The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,18

a shirt, either. And her breasts were perfect, as small and tight as the rest of her was. The fact that her nipples were a girly pink was a surprise …

And it was right about then that he stopped himself.

Even as a delicious greed clawed into his gut, something far more imperative flared in the back of his head.

“Are you a virgin?” he said.

“No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Only one way to find out, ain’t that right?”

A strange, unfamiliar hesitation froze him and he looked away, not because he didn’t like what he saw—but because he did. Everything about her modesty and her awkwardness made him want to pounce on her and take her, claim her like a man did when he found something no one else had had.

And everything about the way she didn’t back down told him she’d let him do that and so much more.

Shifting his eyes away, he took a moment to think about this, in a fashion that was characteristic of the way he’d always been as opposed to what he’d become—and that was when he saw the money.

One thousand dollars.

Ten one-hundred-dollar bills, the bundle folded once, the ends fanning out.

Over on the sideboard by the door.

He’d left the cash there the previous Friday for one of the prostitutes he regularly paid to be with him. And in fact, a woman had shown up that night—except instead of her acting and dressing like the one he’d really wanted … the actual female herself had come to him.

His Sutton.

They’d had sex, but only because he’d assumed that the perfect doppelgänger for Sutton Smythe had finally presented itself. His first clue that something was off? After it was over, the female had left the money where it was. His second? The following morning, he’d found a purse on the table by his chair. When he’d opened it, he’d found Sutton’s driver’s license inside.

Sometimes, he still wasn’t sure whether it had actually happened or if it had been a dream. Although the tension when he’d returned the purse to her the follow evening had been nuclear—so yes, it must have occurred.

And yes, he knew precisely why he’d had sex with her. Sutton was a classy, dignified, brilliant businesswoman who he’d been in love with for too many years to count. Why she had allowed him to touch her, kiss her, come inside of her?

Yes, she’d told him she thought she was in love with him, too. But how could that possibly be true?

Edward refocused on Jeb’s daughter. Gathering her sweatshirt in his hands, he put it back on her gently, covering her nakedness.

“No doctor,” he said remotely. “I don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do.”

It was disconcerting the way she calmly rose and went over to the phone like nothing had happened. And when she picked up the receiver from the old-fashioned, wall-mounted dialer, he frowned and resented her pragmatism.

“Moe gave me the number,” she explained as she began making circles with her forefinger. “Dr. Qalbi is the name, right.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, if you knew all that, why did you pester me about it.”

“I was giving you a chance to be reasonable. I should have known better.”

“Goddamn it.”

Turning to him, she put the handset up to her ear. “I told you. Do not take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence, and no cursing. Not ’round me. And yes, I know you’ll never be in love with me. It will always be her.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he shot back.

“You say her name in your sleep. What is it? Sut … Sutter?”

Edward let his head fall back as he closed his eyes in frustration. Maybe he was just dreaming this. Yes, perhaps he had simply passed out against Neb’s stall, and this was all just a figment of the vodka swill that was currently passing for his bloodstream.

One could certainly hope.

“Miss Smythe? More coffee?”

As Sutton jerked to attention, she smiled up at the uniformed older woman with the pot in her hand. Ellyn Isaacs had been working at the family’s estate for as long as Sutton could remember, a grandmotherly figure who always made her think of Nancy Drew’s Hannah Gruen.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Isaacs. It’s time for me to go, much as it pains me.”

“Your car is waiting for you.”

Sutton blotted her mouth with a monogrammed damask napkin and got to her feet. “I’ll just go get Daddy.”

Mrs. Isaacs smiled and straightened the pressed white apron that hung over the front of her gray dress. “Your father