost hidden by the looseness of her dress, then up to her ample cleavage that makes even a loose dress such as this strain across her chest.
I meet her smile, and the rampant repeat of Jack’s concerns running around my mind falls completely silent.
“Clover,” I say, stepping around the table and reaching out a hand. “It’s so good to see you.”
Her warm, sun-kissed hand slides into mine and she smiles back, although a slight waver at the corners betrays her nervousness. I don’t blame her. Summoning her here with little explanation probably didn’t feel good.
“Thanks for having me,” she replies, flashing a polite smile toward Jack. “Is something wrong?”
“Did I make it seem like that?” My heart sinks faintly. “I’m sorry. I promise this is hopefully going to be a really good talk.”
“Okay, because if this is about the party or my being in your office?—”
I squeeze her hand and quickly cut her off. “No, no, nothing like that. Please, sit.” Sweeping out my arm, I offer her the wicker chair on one side of the table and move back to my own seat once her hand slips from mine. Jack makes a polite exit with a murmur to go and find Bobby.
Now it’s just the two of us.
“Lemonade?” I indicate to the two ice-filled glasses on the table between us. “I have strawberry or orange, so please take your pick.”
“Orange lemonade?” Her brow lifts slightly, and she leans forward to pick up the glass. As she does, the flowing sleeve of her dress briefly slips down her bare shoulder and the price tag pops into view. I immediately look away.
Maybe she forgot to take it off and in this heat, I don’t blame her. Not something I’ll point out, either.
Clover sits back and lifts the straw to her lips. She drinks slowly and as soon as the juice hits her tongue, her eyes widen. “Oh, wow! That’s such a weird flavor, but I think I like it.”
“It’s pretty good, isn’t it? Gives it that extra…” I snap my tongue against the roof of my mouth while picking up the strawberry drink. “Needed on days like this.”
“Oh, for sure.” She tilts her head upward into the blazing sun above, and it’s hard not to get distracted by the long line of her kissable neck.
Keep it together, Dean.
“So.” Clover turns her attention back to me. I wish she’d remove the shades so I can see her eyes. “What’s this about?”
“Are you aware of the reputation the Savoy family carries?”
Clover nods as she sips. “You guys are pretty famous compared to a family like mine. Rich. Powerful. Fingers in many pies sort of thing. Which I mean in a business savvy way and not a greedy way.” She laughs nervously. “Sorry.”
“No, I completely understand, and you’re right. But I meant the other reputation.”
I can’t see her eyes, but I get the impression that she’s struggling to look me in the eye. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I say stiffly. “There’s no need to hide it. Everyone knows.”
She lowers her drink and her knuckles flex as she tightens her grip on her glass. “Do you want me to say it?”
“I want you to tell me what you know. What you’ve heard in the grapevine of this life.”
