Chapter 83

Preston’s

            I had just filled the second champagne flute and was preparing to carry them into the bathroom with me when I heard the door open. I turned, glasses in hand, as Beatrice walked into the room, phone pressed to her ear.

            I noticed that she was not smiling. A man did not have to be particularly intuitive to see that Beatrice was not happy. I wondered what had occurred in the few minutes that we had been apart to account for her change of mood, but only in passing—my attention was focused on admiring how sinfully sexy she looked in a pink bra and a minuscule pair of matching silk sorts trimmed with lace.

            My throat was dry, my body hardened in lustful appreciation. I watched her advance. Each angry step makes her breast jiggle gently u