An Improper Ever After(32)

I study Belle to see if she's in pain, but she seems okay so far … other than moving with extra care to not to bump into anything. I would love nothing more than to find the person who pushed her, but I know the chances of that are nil. If anyone had seen something, Elizabeth would've heard by now and she would've called me. I keep going over potential suspects, but discard them all. Keith is a coward and doesn't have the guts to engineer something like this, not at an event with so many eyes. Annabelle Underhill had a date, although I can't remember if she was in the dining room when my wife left the table. Dad is an asshole, but he's not into physical violence, even by proxy. Sneaking around and backstabbing people is his MO. 

Of course, it could be something less sinister. Maybe somebody was moving something-equipment used at the dinner function, perhaps-and bumped into my wife or something …

I shake my head. Ludicrous.

Belle runs her hands over various bags, admiring the fine stitching and luxurious leather. Even from here I can tell everything is high quality and ridiculously expensive. Still, she pushes them away.

Undeterred, the clerk brings out more items. My wife smiles wistfully, brushing her fingertips along the supple material, but shakes her head again.

I frown, wondering what's going on. I can't believe she didn't like any of them. A couple items managed to snag my attention, and I have about as much interest in women's handbags as a dog does in carrots.

But maybe she doesn't want to buy anything because she doesn't want to splurge on herself. Now that I think about it, she hasn't spent a penny on herself other than when I insisted. I make a face. Belle is entirely too frugal for my taste. I already told her she can charge whatever she wants to her credit card and I'll take care of it.

I push myself off the wall and hand the clerk my plastic. "We're getting this, this and this, and those three over there." I gesture, pointing at the items my wife lingered over in particular.

The salesperson gives me a professionally poised "Very good, sir," but I can see her eyes light up as she takes my card and goes to gather the merchandise. Another clerk immediately comes out with a tray of champagne; I pluck a flute and instruct them to bring out some freshly squeezed grapefruit juice for my wife. A picky order, but I don't care. They can kiss my wife's feet after the amount of money I just dropped.

Belle is staring at me with her mouth slightly agape. "You shouldn't have."

"Yes, I should. Why do you think I carry plastic?"

"You know what I mean."

"Methinks the lady shouldn't protest too much. A husband is entitled to spoil his wife." I scrawl my signature on the five-figure sales slip. Everything is beautifully wrapped and presented in glossy shopping bags.

Belle looks at me, her teeth worrying her lower lip, then finally looks away with a sigh.

"What?" I know she wants to say something.

"Nothing." She shrugs, then shakes her head.

She's entirely too emphatic, and that generally means "nothing" is really "something." I want to force her to say what's on her mind, but I stop as apprehension shivers through me. What if it's something I don't want to hear?

Fuck.

I wish I hadn't talked to Elizabeth at the dinner. Then maybe I wouldn't feel so off balance and unsure. Women are always predictable. They want money first and foremost, and are willing to do almost anything to get it. That's why you see a perfect ten hanging out with a fat guy old enough to be her father. Someone like my sister, who honestly doesn't care about such materialistic things, is rare … an anomaly.

Now I'm with another anomaly-my wife. And there's a sinking feeling that I don't have what it takes to keep a woman like her.

"Want to hit a few other stores?"

"No." Belle checks the time. "We have two hours left until our flight."

Since traffic in the Bay Area can be pretty nasty, I dump all the shopping bags in the trunk of our Audi rental and open the passenger door for my wife. She slides in, one taut and silky calf showing through the side slit in her dress. The second she's seated, she smooths her skirt, and the golden skin is gone from view. Still, it's a hell of a sexy peek. There's an innate sensuality to her that's far hotter than a buck-naked lingerie model.




 

 

My body tightens as heat prickles along my spine, and I wipe my mouth with my hand. I'm acting like we didn't spend our morning in bed, fucking each other's brains out.

I climb behind the wheel and start driving. She smells so good next to me-warm and sweet-and her breasts rise and fall gently with each breath, offering a tantalizing view above her modestly cut bodice. I'm so distracted that I almost don't hear her question.