Twisted Marriage (Filthy Vows Book 2) by Torre Alessandra

Author:Torre, Alessandra [Torre, Alessandra]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

19

Brad De Luca found us in the media room, stretched out on dark leather Restoration Hardware sofas that I was already plotting to steal. I’d ignored six more calls from Chelsea, drank two bottles of wine with Julia, and had been chewed out by her house manager for putting my shoes on the ottoman. Floyd had left at some point, giving me a wry smile as I gave him an over-enthusiastic and fairly sloppy hug.

“Wow.” The man stood before Julia, his hands on his hips and looked down at his wife, an affectionate smile breaking the stern lines of his face. He was really handsome when he smiled. “How drunk are you?”

“A wee bit,” she informed him, holding her thumb and index finger an inch apart.

“Oh damn.” He bent over and kissed her. “Been corrupting our realtor?”

“No corruption,” I interrupted. I attempted to sit up and somehow swayed to the other side. “We were just about to do the seller’s disclosure.” Seller’s somehow turned into weller’s and Julia giggled.

“Yeah, let’s wait on that.” Brad sat down on the end of the couch by Julia’s head, carefully repositioning so that her head was on his lap. He ran his hand over her forehead and she closed her eyes, letting out a low hum of approval.

“How did the photos go?”

“Good,” Julia said. “Martha kept him in the areas we talked about while Elle and I held down the couch in my office.”

He grinned at me, and it really wasn’t fair for a man to be that attractive. “You’ll have to excuse my wife. She’s a naughty thing.” His hand, which had been resting on her stomach, slid over her breasts.

I looked away. I should go. They probably had stuff to talk about. Mob defense strategies to coordinate. Hot people sex to initiate. I groped along the floor for my phone. “Do you know what time it is?”

There was a pause, while Brad checked his watch. “Almost six-thirty.”

“Crap.” I half fell off the couch as I dug through my purse. “My husband’s flight is landing any minute. I need to get home.”

“Why don’t you have him swing by here?” Brad ran his fingers along the top of Julia’s hair. “We can put steaks on. I hate to be a prick, but you can’t drive home. We can take you if he can’t come here.”

“Oh, no.” I found my phone and hefted upright, aware that my butt had been stuck in the air like a burnt offering. “That’s fine. I can get a ride.” Yep. I was officially the worst Realtor ever. They’d probably email me the minute I left. Sorry, Elle. Things aren’t working out. It turns out you’re an emotional train wreck who drooled all over our couch.

As if on cue, my cell vibrated. I glanced down, expecting to see Chelsea’s number again, but it was E. I hesitated. “This is my husband now. He must have landed.” So much for my plan to have started dinner.

“Give me the phone,” Brad ordered. “I’ll talk to him.

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