He chuckles to himself, picking up his coffee mug. “You forget that I know you better than you do yourself. You’ve already fallen.”
“No I haven’t.”
My dad looks at me like, prove me wrong.
“We’ll see what comes back.”
“I wish you’d looked into him earlier.” My dad’s lips turn down. “He seems like a good guy, but you just never know.”
His belief that a check by a private investigator seemed like a good idea when I was knee deep in tissues and my self-worth was spiraling. I meant to make the call and have Roarke followed, but he disguised our dating as favors and before I knew it I didn’t want that path for us. I enjoyed discovering things about him and not reading it on a piece of paper. But things have changed and I’m nauseous just thinking about what I’m going to find out later this week.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” I plaster on a fake smile, knowing that bringing him to brunch was a bad idea. Because once it’s proven that Roarke isn’t the man I thought he was a few short days ago, I’ll have to tell my father that once again my gut was wrong. And everyone knows that half of being a good business person is having great intuition.
“He makes a hell of a first impression,” my dad says.
He slides over when Roarke approaches the table, a smile on his face that says he’s about as smitten as I am over the man sitting next to me. So I’ll break both of our hearts. Great.
“Why don’t you show Roarke the fountain?” My dad points out the French doors to the courtyard.
Roarke doesn’t miss a beat. He must want me to get out of my parents’ scrutiny.
The fountain has water shooting from all five points into the one large spout in the middle. It’s nothing like Buckingham but it’s nice.
“Finally I get you alone.” Roarke sits down on a bench and pulls me into his lap.
“This isn’t really a crowd who appreciates public displays of affection.” My gaze darts around the surroundings but no one is really around.
“I don’t much care what this crowd likes because I need your lips on mine now.”
With his words, his hand slides to the back of my neck and he pulls me down to his. The slickness of his tongue doesn’t wait to break the seam of my lips. He grows hard underneath my legs as our kiss becomes more than PDA. It’s almost X-rated the way his hand slides up my skirt, his fingers dangerously close to my center.
All thoughts of the PI, the perfume, and the phone calls disappear from my consciousness because as always, Roarke has the capability to make my mind fuzzy.
“Ha. Seems like we both walked away winners from my divorce.” Todd’s voice sounds from behind us and I freeze.
After a second, I break the kiss, standing to my feet. My face is red and my lips are probably swollen. Todd is there with a look of smug satisfaction on his face, his new fiancée standing at his side. My gaze flicks down to their adjoined hands.
She’s younger than me by at least ten years. She’s cute and I wonder if I’ve ever met her. She doesn’t look familiar.
“Todd,” Roarke says his name like he’s a child. He swings his arm around me and pulls me to his side. “I guess our secret is out, but then again yours is, too.”
Todd looks down at their adjoined hands and drops his fiancée’s. Poor girl.
He looks the same. Tall, thinly built with his khaki pants and button-down shirt, his hair full but shaggy.
“You’re dating him?” Todd directs his question to me, but points to Roarke with his now free hand.
“I am.” I lift my chin and push back the thought of word getting around that Hannah Crowley has been deceived once again, if Roarke is still playing the field behind my back.
“Good luck with that. Not really your type.”
The fiancée matches his steps toward us in her too short sundress and cork-soled sandals.
“How do you know my type?” I place my free hand on Roarke’s stomach and my face inches from his neck. I hate myself right now.
“I was married to you for years. I figured your mom would have had a line of suitable men lined up for you.” His lopsided grin says he’s being sarcastic.
“Good thing she doesn’t need to do that.” Roarke laughs. One I’ve never heard come out of him before. His lips press to my temple. “I stole her before they had the chance.”
I wish there wasn’t truth to that statement but there is. I barely blinked and fell for the one man I hated.
“Did you hear we’re getting married?” Todd says in lieu of a suitable comeback. He searches behind him for his fiancée’s hand.
Raising their adjoined hands in the air, he attempts to show off the rock on her finger. One that was probably financed partially with my money.
“Well good luck with that.” I slide out from under Roarke’s hold, grabbing his hand and leaving the fountain.
“You too,” he says but I’m too busy leading Roarke away to respond.
I don’t have it in me to play a game of one up with him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Earth to Hannah!” Chelsea waves her hand in front of my face, pulling me away from my thoughts of what the private investigator I hired is finding out right now.
After brunch yesterday, I told Roarke I had a horrible headache and that I just wanted to go home and lay down. He insisted that he’d take care of me. But somehow, I won the battle and got myself away from his intoxicating cologne and sweet gestures so I could clear my mind to make the call to the investigator. I have to know for sure before investing more of myself in this relationship.
Now I sit in a meeting with the caterer, a friend of Roarke’s, or so he says, but the guy is like fifteen years younger than him and doesn’t fit Roarke’s usual type. Jett’s almost black hair and piercing blue eyes would make any girl weak in the knees. Add on the fact he can cook and you’ve got the panty dropper trifecta.
“Shit, you know how I appreciate a bad boy,” Chelsea whispers as we’re seated in a restaurant that doesn’t open until dinner.
His all black apparel with tattoos up both his arms is a recipe for heartbreak which only reminds me again of the fact that the PI might be snapping a picture right now that could break my heart.
“Well, you’re already committed to one of those.” Victoria takes a sip of her water.
A loving smile creases Chelsea’s lips. “I know. He’s been so sweet lately. Always laying his head on my stomach, swearing he’s hearing the little bean move.”
“And?” I ask.
She waves me off. “Way too early. He just likes to talk to he or she, saying that our bean needs to recognize his voice, too.”
“Sweet,” I say and Victoria smiles at her, too, before cutting into one of the dishes we’re taste testing for the gala.
“I hired a private investigator,” I blurt out and each of their forks clink against their dishes when they drop them.
“Why?” Victoria’s eyes are big as saucers.
“Because I think he’s cheating.”
“Are you guys exclusive?” Chelsea asks an innocent yet important question.