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But James had seen the gifts and if anyone asked, he’d have to tell.
I don’t want to kill James, too. He’s a damn good driver.But if he had to, he would.
“I haven’t given them to her yet,” he said, relieved that his voice didn’t tremble. He’d have to get new boxes, fill them with presents, wrap them in silver paper, then leave them in the garage. Just in case. “I’m saving them for the next time she gets mad at me,” he added, chuckling ruefully.
“I know how that goes,” James agreed. “Never thought about having a gift at the ready, though. That’s a really good idea. I might borrow it.”
“Be my guest.”
Thankfully, James shut up, and Lamont spent the next forty-five minutes with his eyes closed, mentally rehearsing his lines. When James stopped in the driveway, he was ready.
“Thank you, James. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, normal time. Oh, and I have a business dinner tomorrow night at the Monteleone. I need to be there by seven.”
“I know, sir. That one’s been on the schedule for weeks.”
Because it was the most important dinner of Lamont’s career—so far.
He got out, waved at James, then squared his shoulders and let himself into his house.
He really loved his house. It had belonged to wife number one, had been in her family since just after the Civil War. As she was the last of her line, the house had passed to him after her death.
Poor, poor Lucille. He’d been happy to be rid of her, too.
He might wait a while before marrying again. Play the bereaved bachelor. Focus on his election and his soon-to-be constituency.
Enjoy his house again. He hadn’t, he realized. He hadn’t enjoyed coming home in a very long time.
That was about to change.
“Joelle?” he called.
The front of the house was dark, but something smelled good, which meant that Joelle wasn’t doing the cooking. She was a terrible cook. Too bad that he hadn’t thought to ask before marrying her. She’d been good in bed, and he figured that she could learn to be a homemaker.
Ha.That had not worked according to plan.
He made his way to the kitchen, noticing the dining room table set for two. China, candles, and his best crystal. He wondered what Joelle was up to.
The kitchen was empty and sparkling clean. There were covered dishes in the warming tray with a scribbled note from their regular cook. The woman had gone home, thankfully.
He and Joelle were all alone.
“Joelle?” he called again.
“In the front parlor.”
He frowned at that. Returning to the living room—which Joelle liked to call the “parlor” because it sounded fancier—he saw her lounging on the sofa in a negligee. He’d walked right past her like she hadn’t even been there.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
She rose fluidly, the sheer fabric clinging to her curves. She was a very beautiful woman. That hadn’t changed. But he’d rather touch a cobra.
“How was your day?” she all but cooed.
He sat on the sofa, spread his arms along the back, and propped an ankle on his knee. “Same old, same old. And yours?”
She settled on the middle cushion, tucking one foot beneath her so that their knees touched. “It was nice.” She ran a fingertip over the emerald necklace he’d given her two days before—identical to the one he’d given Ashley. “I went to the spa. Had Cook make your favorite meal. And then I got ready for you.”
Translation: she got ready for sex.
