Off Limits Lovers

Their father stuck his foot out and lifted his pant leg, revealing his ankle monitor. “This thing itches like the dickens.”

“For once, Dad, could you at least try not to be so awful to Roarke?” Esme folded her arms, her voice sharp as she narrowed her gaze at their father. “Despite his busy caseload, Roarke found a way to get you released from that hellhole. And he dropped everything to come here.”

Sterling inhaled deeply, looking as if his youngest daughter’s words had pained him. Finally, he stuck out a hand and offered it to Roarke.

“Thank you for getting me out of there.”

He shook his father’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

“Now that you’re here, you’ll be able to investigate further. Someone set me up and as soon as I find out who, there’ll be hell to pay. I can’t live like this.” He indicated the ankle bracelet again. “Not to mention what it’s doing to my name and the value of our business. You have got to get to the root of this. Find out who did this to me. To all of us.”

His father had a stable of high-priced lawyers. So how in the hell had he suddenly been tasked with being the lead investigator responsible for clearing Sterling Perry’s name?

“I brought my case file, and there are a few people I’d like to question. See if they can shed a little more light on how this all got started.” Roarke indicated the messenger bag Angela was carrying.

“Good, let’s step into the den and talk shop.”

“Now?” Roarke hoped to get a moment to regroup before sitting down to discuss the case.

“Can’t think of a better time.” Sterling headed into the den.

Roarke groaned, taking the bag from his sister as he followed his father to the den. He hadn’t been there five minutes and already Sterling was manipulating him. He couldn’t get on that return flight to Dallas fast enough.

He took a seat and met his father’s stare. “Do you have any ideas about who might’ve set you up?”

“You’re damn right I do.” His father flicked a glance toward the entry hall, where his sisters were chattering about putting the pies on plates. Sterling closed the door, then sat in a leather wingback chair identical to the one in which he was seated.

“Ryder Currin is trying to destroy me, as sure as I’m sitting here looking at you.” Sterling pointed a finger emphatically.

“Ryder Currin?” Roarke repeated the name, but more quietly after his father shushed him. The two men had been rivals for as long as Roarke could remember. And with the latest chapter of the Texas Cattleman’s Club being established in Houston, both men were vying for leadership roles. Then, there was the fact that his sister Angela was seeing the man. “Look, I know there’s no love lost between you two, but do you honestly think he’d go to such lengths to ruin you?”

“Do you honestly believe it’s a coincidence that all of this is happening when I’m making a bid to be president of the Houston branch of the Texas Cattleman’s Club?” Sterling retorted.

His father went to the bar and poured them both a glass of whiskey. Roarke accepted it gratefully and sipped. The tension in his neck melted a little as heat from the premium whiskey spread through his body.

“First, Ryder Currin takes a sudden liking to my girl out there.” Sterling nodded toward the door. “Next, I’m accused of running a goddamn Ponzi scheme. Then a dead body is found at my construction site.” He took a long pull of his whiskey, then set the glass down hard on a nearby side table. “No, sir. Ain’t no way this is all a coincidence.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Roarke acknowledged, taking another sip of his whiskey. “And it may very well be connected to the Texas Cattleman’s Club coming here to Houston. But it’s a long stretch to accuse Ryder Currin of being behind it all.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’d take his side?” Sterling groused, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and refilling his glass.

“I’m not taking his side, Ster—” Roarke inhaled a deep breath, then released it. “I’m not taking his side. But I won’t accuse a man of such serious crimes without a shred of proof. If we go to the prosecutor with a hunch and some conjecture, we’ll get our asses handed to us. You’re out right now—” Roarke pointed to his father with the same hand in which he held his glass of whiskey “—because I had provable facts when I contacted the prosecutors and investigators on this case. We’ll find a way to exonerate you of these false charges and clear your name. But we do it the right way. That’s the only way this works. Got it?”

The old man shrugged and rubbed a hand over his head. “Fine. We’ll do things your way. For now.”

“Good.” It was the best Roarke could hope for. He drained the remainder of his whiskey and stood. “Now, I’m starving and I’m pretty sure I smell fried chicken. Oh, and there’s pie.”

“What kind?” Sterling asked.

A half grin curled Roarke’s mouth. “Texas pecan fudge from Farrah’s.”

Sterling nodded approvingly. “Sounds good.”

Maybe he’d found the key to enduring the next three days with his father. A vat of premium whiskey and a whole lot of pecan fudge pie.

Roarke made his way upstairs, where his bag had already been taken, to get ready for dinner. But he couldn’t get the image of the gorgeous woman he’d encountered in the line at Farrah’s out of his head.

Three

Ryder Currin slid into a booth at Farrah’s Coffee Shop across from Angela and her brother, Roarke. He’d had the results of the paternity test delivered to his office at Currin Oil. They’d arrived a few hours earlier, but he hadn’t bothered to open the envelope. He knew full well what the test would reveal.

“Thought you’d want the honors.” Ryder shoved the large white envelope across the table to Angela.

Her hands were trembling as she picked the envelope up and handed it to Roarke. “Actually, Roarke, I think you should be the one to open it.”

Her brother ripped the envelope open unceremoniously and scanned its contents. Roarke’s gaze met his as he slid the paper to his sister.

Angela’s blue eyes quickly skimmed the document in search of the answer she so desperately needed.

“There is no way the two of you are biologically related.” She squeezed her brother’s hand briefly, then turned her attention to Ryder. “I owe you quite the apology.”

“Sounds like my cue to leave.” Roarke stood suddenly. Unlike his sister, who was elated by the news, Roarke seemed neither relieved nor disappointed by the paternity results. His expression was unreadable. “I have a few people to talk to about...a case I’m working on while I’m here.” He leaned down to kiss his sister’s cheek, then shook Ryder’s hand and left the shop.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Angela said once they were alone at the table. “Sorry seems like such an inadequate word.”

“Maybe start with the fact that you should’ve believed me when I told you I never laid a hand on your mother that way.” The muscles in his jaw tensed.

As a young hand working for Angela’s wealthy grandfather, Harrington York, on what was now called the Perry Ranch, he’d had a boyish crush on her mother, Tamara. A woman ten years his senior. They were friends, but nothing had ever happened between them.

Both hurt and anger flared in Ryder’s chest. He was aggrieved by Angela’s lack of trust. He cared for her deeply. More so than he’d cared for any woman since cancer had taken away his wife Elinah thirteen years ago.

He’d met Elinah, his second wife, during a project in Kenya. And she’d been the love of his life. He was grateful for the years he’d had with Elinah. They’d had his middle child, Annabel, and adopted a second daughter, Maya. And they’d been incredibly happy together for a little more than a decade.

But then his world had been shattered.

Ryder had doubted he’d ever find love like that again. How could anyone even come close to what he’d felt for his late wife?

But then he’d gotten to know Angela Perry as they kept running into each other at various events related to bringing the Texas Cattleman’s Club to Houston. And for the first time, he felt hopeful that finding love again was possible.

They’d both been smitten enough to pursue the relationship, despite their last names being like oil and water.

She was the daughter of his enemy. A man who’d wronged him at every turn for more than twenty-five years. By all accounts, he should have distrusted her, too.

But Angela was nothing like Sterling Perry. And though her stunning beauty and generous spirit sometimes reminded him of Tamara, she was very much her own woman.

A woman he’d suspected he was falling for. But her inability to trust him changed everything. What would happen when the next gossipmonger questioned their relationship? Then there was the reality that Sterling would constantly be in her ear, whispering innuendos and half-truths. Trying to turn her against him. Would Ryder have to dance on hot coals to prove himself every time the wind blew with some new accusation?

“You’re right.” Angela lowered her voice as she placed her soft, warm hands on his and met his gaze. “You’re a good, honest man, Ryder. I should’ve accepted your word, but—”

“But the great Sterling Perry believed the rumor, so you felt it must’ve been true.” His tone was mocking. Something he hadn’t intended.

Angela sighed heavily. “Look, I know you don’t like him, but he’s my father. Given the history between you two—”

A bitter laugh erupted from Ryder involuntarily as he recalled the ugly history between them. Angela’s grandfather, Harrington York, had been fond of him. Upon his death, York bequeathed a prime parcel of land to Ryder that turned out to be oil rich.

Inheriting that land had changed the course of his life. He’d gone from a modest ranch hand to the wealthy owner of an extremely profitable oil company. But Sterling, insistent that he should’ve inherited the land and jealous of the friendship Ryder had with Tamara, had tried to dispute the will.

It’d been nearly three decades since he’d inherited that land from Harrington York. And yet, Sterling still pulled every dirty trick he could to interfere with the success of Ryder’s company and to muddy his reputation.

“I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of him,” Angela continued, bringing Ryder back to the moment. “But I know my father. He’d never knowingly confirm an awful rumor like this unless he was convinced you were Roarke’s biological father.”

“I told him, time and again, just like I told you...nothing happened between me and Tamara. Not ever.” He slid his hands from beneath hers and rapped the table emphatically with his index finger. “I respected your mother. And though I didn’t like the man she chose to marry, I respected their marriage.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.” She clasped her hands atop the table. After a few moments of silence, her eyes met his again. “So where does this leave us?”

“I don’t know.” It pained him to say those words and to see the sadness it brought to her eyes. But he would always tell her the truth. “I need some time to figure that out.”

“I understand.” Her gaze didn’t meet his as she fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. “I realize how angry you must be with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Ryder corrected her with a shrug. “I’m just very...disappointed. But maybe this was the dose of reality we needed.”

Her big blue eyes widened with panic. “Are you saying—”

“I’m saying that I need time to think about the reality of our situation, and I think you do, too.” He leaned across the table and kissed her cheek, then left the coffee shop.

Maybe lightning really did only strike once. And he should be content with his memories of the past.

But as he walked away, all he could think of was how much he looked forward to speaking with Angela at the end of each day. How much he enjoyed her sharp wit, carefree humor and easy laugh. How much he wanted to be with only one woman. The one he had just walked away from.

* * *

Annabel paced the floor of her bedroom. Buoyed by Frankie’s positive reaction to her plans for Fairy Godmother, she was finally ready to tell her father about the purchase.

Unlike her former fiancé, Mason, neither she nor her older brother, Xander, worked for Currin Oil. Xander worked the land and cared for the animals on Currin Ranch. Under her brother’s guidance, the ranch had become increasingly profitable. She’d stumbled into a career as a vlogger while she was in college.

Despite her father’s wish that she, her brother and sister work for Currin Oil, he’d come to respect Xander’s career choice. But her family still didn’t consider what she did to be a viable career.

Why couldn’t they respect that she, too, had chosen the path that was right for her?

There was a knock at her door. Her father. She’d told him she needed to speak to him.

“Hey, Dad.” Annabel opened her bedroom door and waved him in, a bright smile on her face.

He forced a smile, but looked sullen.

“Is everything okay, Dad?” She joined him in the little seating alcove near the window.

Her father sighed heavily, then brought her up to speed on the accusation Sterling Perry had made that he was the biological father of the man’s youngest child. A son.

“Roarke Perry,” she repeated the name. It seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“I wanted you to hear about it from me and to assure you it isn’t true. We even took a paternity test.” He extended an envelope to her.

“I don’t need that.” She moved to sit beside him on the sofa. “If you say it isn’t true, I believe you. Period.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder and planted a kiss on her head. “It means a lot that you’re willing to take me at my word, no questions asked.”

“I assume that means Angela didn’t.”

He sighed, but didn’t answer.

“I know that must’ve crushed your ego a bit, but from her perspective... God, the mere possibility of it being true must’ve been terrifying. Especially when she’s got the devil himself in her ear over there,” she added under her breath.

“You’ve got a point there.” Her father chuckled. “But I don’t see that crotchety old bastard dropping dead anytime soon. So his influence will be an ongoing problem. One I’m not sure I want to deal with.”

“Then I guess you have to decide if being with Angela is worth it.” She glanced up at him.

“Who’s the parent here?” he teased. “I’m supposed to be the one dishing out the sage advice.”

“Actually, there are some things I need to tell you.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” He tensed.

Annabel turned toward her father and took a deep breath. “The wedding is off.”

“But the wedding is just a few weeks away.” His eyes widened and lines spanned his forehead. “Did you suddenly get cold feet?”

“I didn’t.” She stood, pacing the floor. “Mason did.”

Anger flared in her father’s eyes. “Why would he call off the wedding at this late hour?”

Annabel sat in the chair facing her father and folded her legs, yoga-style. “You know that vote of confidence? I could really use one of those right now, Dad.”

Her father sucked in a deep breath, as if preparing himself for impact. He nodded. “All right, Annabel. Let’s hear it.”

“I purchased some property.”

“You bought a house?”

“No. I purchased commercial property for Fairy Godmother. An old salon and the building next door to it. The salon is the perfect space to do the makeovers, and the space next door will house a high-end vintage consignment shop.”

“Annabel, you didn’t—”

“I know you don’t see it as a viable business, Dad. And maybe you’re right. But I believe in this idea, and I’m going to try it.”

“You’re as stubborn as your mother.” He smiled faintly and raked his fingers through his hair. “Especially when she believed she was right.”

“Exactly.” Annabel relaxed a little. “This venture is very important to me. I get to touch people’s lives in truly amazing ways, and it makes me happy.”

“I take it that Mason doesn’t see things that way.”

“No.” Annabel shook her head. “And he’s not willing to compromise. Guess he didn’t get the memo. That’s what marriage is all about.”

“I’ll have a little talk with Mason.” Her father stood, his features tense.

“I appreciate the offer, Dad. But please don’t. It’s over.” She shrugged. “I’ll admit, I was hurt at first, but I’ve had some time to think about it. Mason and I want very different things from a relationship. This is what’s best for me. I’ll be fine.”

“All right, pumpkin.” His forced smile made it obvious he was unconvinced that she didn’t need him. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “But if you need me for any reason, you know I’m here.”

“I know. Thanks, Dad.” Annabel sank back onto her chair and watched her father leave.

Annabel worried her lower lip with her teeth as she twisted the large engagement ring on her slim finger. Her relationship with Mason had ended so abruptly, she’d barely had time to allow her new reality to register.

She was no longer getting married. A fact that she was surprisingly calm about. Perhaps even relieved.

Annabel slid the ring from her finger and put it in her jewelry chest. She’d return it to Mason. She had no doubt the jeweler would take it back.

But what about her?

The floor-length champagne-colored designer bridal gown with countless glittering crystals embedded in the organza overlay of the gown had cost nearly fifty thousand dollars. There was the expensive custom wedding band she’d purchased for Mason and all of the money for the reception hall.

Her father had sunk a small fortune into this wedding. And Mason had called the wedding off on a whim in what was essentially a tantrum.

Annabel felt better by the minute about not marrying Mason. But there was no way he was going to just call off the wedding and then walk away scot-free, leaving her family to foot the astronomical bill.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

She plopped on her chair again, turned on the television and scanned the channels. A commercial for Farrah’s came on. Annabel smiled thinking of the rich, creamy lemon icebox pie that was her favorite. And of the handsome stranger she’d encountered there earlier that day.

Annabel shrugged off the memory of the man’s sexy smile and the penetrating gaze he’d leveled at her, his eyes an intriguing shade of blue.

She was ending one misguided relationship and starting a new brick-and-mortar business on top of the vlog. Another entanglement was the last thing in the world she needed.

But there was no harm in daydreaming about it.

Four

Roarke stood by the bar, sipping scotch and soda as he scanned the historic Crystal Ballroom located in the Rice Hotel in downtown Houston. The venue dated back to 1913 and had soaring thirty-five-foot ceilings, beautiful mahogany French doors and an elegant lobby with gorgeous crystal chandeliers. They’d been there less than an hour and he already had a collection of lipstick imprints on the side of his face, courtesy of older women he hadn’t seen since he was in high school.

“Here’s where you’ve been hiding.” Angela stood beside him. “Tired of little old ladies kissing your cheek and telling you what a big boy you are now?”

“Very funny, sis.” Roarke scrubbed at his face with a damp bar napkin. “I agreed to be your plus-one for tonight. I didn’t agree to make out with every retirement-age woman in the room.”

“But you’re so good at it, little brother.” Angela was clearly amused. “Seriously, thank you for coming. Esme, Melinda and Tatiana all had plans tonight.”

Tatiana Havery had been one of Angela’s best friends for as long as he could remember.

Angela thanked the bartender for her apple martini. She sipped it. “Mmm... That’s good.”

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

Roarke’s attention jolted to the source of the familiar voice. He’d only heard it once, but he’d never forget it.

“Lemon icebox pie,” Roarke said as his gaze met her warm brown eyes. Eyes he hadn’t been able to forget since he’d seen them in Farrah’s Coffee Shop a few days ago.

“Two pies,” she responded with a tip of her chin. Her smile lit up the entire room. A smile he could easily get lost in. She turned to his sister. “Angela, it’s good to see you.”

“Wait... You two know each other?” Roarke’s gaze shifted between the two women.

Something in his sister’s demeanor changed when the woman from the coffee shop approached. She smiled uneasily as she introduced them. “Roarke, this is Annabel Currin. Annabel, this is my brother, Roarke Perry.”

Those big brown eyes widened. “You’re Roarke Perry?”

“Guilty.” He held up his scotch and soda.

The mystery woman was Ryder Currin’s daughter. That explained his sister’s reaction.

“It’s good to see you, too, Annabel. You look beautiful.” Angela fidgeted with her bag. “How’s your father doing?”

“He’s hurt,” the woman said pointedly, but her tone and expression softened slightly. “And miserable. He really misses you.”

A look of relief passed over his sister’s face and the corners of her eyes looked wet. “Please tell him that I miss him, too.”

“No way. I’m not the messenger girl.” Annabel’s tone was kind but firm. “If you want him to know, you’re going to have to tell him yourself. You know where to find him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Angela nodded, then walked away.

“Angela,” the young woman called. “Please do.”

His sister smiled, then disappeared into the crowd.

“ID, please, miss,” the bartender said.

Annabel frowned and produced her driver’s license from her handbag.

The bartender nodded, then slid the apple martini toward her.

She picked it up and took a sip. “That is good.”

Roarke scanned the woman. She was gorgeous in a floor-length blue gown that reminded him of something a Greek goddess would wear. Athena, Artemis or perhaps Aphrodite.

The smooth creamy skin of her back and shoulders gleamed, highlighted with a dusting of glitter that augmented her ethereal beauty. The peekaboo feature at the front of her dress exposed a little of her midriff.

Roarke glanced again at her left hand. The huge rock she’d been sporting a few days earlier was notably absent.

One corner of Annabel’s mouth curled in a grin as she took another sip of her martini. She leaned in and whispered, “I don’t know if you know this, Two Pies, but you’re staring. It’s frowned upon in polite society.”

“Is Two Pies my official rap name?” Roarke straightened his tie, trying his best to mask his amusement.

She laughed, setting her glass on the bar. “I thought it sounded better than Not-My-Brother.”

“Oh, so Ryder told you about that, huh?” Roarke signaled for another scotch and soda.

“My dad tries to be as open and honest as he can be with everyone in his life.” Her statement implied that his father didn’t operate that way. She’d get no argument from him. “Besides, we’re not kids anymore. He wanted me and my siblings to be armed with the truth, should we be confronted with the accusation. He offered to show me the paternity test, but I didn’t need to see it. I know my father.”

“That’s how I feel about my mother.” He accepted the scotch and soda. “So I didn’t believe it, either.”

“Well, here’s to not being siblings.” She raised her glass, clinking it with his. “Because that would make this very awkward.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she’d pressed a hand to his chest, lifted onto her toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

Roarke froze, startled by her sudden action.

Annabel laughed. “I can’t figure out if the kiss was that bad or that good.”

“It was good. Definitely...good.” Roarke cleared his throat. He took a healthy sip of his drink. “But the other day, I’m pretty sure you were engaged, Lemon Icebox Pie.”

“You’re quite observant, Two Pies.” Something about Annabel’s mischievous smile warmed his chest. “You’re quite correct. Were being the operative word. The chauvinist formerly known as my fiancé called off the wedding.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Thank-God-You’re-Not-My-Sister, you seem to be taking the breakup remarkably well.”

“I’m mature that way.” Her brown eyes sparkled and she barely restrained a laugh. “That and, if I’m being honest, there was a part of me that had slowly begun to realize that I wasn’t happy in the relationship.”

“When was the wedding scheduled?”

“A few weeks from today.” All of the lightness and joviality faded. A flash of anger passed over her face.

“Well, I’m sorry. All jokes aside, I can only imagine how distressing that must be.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you, Roarke.”

There was something so enticing about hearing her utter his given name in that soft sweet voice. It made him imagine what it would be like to hear her say it again as he hovered over her.

Roarke shut his eyes briefly and tried to scrub the sound and image from his mind.

He was only in Houston for one more day, then he’d be off to Dallas again. Besides, the object of his infatuation was Ryder Currin’s daughter.

Could he possibly make his life any more complicated?

He’d lived his life in a comfortable realm that existed on the corner of sarcastic and serious. He didn’t have room in his life for gorgeous women who looked like Greek goddesses, tossed around smart-ass nicknames and randomly kissed strangers.

Besides, Sterling seemed to honestly respect his accomplishment in getting him released on house arrest. And how hard he was working to clear his name. Getting involved with his arch enemy’s daughter certainly wouldn’t score him any brownie points with the old man.

“Well, it was nice to officially meet you, Annabel.” He set his half-finished drink on the bar and wiped a hand on his tuxedo pant leg. “But I’d better check in with Angela and make sure everything is good.”

“Of course.” Annabel’s tongue glided over her full lower lip. She raked her manicured fingernails through the loosened, wavy ends of her hair, tugging it over one shoulder. “Save me a dance later?”

“I look forward to it.” Roarke turned and made his way back to the main ballroom and the table where they were seated.

He’d done the right thing walking away. Though what he’d really wanted to do was lean in and steal an unexpected kiss from her this time.

She was young. At least five years his junior. Fresh-faced and idealistic. She’d just broken up with her fiancé. His father hated hers. And he lived in Dallas while she lived in Houston.

He’d made the right decision to turn tail and run.

So why did every step he took away from Annabel Currin feel like he was walking away from the sunshine and into the cold dead of night?

* * *

Annabel couldn’t believe that the hot dude who had been behind them in the line at Farrah’s was Roarke Perry.

During her conversation with her father earlier that week, the name had been vaguely familiar. But she’d had no idea of what a handsome man Sterling Perry’s son had become.

She hadn’t been blind to the man’s good looks when they’d crossed paths at Farrah’s. But she and Mason had just called the wedding off. She hadn’t even taken her ring off yet. So how incredibly handsome he’d been was merely an observation. But standing there at the bar with him, she couldn’t help being drawn in by his charm.

Roarke looked striking in his tuxedo and he smelled divine. So good that she’d wanted to press her nose to his neck and take a whiff of his woodsy, masculine scent.

Even now, she wasn’t sure what had possessed her to kiss him.

It was innocent enough, as kisses went. Still, it had sent a shiver down her spine, making her want another and another.

Annabel glanced over at the table where Roarke sat with his sister. After the paternity test, her father hadn’t been up to seeing Angela again yet. And Annabel didn’t want to push him.

He and Angela were right for each other, she was sure of it. But each of them needed to reach that conclusion on their own.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch and she checked the caller ID.

Mason.

Mason Harrison was the last person in the world she wanted to speak to. She sent the call to voice mail, then tossed the phone back in her bag.

It rang twice more, so finally she answered it.

“You’re screening my calls.” Mason’s words were clipped. His voice vibrated with annoyance, much as it had the day she’d taken him to Fairy Godmother.

“I’d say that’s standard ex-fiancée behavior. Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also standard to send your ex an itemized bill?”

A wide smile spread across her face. It almost made her wish she’d been standing in the room with him when he’d opened the invoice.

“When you suddenly call off an engagement less than sixty days before the wedding because of your archaic, misogynistic notions about marriage rather than making a compromise...yes. It certainly should be. Why should I be stuck with all of these expenses when it was you who changed your mind?”

“I’m not paying for the stuff on this list, Annabel. Not any of it. And I have no intention of compromising on that, either.”

Mason ended the call and she was glad. Less than five minutes on the phone with him and she was tense and anxious.

She would never admit it to him, but she should thank Mason Harrison for saving her from certain misery.

Annabel set her empty martini glass on the bar and moved toward the ballroom, mingling with the crowd. She’d wanted to delay the inevitable questions about the canceling of her engagement, but in their circles, news traveled quickly. Bad news, especially.

She put on her biggest smile, tipped her chin and made her way directly toward dear sweet, kindhearted, generous-to-a-fault Lavinia Cardwell. The gossip queen among Houston’s filthy rich and influential set.