Page 96 of Angel

The proximity sent a current of heat straight to my toes.

He lifted a hand and traced it from my temple to the fluttering heartbeat at my neck.

At my waist I got the sensation of his rising cock straining from his trousers, and my pussy convulsed.

He bent his head as if to kiss me, then, with a groan, Angel set his jaw, retreating.

‘Good night, Rox,’ he rasped.

I bit my lip as he stalked away before stepping into his own primary suite.

The lock clicked.

‘Stubborn man,’ I gritted under my breath, turning my own doorknob and heading inside, tamping down my yearning for him.

The next morning, I called my mother, found out if Reese was home; he wasn’t, and secured an invitation to tea.

After my Pilates and core conditioning class at my local gym, I drove over to Rosedale Manor, the massive Georgian estate looming behind iron gates like a gilded prison.

Elsa’s shadow came in the form of a cruel-looking thug named Bull.

The burly security guard met me at the grand entrance.

His narrowed eyes scanned me from head to toe with a sneer before he grunted for me to follow him.

He led me through the marble halls to the glass conservatory where my mother waited.

As always, Elsa greeted me, dressed in a crisp white linen dress.

Reese’s French chef, Fabian, appeared to set down a silver tray of Earl Grey tea, buttery biscuits, and exquisitely cut cucumber sandwiches.

‘How’s Angel?’ my mother asked in her soft English accent as she poured the steaming liquid from a Royal Doulton hand-painted teapot.

Her eyes softened as she spoke my husband’s name.

I shrugged. ‘He’s going OK, I think.’

‘Always such a lovely boy, and now a magnificent man. Can I tell you a secret, honey?’

‘Yes, Mother, out with it,’ I said, bracing.

She offered a sly, knowing expression.

‘I always wanted him for you. Evangeline treated that beautiful man like shit.’

I arched a brow because Elsa never cursed.

‘I was aware of how you looked at him over the years,’ she confessed. ‘It was obvious you cared for him. I knew you’d do a far better job than your spoiled sister.’

She stared into her cup, her composure slipping.

‘I know more about unrequited love than you realize, Roxy.’

‘I know mother.’

Years ago, she shared the true story of my biological father.

His name was Javier, an American-Chilean horseman whom she loved with her entire soul.