An Improper Ever After (Elliot & Annabelle 3)

The photographers captured several shots with Belle and me together. She’s smiling in every one of them, but her eyes…they are either empty or in pain. I remember her telling me she didn’t feel well. Regret unfurls as I study her expression. It’s all my fault. Next time we go out in public, I plan to have her glowing. She deserves that.

Finally, I spot the perfect photo. Annabelle Underhill and I are together, her hand over my chest. Her eyelashes lowered and her mouth parted, she looks coyly sexual. My lip curls with distaste. Some would find the expression seductive; to me, it’s approximately as enticing as a turd—which is about where she ranks in my world.

With this picture, I have the final piece I need. My ex’s biggest error is assuming that I actually give a fuck about her feelings. My next move will ensure she never makes the same mistake again.

I put the picture with the others I’ve gathered and type up some notes. They’re concise, sticking to verifiable facts. Facts alone are sufficient to provide drama.

I hear the door open outside. The clock on my computer reads three thirty-six. Belle must be home.

Hurriedly, I finish the document, attach it and the photos to an email and hit send. This should be enough to get the vultures excited.

Just when I close my laptop, Belle knocks on the door and sticks her head in. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nothing’s more important than you.” I gesture for her to come in, unable to do anything but smile at the lovely flush on her cheeks. She’s beautiful in a shimmery sheath dress that hugs her gorgeous, curvy body just right, accentuating every mouth-watering line. Her loose hair frames her face like silk spun from rubies, and her green eyes are sparkling brighter than the diamond earrings she’s wearing. Maybe her meeting with Grayson went better than expected. I hope he tripped and broke both legs. “What’s up?”

“I got a call from Jana!”

I stop for a moment, trying to place the name.

“I got the job!” She twirls around with her arms spread like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

Oh…that. I grin, relieved and happy. “Congratulations, beautiful.” I get up and walk around the desk to pull her into my arms, soaking in her warm vitality.

“I thought it was a prank when I got the call.”

I lean against the edge of my desk and spread my thighs, positioning her between them. My hands span her waist, and I pull her close. “You shouldn’t. You’re more awesome than you think.”

“Thanks. I’m kinda feeling that way.”

I can hear her breathless enthusiasm. Then I realize this is the first time she’s gotten a job that might lead to a career. Not that being Jana’s junior assistant is going to be glamorous—positions like that involve a lot of grunt work. But this is the kind of job where she can make valuable professional connections.

“We should celebrate,” I say.

“Totally.” She stops, then clears her throat. “Can we invite Traci, too? She called after Jana and I spoke. She heard that I got the position, and wanted to go out.”

I blink, surprised that Traci has already managed to put herself on the guest list. “Sure. It’s your party.”

Although I was initially thinking about a more private celebration, doing something with Traci might not be so bad. Although the dossier from Paddington is very thorough, I don’t know anything about what she’s like in person. It would probably upset my wife if she knew, but I don’t trust Traci that much. As I told Belle before, I don’t like “friends” who disappear when the shit hits the fan and pop up again when things are going well. Belle defended her friend, claiming Traci had no choice. Regardless, I don’t plan to warm up to her until given a reason to change my mind.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” I say.

“You mean you’re going to pass it off to your assistant.”

“Hey. He loves planning stuff like this.”

My wife laughs, then impulsively kisses me on the mouth. “That sounds great. Thank you. You’re the best.”

“You’re the one who got the job.” I kiss her back, my lips clinging, lingering.

Her response is immediate. She parts her mouth and licks my tongue with hers. She tastes sweeter and richer than freshly whipped cream, but there’s an undertone of fiery heat. She’s drawing me to her…coaxingly, inexorably. Maybe that unrelenting pull has been there from the very first moment we met. There’s no other explanation for what I feel for her, the way my emotions grow stronger with every breath I take.

Desire thickens my blood, and my cock is hard. God. You would think we hadn’t screwed last night—or earlier today, before dawn.

On the other hand, it’s been hours since I last made her come. Surely that’s too long a period of deprivation. I did promise to provide for her…

Belle groans softly, angling her head for a deeper connection, and I grin like an idiot against her mouth. I feel like we’re finally on the right footing. Was the contract that much of an impediment? Or is this feeling of exhilaration from something else?

My wife said, “I love you,” last night. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear it again until then. It’s a sign that I haven’t terminally screwed everything up.