me if I’d prefer not to take advice from a woman dating a guy twice her age.”
She lifted a brow. “You think I’m sleeping with Bradley?”
“Everyone seems to think so.”
She made a face. “He’s between women, Jackson. He needed a plus one to make his wife jealous. I fit the bill.”
She sure did. He reached down to help her secure the knot and got an excellent view of a creamy toned thigh on the way up.
“Also that.”
“What?”
“Men who are in love with their fiancées don’t ogle other women’s legs.”
His temper flared into a living, fire-breathing entity. “How about,” he suggested caustically, “we focus on finding my fiancée before we have to tell the guests she’s having second thoughts?’
Three hours and an exhaustive search of two additional locations later, there was still no sign of his bride. Furious with Ariana for pulling such a stunt, his own doubts mounting by the minute, Jackson returned with Sarah to the Westwood compound.
He struggled to feel something—anything other than frustration and confusion. Sarah disappeared, came back with a bottle of wine and sat down beside him on the slip. She poured him a glass without asking, handed it to him and they drank in silence for what seemed like a very long time.
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