Drawn to his hotness, she sauntered to him, trying to act nonchalant, but damn, he looked amazing dressed in a cool sky-blue suit and brown shoes that made his feet look huge. The tattoo imprint of his adequate equipment flashed before her eyes, and her cheeks flushed, unable to stop from mentally undressing him, even if Darcy significantly had him beat in that department.
In the back of her mind, she heard Darcy caution her away from the syphilitic parasite.
“Well, if it isn’t George Wickham,” she said followed by a twist to her lips. “After all these years ...”
“Carrie,” he said in that honeyed tone which had seduced her dozens of times. Smirking, he obviously recalled the power he once had over her—and her lady bits, which was doing some funky arousal fluttering.
“I don’t recall you being an art lover,” she said.
“You’re looking ... just as I remembered. Blonde suits you—so do your huge knockers,” he crudely responded off topic.
“Thank you.” Her tummy fluttered, knees feeling a bit shaky. “You look ... different. Very trendy.”
He laughed, taking her left fingers in his. “You finally landed a millionaire. That’s some rock you got there. When are ya getting married?”
“Billion ...aire. Soon. August.”
“Well, ain’t that a coincidence. Me, too.”
Shocked, she withdrew her hand.
“Wow. You were never one to get tied down to only one girl at a time, and here you are committing to forever. I’m shocked.”
He shrugged. “You were just talking to my girlfriend.”
“Elizabeth Bennet is your fiancée?”
“Yeah.”
Thatisa coincidence. If Darcy only knew!
“How’d you meet?”
“At a coffee shop.”
“Quaint. I couldn’t help but notice her own piece of ice. You must be doing well for yourself.”
“So, who’s the billionaire sugar daddy?”
“No one you know,” she lied remembering their hatred of each other.
“I know a few.”
“I’m sure you don’t know him. He never slums.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” He downed his glass of champagne. “Whatta you say we get outta here and catch up over a martini or two?”
She knew what “catch up” meant. Hell, she wasn’t married yet; she could do it! But, but ... this was George Wickham the one man who could destroy all she waited for as outlined on page thirty-six of The Marriage Pact. But this was also the same George Wickham, who was the second-best lover she ever had. And, tonight, she was totally pent up—hormones raging—and in need of a hard, hot, fast fix to satisfy her craving. If Darcy wouldn’t deliver it, George would, and no one would be the wiser. Still, she loved Darcy. She couldn’t bring herself to screw Wickham if she were to cheat. But how delicious a thought that Lizzy Bennet, the heartbreaker, was marrying the syphilitic serial cheater!
“C’mon, it’ll be like old times.” He smiled that charming come-hither smile she could never turn away from.
“Don’t flatter yourself, George. You’re the last man I would ever ruin my future for,” then turned on her heels for the door.
SIX
June 3 evening
Entering the Upper West Side apartment where he grew up, Darcy called out above a Chopin adagio, “Hey! Are you home, Gigi?” He waited, examining the bizarre black and white photograph of—something?hanging by the door, then took a double-take.Is that pubic hair?
