Читать книгу Courting Justice - Brenda Jackson - Страница 15

Chapter 5

Peyton felt a little uncomfortable standing by herself in the elevator as other women gossiped about men they’d checked out since arriving. She would never have imagined herself coming here on her own, but would have definitely enjoyed it with Mac and Sam. But that was before the husbands and babies. Now they didn’t live the same lifestyle nor have the same freedom they’d had before they were married. Their priorities had changed and understandably so. And although they went out of their way to still include her in most things, it wasn’t the same. They were no longer a part of each other’s lives the way they once were. She knew that and figured they knew it as well.

“Girl, have you seen that fine brother walking around here? The one they say is part Italian—the same one whose name has been in the news a lot lately after winning that high-profile political corruption case?”

Peyton’s ears perked up when she heard the woman whispering about Angelo.

“Yeah, I saw him today at breakfast. He’s fine, fine, fine. I couldn’t eat for checking him out. I wouldn’t mind him being my baby’s daddy.”

The other women in the group giggled, and Peyton could only shake her head. She understood the women going gaga at the sight of Angelo. Hadn’t she done the same thing herself the first time she’d seen him? But seriously—Angelo being some baby’s daddy? He would undoubtedly be a great catch for any woman, but she didn’t think he was ready to take on a wife or fatherhood.

She shrugged. Seriously. None of that was any of her business. Angelo was a big boy, and she was certain that he could handle the likes of any wannabe-baby-mamas. Then why had he asked her to help him avoid a certain woman?

Peyton figured he wasn’t dealing with just any woman. He was dealing with Lela Stillwell. And from the horror stories Sam had painted, the woman could take the description of spoiled, selfish and hellish to a whole other level.

The elevator reached the lobby, and Peyton waited for the other women to get off. They hurried on their way, probably to enjoy the fun that awaited them.

Dunwoody Cove was a huge place with lots of activities, if the brochure she’d been given upon arriving was anything to go by. She hadn’t signed up to take part in any special activities, but she planned to attend the nightly parties. And the next time around she would keep her eye out for guys who were trying to take advantage of her.

Her stomach growled, and she increased her steps to make it to the restaurant. There were other places to eat, but she liked this one. The items on the menu were simple, and she wasn’t tempted to purchase anything she might not like. Upon reaching the café, she glanced around, grateful it wasn’t crowded and that there were several empty tables. She would grab something to eat and then walk around a bit and check things out. Since she liked to swim she thought about hitting the pool later.

When she moved toward an empty table, a guy passed by her and met her gaze, but then quickly turned away, seemingly picking up his pace as he walked out of the café. She realized they’d met just last night. He’d been the one trying to get her drunk. She wondered if he was in such a hurry because he thought she was going to confront him about last night. Well, he was wrong if he thought so. She was just as much to blame. But like she’d told Angelo, she had come here to have a good time.

She was studying the menu when a sudden rush of heat suffused her. She glanced up. “Angelo.”

He slid in the chair across from her. “Glad you finally came down to grab something to eat. And I forgot to mention that I like your new hairstyle.”

A wave of pleasure skimmed across her skin at the sound of his deep, husky voice. She had just seen him a few hours ago, so why was she reacting to him this way? She was convinced it had everything to do with that kiss from last night, and it was a kiss that she was still trying to figure out.

She shifted in her chair and slid her fingers through her hair. Usually she wore her dreadlocked hair down her shoulders, but for the trip she had gotten them done up in lush curls that brought out its fullness, body and gloss. She had gotten a lot of compliments and had to admit she liked the style as well.

“Thanks. The hairstyle was Sam’s idea.”

He chuckled as he pulled a menu out of the rack on the table. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It shouldn’t. You know your sister. She jumps at the chance to give anyone a makeover.”

“Yes, and was the dress last night her idea as well?”

Peyton smiled. “Yes. But I have to admit I like it.”

“So do I. You looked good in it.” He leaned over the table. “But between us, you looked pretty darn good even before Sam’s makeover.”

“Thanks.” She tried to fight back how her heartbeat had quickened with his compliment. She took a sip of the water the waitress had placed on the table and then glanced over at him. She could actually breathe in his scent. Whatever cologne he was wearing had his name on it.

“Angelo?”

He glanced over his menu and his gaze met hers. “Hmm?”

She thought he sounded good. Even his hmm had a sexiness that made her shift in her chair and cross her legs. “All this isn’t necessary, you know,” she said.

An innocent-looking expression appeared on his face. And was there a little mole on the side of his nose? Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Why on earth was she noticing it now?

“What isn’t necessary?” he asked.

“Telling me how nice my hair looks and complimenting me on the dress I wore last night, especially since I know you barely had a chance to notice it before whisking me off to my room. And saying I looked good even before my makeover was really pushing it.”

“I take it you don’t believe I was sincere in what I said.”

She leaned over closer toward him. “Look, this is Peyton and not some woman you feel you have to impress. Not sure what’s going on with you but—”

“What do you mean you’re not sure what’s going on with me?” he asked, before taking a sip of his water.

She shrugged. “I think you feel that by being here you need to practice your player lines. You’re trying to steer clear of Lela, and you think I’m safe. Good old safe and reliable Peyton Mahoney.”

He set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. “Is that what you think?”

She decided to come clean. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think. But I believe whatever is going on here started with that kiss last night.”

A smooth smile touched his lips. “No, it all started when you said you wanted me to remember you weren’t Sam.”

His words should have kick-started her memory of last night and what she’d said but they didn’t. “I don’t understand.”

“And you have no idea what that kiss was all about?”

She frowned, trying to recall if there was any part of last night she had forgotten. She swallowed deeply before saying, “Please tell me that in my delirious state I didn’t come on to you or something.”

He chuckled. “Or something?”

She frowned at him. “You know what I mean.”

He placed his menu back on the table. “No, you didn’t come on to me, but evidently you think I came on to you.”

No, she really didn’t think that. But they had shared a kiss, and she needed to know why. “I really don’t know what to think,” she said, deliberately keeping her voice low when she saw one of the groups of women from the elevator walking in and taking a table not far away. They gave her a surprised look, as if it was hard to believe someone who looked like Angelo would be spending time with her. She might not be all dolled up like they were, but she didn’t look bad.

She glanced back over at Angelo and a thought suddenly entered her mind. Maybe the kiss hadn’t been all that hot and heavy like she assumed it had been. Maybe it was nothing more than a brotherly peck, and she had dreamt that it was something else.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, Peyton?”

Pretty little head? Boy, he was full of compliments today. She held up her hand to cut off any further words from him. “Let’s just forget it.”

“Forget what? The kiss, or your thinking that I have ulterior motives for complimenting you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Have you forgotten about Lela Stillwell and what you asked me to do?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” she said, deciding that now they were finally getting somewhere.

“Will you do it?”

Peyton hesitated. She was certain she had fully slept off her hangover, so why had her head begun spinning again? She wondered if she should let Angelo know he was practically making her dizzy. “I’ve given it some thought.”

“But you haven’t made up your mind.”

Actually, she had. She wouldn’t do it since she wasn’t sure if she could keep her infatuation with him from resurfacing. It had been bad enough two years ago when he’d stayed at her place those few days. She had told him to make himself comfortable and feel right at home. He’d done just that. He had thought nothing of walking around shirtless and letting her see him in just his pajama bottoms.

“Actually, I have. I don’t think doing something like that will work. Who in their right mind would believe we have something going on?”

He glanced over at her, seeming surprised that she would say such a thing. “Why wouldn’t they?”

She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, nobody would think of us as a couple.”

“I disagree.” He glanced around the café. “There’s not a woman in here who I could imagine myself with besides you.”

Following his gaze she glanced around the room, too, studying the various groups of women. Not surprisingly, the majority of them were staring right back at them. They were probably wondering why he was sitting with her instead of them.

She returned her gaze to Angelo and her heart rate increased when she saw he was staring intently at her. “Not that I think I’m chopped liver or anything, but look at them.”

“I did.”

“And what do you see?”

“Women—plenty of them with their faces made up, their hair in place and their nails done. And every last one of them with I’ll-eat-you-alive-if-given-the-chance looks on their faces,” he said.

She lifted a brow. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“For me it is. I told you why I’m here. And the thought that anyone wouldn’t think we’re a couple is simply crazy. You are better for me than any other woman in this room, hands down.”

Was that irritation she heard in his voice? She fought back a laugh that he would waste his time being annoyed at such a thing. “Hands down, huh?” she said, deciding to make light of their conversation.

He leaned in closer and the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t making polite conversation. “So what do you think, Peyton?”

If he thought he had answered all her questions, she had news for him. “Why me, Angelo?”

Their gazes held, and the look in his eyes had her heart pumping like crazy. She bit her bottom lip, feeling a sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach. For whatever reason, it appeared he was still annoyed with her.

“You’ve known me longer than anyone here, so I can trust you,” he finally said. “With you I don’t have to worry about your interest in me being purely financial or because of my newfound fame.”

His words were actually a compliment—kind of. And she couldn’t help the sensation that made her chest swell or the undercurrents that were making the tips of her nipples harden under her blouse. “I thought men who weren’t serious about women didn’t care one way or the other, as long as they were on top of their game.”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Maybe for some, but I’ve outgrown that.”

She waved off his words. “Whatever.”

“You don’t believe me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Angelo? No. But does it matter what I believe?”

He was spared from answering when the waitress came to take their order. Just as well, Peyton thought. He had told her more than enough fairy tales today anyway.

* * *

Angelo shifted in his chair thinking that every muscle in his body was feeling Peyton’s presence. Conversation for them had ceased for the moment while they enjoyed their meal.

She had ordered a lot, and he was surprised she ate it all. Since he’d eaten breakfast and lunch, all he wanted was something light and decided a bowl of soup would be enough, or so he’d thought. But more than once he swiped a French fry off her plate.

He slowly chewed on the fry thinking he could feel the connection between them even if she couldn’t. Did she even sense what was taking place? Had she caught on that he was laying the groundwork for what was to come? What would eventually happen between them?

More than once he saw her glance at the group of women sitting at a table across the room. He was very much aware that the women were staring at them and had been doing so for quite a while. He wondered if that’s what was bothering Peyton and decided to ask.

He glanced over at her and before he could speak his eyes devoured her, taking in the smooth, creamy brown texture of her skin, her dark eyes that preferred studying the food on her plate rather than him, and the way her mouth was curved in a pout.

He lifted a brow. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong, Peyton?”

She glanced up, met his gaze, held it and was about to move her mouth to speak when they both noticed a presence at their table. He lifted his gaze and stared into the face of Lela Stillwell.

Where the hell had she come from? And why had she chosen just that precise moment to appear? And what right did she have to glare at him like he’d been caught doing something wrong?

“Lela?” he said, acknowledging her presence.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Lela said in that syrupy voice that made him cringe. Then she had the audacity to reach out and place her hand over his. Now she was being disrespectful to Peyton, and he wasn’t going to put up with it. He reached out and removed her hand from his.

“You were looking for me for what reason?”

“I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”

He gave her a smile that he knew didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he glanced over to Peyton. “I’m sure Lela somehow forgot her manners, so let me make the introductions. Peyton, this is Lela Stillwell. Lela, this is Peyton Mahoney.” The two women glanced at each other, but neither extended their hands, nor did they exchange pleasantries.

In fact, as if dismissing Peyton altogether, Lela turned her attention back to him and said, “Well, are you ready?”

He lifted a brow. “Ready for what?”

“For us to spend the afternoon together. Didn’t you read the brochure you were given when you checked in?”

He had to remind himself that standing before him was a woman who could take the words spoiled, selfish and narcissistic to a whole new level. “Evidently I didn’t. What did it say?” he asked.

She smiled. “Tonight the resort is hosting the couples’ ball, and it would be best to claim your date early.”

He stared at her for a moment and then just to make sure he understood what she was insinuating, he said, “So you’re claiming me?”

She smiled brightly. “Of course.”

Sometimes people simply amazed him, especially women, and at that moment, particularly Lela. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth; had attended some of the best schools; had been introduced to all the finer things in life. But when it came to substance—namely manners and respecting others—she might as well have been raised by a pack of wild dogs. Especially compared to Peyton—who had been raised by her grandmother in a less than desirable part of Chicago, rarely saw her mother growing up, didn’t know her father and had to pay her own way through college and law school but still possessed the kind of class and grace that money couldn’t buy. If the two women were pitted against one another, Peyton was the winner hands down.

He held Lela’s gaze and was about to open his mouth to tell Lela that it would be a cold day in hell before he would allow her to claim him for anything, when he heard Peyton’s soft chuckle.

He glanced across the table in time to hear her say to Lela, “Sorry, Ms. What’s-Your-Name, but you’re a tad too late. Angelo might not have read the brochure, but I did. And he’s already been claimed—by me.”