Page 20 of Dearly Betrayed

“What about Casey?” I ask, too curious to stop myself.

Isabel waves a hand. “Adler’s former best friend wanted to murder her for complicated reasons so he married her to keep her safe. Then they fell in love. Tale as old as time.”

“Right.”

The doors open and Isabel walks me to Jayson’s condo. It’s mostly barren, furnished like a bachelor uses it maybe once or twice per year. Lots of exposed wood, brick, and leather.

“Could use a little decorating,” Isabel comments as she pokes around. “Not too terrible though.”

“It looks like the dungeon in the Playboy mansion.”

She laughs. “It’s not that bad.” Then hesitates as she picks up a large-breasted fertility statue parked on a bookshelf. “Well, this isn’t ideal, but hey, I bet he’ll let you do whatever you want with the place.”

“Great.” I walk to the couch. It’s big, dark, and comfortable. I sit down in my pretty wedding dress, feeling lost, swallowed up by events. My tongue tingles from where it brushed against Jayson’s. My head’s a wreck, my nipples are still aching, and there’s a pulse between my legs right where I want that man’s fingers.

What is wrong with me? I lean back with a sigh, closing my eyes.

“I’m going to leave you now.” Isabel lingers near the door. I nod at her, too tired to beg her to stay, even though I wish she would. “Your bags are in the master bedroom. You can, uh, unpack them, uh, wherever you want.” She looks away as if the awkwardness of the situation finally hit her.

“Thank you,” I say and I really mean it. “You’ve been nice to me and you didn’t have to be. Thank you.”

“You’re one of us now.” She nods at me. “Casey will look out for you, don’t worry. You’ll be okay. Jayson’s just hurting right now, but maybe one day—” At the expression on my face, she stops. “Well, you’ll be okay.”

She turns and goes, leaving me alone in my new, beautiful condo.

Chapter9

Fallon

The door opens as I’m unpacking in the guest room. It’s almost barren, barely more than a bed and a dresser, plus an en suite bathroom with no toiletries. The wedding dress hangs on the back of the closet door, and I’m in sweats, my hair a ratty mess where I pulled out the pins and didn’t bother trying to keep it nice.

I storm out into the hall. I’ve had a good hour to think about what I’m going to say when he finally deigns to come view his new wife. This whole time, ever since Isabel dropped me off, I’ve pictured a dozen interactions. Imagined stabbing him in the throat. Imagined screaming into his face.

Imagined kissing him again, and again, and letting him take me into the master room to that big bed with its black sheets and comforter and letting him fuck me into a drooling submission.

But when I finally see him standing in the living room, pouring himself a drink, looking slumped and tired, I do none of those things.

He looks at me. We’re alone—more alone than we’ve ever been before. It’s intimate, far too intimate, and I don’t know what to do or say. He’s so big, so masculine, with an energy that almost crackles as his eyes rake up and down me again, unabashed and unapologetic.

“You kissed me,” I blurt out. My damn stupid no-good mouth again.

“Yes, I did. The priest told me to.”

“You asshole. I told you not to do it.” I advance on him, hands in fists. “There was no reason for it.”

“I wanted to kiss my new wife. Can you blame me?”

“Yes. Easy. I blame you for all this, actually.”

“You looked good.” He swirls his glass. “Really fucking good. You still do, although I wish you had left the dress on.”

“I’ve been here for an hour unpacking in the guest room. I wasn’t going to stay in that stupid thing the whole time.”

“I apologize for the delay. I had to be there to hammer out the business details with your brother and Adler.” He tilts his head. “Did you say guest room?”

“Don’t change the subject.” I point a finger at him. “We need rules.”

“I’m not a fan of those.”

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