Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (2 page)

Angeline opened her mouth slightly then shut it before firming her lips. She crossed her arms in front of her. “That’s none of your business.”

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” she blurted. “I’m going to help her. She needs me.”
 

John was sure she hadn’t meant to say that as a rosy blush climbed its way into her cheeks. “Good. Then to answer your question, I’ve found what I wanted.” He took out a business card, scribbling a message on the back before handing it over to her.

Someday, you’re going to marry me. In the meantime, meet me at Envie Espresso Bar tomorrow morning at 7 am.

He took the opportunity to briskly walk away before she was finished reading. A confident man by nature, he only admitted to himself later that he was afraid of her reaction.
 

As he reached the exit, he heard her ripple of muffled laughter. A smile creased his face because he knew, even then, that he’d won her.

***

Angeline was precisely twenty-three minutes late when she breezed into the Italianate townhouse she shared with her husband. She found him relaxing in his office, nurturing the final sips of what she guessed to be his best Scotch. He sat with the crystal glass loosely clasped between his hands, head lolled back against the overstuffed leather of his favorite chair. Even though his eyes were closed, she knew he was awake, waiting for her to join him in a flirtatious game they loved to play.

“Hello, Mr. Sinclair. Am I late?”

He smirked, opening his eyes a crack to reveal pale gray irises that never failed to take her breath. She’d never seen anyone with eyes like John’s—not in real life and not in any of the paintings she’d viewed in her career.
 

He carefully set his glass on a side table and reached out, inviting her closer. As Angeline neared, he grasped her hand and swung her onto his lap in a teasing embrace. “C’mere, Lean.”
 

It was a play on shortening her name as she steadfastly balked at being called “Angie.” His deep bass voice with its roughened edges weakened her as always.
 

“Hm. Someone’s happy to see me,” she purred. She placed a delicate kiss just behind his ear and nestled deeper into his lap, eliciting a male groan of frustration.

“If you were ever on time, we could have done something about it.” He traced his hand over her shoulder and down to her hip, giving a suggestive squeeze.

She leaned back in mock outrage. “I doubt fifteen minutes would do the trick. What do you take me for, a quick roll in the hay?”

He pinched her bottom before giving it a light slap. “You’re more than fifteen minutes late, and you know it. Don’t worry, later I’ll show you exactly how much time it takes.”
 

She smiled while walking her fingers down his chest, inching toward his belt. “That sounds like a promise. I’ll be glad to hold you to it, Mr. Sinclair.” She leaned forward to press her lips to his.
 

He quickly took control, easing her closer with a hand at her back while deepening the kiss. After several long moments, she broke away to inhale breathlessly, hurriedly working her hands to his shirt buttons.
 

“John,” she murmured, “we have time. Let’s
make
time.”

Her blouse was unceremoniously unfastened and he hitched her up to take a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking her through the fine silk of her lingerie. She scrambled to straddle him, fighting with her narrow skirt to accommodate him while bracing her hands on his shoulders. He reached under her skirt, and she felt him touch her exactly where she ached, rubbing her through the whisper light panties she wore to match her camisole.
 

A distant siren wailed and Angeline froze. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized the door to John’s study was wide open.

“John,” she hissed, “where’s the nanny?” A nanny cared for Devon, Angeline and John’s daughter, during the daytime.

“Shh.” John gently withdrew his hand before rearranging Angeline back onto his lap. “She left early today. We’re alone.”

Angeline stiffened, moving to rise but he only tucked her more securely into him. “We’re alone? Where’s Devon?” She thumped John lightly on the arm. He always had this effect on her, distracting her from her responsibilities. Distracting her from everything.

John pressed a quick kiss of reassurance to her lips. “She’s fine, Lean. I dropped her off with Patrick and Alice. When I left, she was already playing with Dom, thick as thieves.” Patrick and Alice Martin were John’s closest and oldest friends. They had a son, Dominic, two years older than Devon. They were close, more like siblings than playmates.

As Angeline softened against him, he continued, “You need to relax, Ang. I would never do anything to hurt Devvie. Nothing is going to harm her.”

“I know.”
 

John raised a skeptical brow.
 

“I do. I know you love her as much as I do. I’m just protective, that’s all.” She leaned back to look at him for a moment before relaxing again. “I don’t want her to feel alone, stranded with strangers. I want her to feel safe.”

He bumped his chin on the top of her head, pressing down in a gesture of comfort. “She’s never alone. She’s always safe, honey. But you need to ease up a little, let her meet other people, other children. I don’t want her to become too sheltered or shy. Our job is to make her confident and ready for the world someday. She can’t do that if she lives in fear.”

Angeline sighed, knowing he was right. Her past was interfering with her present, and she’d vowed never to let that happen.

“Okay. Fair enough.” She rose from his lap, and this time he allowed it. She held out a hand in invitation. “Shall we go upstairs and get ready? We don’t have much time before we need to leave.”

He joined her, walking by her side up the wide staircase to their room. They were attending a jewelry showing at a riverfront hotel. As her husband shed his unbuttoned shirt to replace it with another in crisp white, she gazed at him with love in her eyes.

“Thanks for going with me, John. I know these things bore you to tears.”

His back was turned to her, so she missed the way his mouth quirked up.

“Actually, I’m quite interested. Perhaps I’ll find something perfect for my wife, since we have an anniversary coming up. Plus, they always display jewelry on beautiful furniture at these events. And you know I love good craftsmanship.”

Angeline narrowed her eyes, prowling close to curve her front against his back. She reached around to caress his abdominals and smiled to herself as she felt his instinctive quiver. “Hmm. I know you do. But you rarely get excited about museum pieces. Or at least not since you were involved in less than pristine work.” His stomach tensed against her hand. “I hope you’re not reconsidering your promise to me?”

When they’d met, John was actively involved in “the grift,” as he called it. He and Patrick made filthy amounts of money from unsuspecting clients who contacted them in hopes of obtaining rare and valued acquisitions. In fact, he’d walked into the museum she worked at in New Orleans partially in an effort to study their extensive collection of Stickley furniture. He’d carefully examined the shop marks on each piece, taking photos of the burned-in branding, metal tags, and decals used over various periods of time.

As their relationship became serious, he’d eventually confessed to his illicit activities. Horrified, Angeline made him promise to stop and find a better way. She would help him legitimize his business and cater to her socially elite and powerful contacts.

As far as she knew, everything was going extremely well. They’d left New Orleans, deciding a clean slate was best. Patrick and Alice moved with them to Savannah, where they set up a small store downtown near the city’s old Cotton Exchange building.
 

John was suspiciously silent. Taking a handful of his shirt placket, she twisted him around to face her. His mischievous grin and dancing gray eyes greeted her, easing her concern.

“Stop teasing,” she said. “You know I worry about everything. I just need to know you’re no longer the sort of man to take advantage of other people.”

His face sobered. Bringing a hand to her cheek, he cupped her face. “Angeline, you know my past—what I did and what that made me. But I swear I’m a better man now.
You
make me a better man.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’m so lucky you love me. I’ve never done a single thing to deserve someone like you.”

Angeline’s eyes filled with tears. Wrapping her arms around him in a fierce hug, she kissed his chest before tipping her head up to lock desperate lips to his.
 

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. Don’t cry.” He tilted her head back to thumb away the single tear that traced her cheek. “You’ll make me break my pledge.”

She sniffed. “What pledge?”

“To only bring you happiness. I never want you to regret choosing me—not for a single moment.”

She gifted him a watery smile. “Never, John Sinclair. Not in your lifetime or mine.”

CHAPTER TWO

J
OHN
AND
A
NGELINE
arrived over thirty minutes late to the jewelry show. Antique and heirloom pieces would mix with newly crafted artisan items. The event was invitation only, reserved to less than seventy-five of Savannah’s elite art community and society patrons.
 

Turning into the boutique hotel’s private half-circle drive from the cobbled street, John stopped the car to look over at his wife.

“Showing up late has its advantages, I suppose.”

She smiled smugly. “Yes?”

“It appears we’re the last of the arrivals, so there’s no wait for parking.” He opened his door to alight, quickly crossing to open Angeline’s before the valet could approach. With an easy smile, he tossed the keys to the young man.
 

“See? There’s a method to my madness, John. Rather than tease, you should applaud my timing.”

“Ang, you may be more used to this type of event, but even I know it’s considered bad taste to arrive tardy to someone’s moment in the spotlight.” He ran a finger underneath his collar, subtly loosening the fit. Even now, after years of being married to Angeline, he found formal outings constricting. Confining.
 

Angeline’s lips curved in a secretive smile. “Look at us, darling.” She moved in front of him to adjust the tie he’d just loosened. “They’ll be so happy to see us, no one will breathe a whisper of complaint.” Although unfailingly confident, she spoke the truth. John carried his own brand of charisma but Angeline was in a class of her own. Breathtakingly beautiful, she never failed to earn a circle of admirers. They lingered for her conversation, though, as she had a charming wit that won friends wherever she went.
 

They’d moved freely amongst Savannah’s social set for years now. But since Devon was born, they’d scaled back as Angeline loathed to leave her with strangers and was reluctant to take advantage of their trusted nanny or Patrick and Alice.

He reminded her, frequently, that their daughter was bright and outgoing; she needed social stimulation. Not one to live in fear, he tried to balance his natural optimism with Angeline’s inclination for overprotectiveness.
 

He moved to link her arm with his. Bringing her hand to his lips, he admired the fine bones before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand in an unconsciously gallant gesture. As usual, she blushed, even though she should be well used to chivalry as he exercised it often. He loved to spoil her, coddle her a bit, even knowing her fragility hid a spine of steel. Fundamentally, it was her contradictions that kept him spellbound. After years of marriage and the gift of their beautiful daughter, she still had the power to bring him to his knees.

She always would.

As they walked into the warm lobby of the old hotel, pride seized him as people stopped to stare. It was only for a second; people in the South prided themselves on social etiquette and never openly gaped. But he caught the looks as other men slyly eyed his wife as she gracefully crossed the warmly burnished pine floors to approach the elevators.

They came here occasionally, enjoying the intimate setting with its colonial feel. The hotel was a showcase of old and new — heart of pine floors, wood paneled rooms and brick walls that couldn’t decide whether they were aged to chocolate brown or a weathered gray. Warm lighting accented the spaces, making certain it was dark enough for romance, but still bright enough for its top-shelf clientele to be seen. Silk jacquard drapes brushed the floors and scattered leather seating was offset with button-tucked velvet chairs in rich jewel tones.
 

Angeline enjoyed the place for its effortless, chic, and timeless elegance. John admired it for that as well, but also because the colors, setting, and light were a perfect complement to her coloring. Dark chestnut hair floated in loose waves down her back. It showcased her pale, porcelain complexion and perfectly arched dark brows over tawny gold eyes. Her full, peachy pink lips naturally curved in a smile.