Devon: still ovulating?
Belle: six days later? Do I look like an African driver ant?
I had to Google the reference to learn that the average African driver ant produced three to four million eggs each month and was considered to be the most fertile animal on planet Earth.
Devon: not from this angle. Get on your knees with your bum up and hold a crumb of bread just so I can be sure.
Belle: why are you asking anyway?
Devon: trying to conceive tonight couldn’t hurt our chances, correct?
Belle: technically not, but said chances would be slim.
Devon: slim, but in existence.
Belle: are you waiting for an invitation?
Devon: from your ill-mannered arse? No. I’m already on my way.
Belle: this is going to stop as soon as I’m pregnant.
Devon: absolutely.
Belle: I mean it. I already feel personally attacked by your presence in my life.
Devon: no point asking why you hate men so much, I suppose?
Belle: none, if you want a straight, honest answer.
Devon: understood. Consider yourself rid of me as soon as you’re with child.
Belle: WITH CHILD.
Belle: you embarrass my soul.
Belle: I’m waiting at Madame Mayhem.
Devon: I’m pulling over. Do not wear knickers.
I didn’t even bother getting into the shower after landing at Boston Logan International Airport.
I cabbed it straight to Madame Mayhem, relying on my good friends, mint gum and deodorant.
The entire journey from England to America, all I could think about was burying myself inside the voluptuous, hotheaded woman. I was not completely sure where my fascination with Emmabelle stemmed from, but if I were to take a wild guess, I’d say it was because she was genuinely independent. She did not rely on a wealthy man—unlike her sister and friends—and seemed completely unfazed to be the only single person in the room, other than myself, even when things got awkward.
She was outspoken, fierce, and confident.
She was also a stunner.
In the cab on my way to Belle, I wired my mother a handsome amount of money. Just as I was about to tuck the device back to my pocket, a message popped on the screen:
Unknown Number: are you still home? Lou. x
Louisa and I had exchanged phone numbers before she left Whitehall Court Castle after my father’s funeral. Since I didn’t want to repeat my ghosting mistake twice, I added her to my contacts and answered her.
Devon: back in Boston, but I’ll be headed to Britain for the reading of the will. Lunch?
Louisa: and drinks.
Devon: I never say no to those.
Louisa: good. Then I’ll make sure to crack open that Remy Martin cognac.
When I got to Madame Mayhem, I cut the four-hundred-yard line, slapped a few Benjamins on one of the bouncer’s chest and sauntered in, leaving a trail of disgruntled people behind me.
I found Belle manning the bar again, serving beers and flinging her blond hair behind her shoulder. She was clad in a top that looked like crème, ripped bodice, and cherry-red leather pants I was soon going to destroy with my teeth.
Goodbye to my promise of no scandals. It was good while it lasted … a couple days and some change.
Zeroing in on her, I made my way across the club, shouldering past people dancing and drunkenly laughing into each other’s ears.
Belle was so wrapped up in serving her customers, she didn’t even glance my way when she asked. “What can I get for you, honey?”
Honey.
The woman was a national embarrassment. What on earth propelled me to put a baby in her?
“Bend over, on all fours, while wearing nothing but a sultry expression, while begging me to fuck you.”
Her head twisted as shock flashed across her beautiful face. Her glare melted into an amused smile.
“I have twenty more minutes here.” Her hands moved quickly behind the bar. She seemed in no hurry to cater to me, the exact opposite of Louisa.
“No, you don’t. You’ll be waiting for me in your office in no more than ten minutes, buck naked and in the position I want you in.”
“Or?” She snorted, angling the soda gun in my direction threateningly.
“Or…” I grabbed the soda gun from across the bar and shoved it into her cleavage, right between her tits, lowering my voice an octave, my lips hovering over the shell of her ear “…I will see to it that you spend the night with your good friend, Magic Wand.”
“At least the magic wand doesn’t make idle promises,” she whispered back.
I pushed the button and sprayed cold diet coke between her breasts. Bubbles spilled over from her push-up bra. She let out a squeak, pushing me away.
“What do you think you’re doing, asshole?”
“Standing up to you, unlike all the other poor sods you pick as your lovers,” I said dryly.
“Withholding sex from me as punishment is your idea of standing up to me?” She let out a wild laugh, leaning down to grab a cloth and patting her chest dry. “Dude, you’re high. I can get it anytime I want it, anywhere I want it.”