Her tuberose scent remained potent, in a good way, heady, fleshy and yet sweet. The perfume confused him all the more.
Red didn’t know Warner owned the club. She kept calling him Garner and he didn’t correct her. The music had deafened their introductions at first. When they sat down, the magic started. Warner caught her vulnerability and glimpsed Red’s taste for great adventure. He looked forward to discovering more about her.
“I don’t bring pretty ladies home—often.” If ever. He forced himself to settle down as they came up the winding driveway’s final stretch. His mind and body came together.
“You have a preference for taking fuglies back to your shack then?” Red laughed, pulling the champagne bottle to her side. It was remarkable to witness a woman with such beauty be so at ease.
“This is it, my winter home.” The landscape lighting danced shadows against his manicured foliage. His guardsmen had gone for the day. It being a holiday weekend, he didn’t have the heart to make the locals work around the clock. Warner had no plans to host any parties where he’d typically be full force with security.
“Exquisite. Your yard is something else.” She turned, taking in his acres.
“Maybe in the morning I can show you the gardens out by the beach.” He hoped she’d stay for breakfast. Warner cooked a tasty eggs Benedict. At least Sheldon always gave him compliments on it.
“I don’t have much outdoor space where I live.” Her malachite green eyes blinked with sophistication. He’d not caught their brilliance until now.
Warner drew her close. “And where would your home be?” Kissing her left cheek, his lips admired hers. He noted she didn’t answer, so he asked again. “Where do you live?”
She shook her head. Red wouldn’t tell him.
“Will you share your name?” Drawing his tongue over Red’s neck, Warner teased her nape in hopes he’d secure the answer. “Is it Red? Tell me.” His kisses traveled to her face’s right side keeping his lips in constant contact on her skin in hopes she’d reveal where she’d come from—anything.
“Not tonight.” Mystery spoke in her sultry voice, on her juicy lips and shone in her alluring eyes. “How’s that for an answer?” She squeezed his hand harder perhaps with promise that she’d share more—later.
“Fair enough.” After turning the estate’s corner, exhilaration charged every nerve. He reached with his free hand inside his left pocket for the keys.
Red massaged his arm’s inner part. The stimulation ran a tingly feeling over him.
He hadn’t felt this in years.
“Gimme some sugar,” a twanged voice barked from the driveway’s opposing side.
Her voice…her presence…it irked Warner to no end and reminded him of something he’d seen on the news recently. In Dallas, ranchers called the Texas Rangers in a frantic pace, reporting the four-legged animal sightings of something similar to a boar-meets-dog creature with a reptilian appearance. It didn’t bite for blood, rather sucked its prey bone dry. Farmers called the beast a chupacabra.
Warner suspected it was too coincidental that the second his ex-fiancée fled their Manhattan penthouse for her native Lone Star State people noticed an upswing in this monster roaming their prairies. He knew for certain the chupacabra existed and called herself Rielle Bruni. And a moment ago, on his lawn, as he held Red’s hand, Rielle’s sulfuric stench arrived in St. Barth’s.
“I waited for ya,” she yapped from across the estate lawn.
No, no, no. Not Rielle. His ears could’ve bled. Each eardrum felt shot out.
Red’s perky stride slowed. She squeezed his hand tighter. “Garner, who’s coming toward us?”
“My worst nightmare.” Shit, I knew this felt too good to be true.
Rielle approached from the long, narrow driveway’s other side as if seizing her next victim. “Honey, I’m his fiancée, Rielle,” she drawled between cigarette puffs and flicked the fiery bud in his direction. “I’ve come to ring in the New Year with my man.” Her infamous snort got caught in her exhale, twisting her voice into a hackled cough.
Red’s warm fingers unlocked.
Don’t let go…
Every delicious inch of Red’s body went cold. She turned and stared at him, her face didn’t seem fazed. Red wasn’t anyone’s victim. A woman who didn’t have time to bullshit, Red was too good for this.
“Rielle is not my fiancée. Not anymore. I’ll call authorities to remove—” He grabbed for her arm.
She sidestepped and spun, her clutch dropped to the earth and opened. Papers, money, a hairbrush, spread at their feet. The champagne bottle followed. It landed, shattering glass shards throughout.
“I’m sorry, Red, I am.” Warner indicated with a wave he’d pick her things up. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Rielle snarled and laughed at him, walking in their direction. “I’m still wearing the ring he gave me. Ain’t I?” She held the diamond to Red’s face. Warner was surprised she hadn’t pawned it yet.
“Stop with your lies, Rielle.” Frustrated, Warner dropped to his knees and collected the treasures lost. He placed Red’s items back in her bag. “We broke up. Let me explain.” I can’t believe this shit.
Red stood over him, her long legs like something off a European fashion show that had lost their runway. Her eyes were focused on Rielle.
“I’m carrying his baby,” his ex lied and then rubbed at her belly, trying to stick it out.
“Enough, Rielle. My family knows you were not really pregnant.” On his way up, he studied Red’s body, her tense calf muscles, her hands fisted at her side. With lips pursed, Red held her breath, unshaken. Red could take Rielle down in addition to anyone else who stood in her way. Did she want to fight Rielle? He couldn’t imagine so. No, Red came off altogether annoyed. He sensed she’d bolt the second he gave her the bag. Then she’d be gone. Warner hoped not forever.
“Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. “Were you ever engaged to her?”
“Yes. Let’s talk tomorrow when she’s gone. And we’re alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage tonight for tomorrow. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn’t want to let go of her bag either. He didn’t have a choice. Red wasn’t his to keep. Not yet.