Arrogant Playboy(145)

***



“Liberty.” I storm up to the front desk at the garage. “Do you have Bellamy’s cell phone number? Her work phone? I need to reach her.”

Fuck. Right now would be a great time to know where the hell Bellamy works.

“Okay, will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” Liberty’s hand flanks her hip and she laughs.

“I need the number, Lib. I know you have it.”

“I don’t. She doesn’t give it to anyone. It’s, like, some kind of private line between her and her boss. I don’t get it.”

The phone rings and Liberty answers, scheduling an appointment with a client and then proceeding to casually shoot the shit. She twirls the cord around her finger, laughing, and then reaches for a set of keys. She drops them in front of me without so much as an explanation.

I flip them over to reveal a BMW logo. No other identifying information or so much as a house key accompanies this set. I arch a brow and mouth, “What is this for?”

She hangs up. “Bellamy came by yesterday and dropped these off. You’re supposed to get in that white BMW sitting out front, press the ‘home’ button on the GPS, and follow the directions.”





CHAPTER 32




WAVERLY



All the fancy blackout curtains and six-hundred thread count sheets in the world can’t calm a loud mind in the middle of the night.

I didn’t sleep a wink.

I can’t rest or relax until I see Jensen again. Bellamy assures me I’ll see him today, but until it happens, I can’t calm down.

Washing up in a bathroom fit for a king is a temporary distraction, and when I trek downstairs for breakfast, I find Bellamy seated on Dane’s right. He’s reading something on his iPad and she’s steeping a tea bag into a white teacup.

They wear the collective appearance of a couple more than comfortable together, one who have been together quite a while. I don’t ask in front of Dane. I’m not about to ruin this moment or prematurely outstay my welcome with a tactless question. I’ll get my answers from Bellamy later.

“Did you sleep well, Waverly?” Dane asks. He enunciates each syllable like a Harvard scholar, his voice rich and velvety.

I nod, taking the same seat I used at dinner last night. “Very well. Thank you.”

A uniformed woman brings out a plate covered with a tin cloche and sets it before me.

“I told the kitchen what you like to eat,” Bellamy says. “I hope that’s okay. I figured with everything going on, it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

When I remove the cloche, I’m presented with a feast of French toast, sausage, and eggs over easy. A tiny cup of maple syrup rests warm between it all. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

Bellamy smiles, lifting her teacup to her lips, her pinky raised. When did she become so refined? Had she been changing before us all along and no one noticed?

The butler glides across the room with silent shoes, his hands clasped behind his back. He leans down, speaking quietly into Dane’s ear.

“Yes, yes, let him in. We’ve been expecting him.” Dane dabs his mouth with a napkin and stands up. “Waverly, I believe your friend is here.”

My heart sprints. It’s not quite been twenty-four hours, but it may as well have been a lifetime. I abandon my breakfast and run to the foyer, swinging the doors wide and stopping short at the porte-cochere where a white BMW comes to a smooth halt.

A second passes, then another, and another, until the driver’s door opens.

And then I run to him, jumping into his arms like he was a soldier who’d crossed land and sea to get back to me. He holds me up, keeping me nose to nose with him.

“Did you miss me?” I ask.

“Like hell.” His mouth claims mine with a single, unrelenting kiss, our bodies melded together with desperate longing.

He sets me down, but doesn’t release my hand from his. Our fingers lock. I dare anyone to try to separate us again.

“I think you love me,” I say, squeezing his hand and not trying to hide the smile in my voice.

“Shit, Waverly. I know I love you.”

Bellamy and Dane emerge from the foyer, and it’s only then I realize she’s wearing a white, silk robe, cinched tight around her waist. She glows, her cheeks rosy and her complexion warm.

Jensen leaves my side, approaching my sister, his lips turned up at the corners. “I knew it.”

Bellamy hangs her head, hiding a knowing smile. Dane steps forward, extending his hand to Jensen. “Pleased to meet you, Jensen. I’ve heard a lot about you. Shall we head inside?”

We follow Dane to a dark den just off the foyer. The two story ceiling rules over mahogany-covered walls, robust leather furnishings, and miles of filled bookcases. My eyes travel the length of Jensen’s muscular backside in an attempt not to stare at the opulence surrounding us.