Page 32 of The Honest Affair

Chapter Seven

Matthew

Icleared my throat, then finally managed to pull myself back up to standing. It was hard, though. I couldn’t stop looking at her. All of her.

It was Nina, but like I’d never seen her. Her hair, which used to fall about six inches past her shoulders, now stopped just below her chin in blunt waves the color of amber—still blonde, but several shades darker than the sunny gold I remembered. Her mouth was painted a deep, oxblood red, and her eyes were lined in black, lending a ferocity that reminded me of the female jaguar I’d seen at the zoo with Sofia. Elegant, yes. But with a lot of bite.

And then, of course, there was the dress—all black, except for that transparent lace and the skin that was more evident through it the longer I looked. So different from the white and grays she usually wore (and yes, the one red dress). Ironic, really, that the most delicate part of it was most revealing.

Good fuckin’ God, that was her hip bone right there. And the swell of her perfect, pert ass, the curve of her art-worthy breast.

I gulped and tugged at my collar. Anyone who took a good look would see most of Nina’s body in profile. Could feast their eyes over her long, lithe muscles, subtle yet powerful curves. Gone was the demure socialite. Lace or not, she looked ready to fight.

“Jesus, doll,” I whispered. “You, um, want to borrow my jacket or something?”

She smirked as she took back her purse. “Why would I do that?”

I swallowed, unable to look away from the slight tip of a berry-shaped nipple only just evident through the black silk. “Ah…you look cold.”

But when I managed to tear my gaze back to meet hers, what I found was ice…laced with fire.

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Thank you for your concern.”

Only the rich knew how to make gratitude feel like a slap across the cheek. Yet again, I felt like I’d failed some kind of test. Nina had been here the entire time, and I hadn’t even recognized her.

This time, however, I had an excuse.

“You changed your…” I trailed off. I wanted to say everything, but that wasn’t true. Not exactly.

“My hair, yes.” She gestured toward her head with an almost bored movement.

“To say the least.” I looked her up and down again, and this time she had the decency to blush under the heat of my inspection. “You look good, doll. Better than good.”

I almost said I liked her better before, but that wasn’t quite true either. I liked her no matter what, but the most beautiful Nina ever looked was in the morning when she woke up after a long night of letting me tire her out. When her hair was tousled and she wore nothing at all except the afterglow of passion.

She was still her, though. Whatever made her the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen had nothing to do with what was on the outside. Darker hair or not. Blackened eyes or just pure gray. Nina de Vries could paint her face green and wear nothing but trash bags; I’d still follow her around New York like a lost fuckin’ puppy.

She seemed to understand what I couldn’t express, because somehow, her face softened as we stared at each other

“Oh, Matthew,” she whispered in that exact way that melted my cold, jaded heart.

I opened my mouth to tell her exactly that, to say we should just ditch the party and find somewhere to talk for real. Walk through the park like we used to. Get lost with nothing but the trees for company.

But before I could, we were rudely interrupted.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our resident jailbird.”

Nina and I both jerked like we’d been yanked by the hair. With a snarl on my lips, I turned to the intruders: two cocky men with impeccably fitted, if boring, gray suits, matching floppy brown hair, and razor-straight noses that only those from a certain class have. The kind who sparred in fencing matches, not schoolyard battles.

I took a long drink of champagne to hide my irritation. Nina simply resumed the bored expression I’d come to recognize as the trademark mask of the rich and useless. I fucking hated it. It was so at odds with the vibrant, intelligent woman I knew. The woman who was capable of so damn much—if she and everyone else would only give her a chance.

“Chase. Sawyer.”

She greeted the men courteously, but with a caustic edge that either I was the only one to hear, or else they were too self-absorbed to notice. As I caught the flicker of her expression when each man leaned in to kiss her cheek, I was pretty sure it was the latter.

She didn’t, however, introduce me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” said the first jackass as he smoothed back one side of his hair and straightened his tie. “God, look at you. A vision. We were hoping you’d make your triumphant return tonight.”

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