The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

The O’Donnell Ballroom was a five thousand square foot venue on Boylston Street, with grand windows, elegant Tudor architectural details, black wooden beams, ecru chandeliers, and champagne-silk draperies.

Waiters floated across the room, bypassing women in ball gowns and men in dashing suits. I stood in a cluster of people, including Cillian, Hunter, Sam, and Sam’s stepfather, Troy, while keeping an eye out for Emmabelle.

I knew she was going to be here. Her sister helped organize the event, and Sweven celebrated every one of her sister’s mundane accomplishments.

“…said him starting a private bank is as laughable an idea as my starting a Christian crusade to save hairy frogs. I’d never buy into his ventures,” I heard Cillian explain to Troy.

If Cillian was here, his wife was nearby. And if Persephone was on the premises, Belle couldn’t me more than a few feet away.

“I’ve only put two mil into it,” Hunter cried out defensively. “So I could be on the board and gain some experience. If it bombs, it bombs. It’s no skin off my back.”

“Devon? What do you think about James Davidson’s new bank?” Sam pulled me into the conversation, the devious smirk on his face telling me he knew I didn’t listen to a word they said.

I tapped my index finger over the glass of champagne I held.

I tried to think what I thought. I’d been more focused on trying to find my roommate than the conversation. “I think Davidson is rubbish at everything he does, and I said so to Hunter when he came to me with the proposition. Luckily, Hunter needs his money like I need another hormonal female to handle, so as he said, no worries.”

“How is Emmabelle doing anyway?” Hunter asked. “Is she starting to show?”

I thought she was, last time I saw her, a couple of days ago. When she’d passed me in the kitchen, I thought I caught a glimpse of a rounded stomach. I couldn’t tell for sure. But since I kept my cards close to my chest when it came to my personal life, they had no idea I was not on speaking terms with her.

“Moderately.”

“Are you taking advantage of the pregnancy cravings?” Sam elevated an eyebrow.

I raised my champagne in the air in salute. “Same answer.”

“Well…” Cillian took pleasure in directing his pinky beyond my shoulder, pointing at something “…then you may want to ensure you’re the only one enjoying those cravings, because Davidson seems to be working on his next private venture.”

I followed his line of vision, turning around to see Emmabelle standing in the corner of the room, wearing a light blue silk Cinderella gown, her sandy hair in an elegant do.

She was laughing at something James Davidson was saying, her fingers fluttering over her necklace.

The same Davidson who wouldn’t know a rotten deal from a good one if it chopped off his leg without anesthesia.

He was objectively handsome in a white bread sort of way, with brown, thick hair, big white teeth, and the languid, lazy manners of a man who never had to work for what he owned.

And he was completely enchanted with the lurid, shockingly vivid woman in front of him.

I squinted, focusing on her midriff. To my disappointment, her dress hid her belly quite well. It didn’t even matter. If Belle wanted to sleep with Davidson tonight, nothing was going to stop her.

“Isn’t James Davidson married?” I was surprised to hear my question sound more like a moan.

“Newly divorced,” Hunter corrected, off to my right. He bumped his shoulder against mine as we both looked on at Belle laughing throatily at something Davidson said.

What could have possibly made her laugh? The guy was dryer than a rice cake.

“His ex just bought a new Cadillac and a pair of tits to taunt him, but I hear he’s moving onto nicer and better pastures.”

“That pasture isn’t going to be Emmabelle.”

Cillian tsked. “Doubt she got that memo.”

“She is just being polite,” I lamented.

“Yes, your baby momma is known for her manners.” Sam chuckled.

“Also, polite people don’t touch other people’s chests.” Hunter laughed.

Buggers. She was touching his chest.

I wasn’t a violent man, but I was quite sure I was well on the way to doing something that would land me in state prison.

“What do you think?” I asked Sam.

Across the room, Emmabelle shook her head when a server approached her with a tray of champagne while James leaned closer to her, whispering something in her ear.

“I think if I were in your shoes, James would have had six teeth missing and a punctured lung by now,” Sam said indolently.

That was all the assurance I needed that I wasn’t overacting. Even though I was overacting, because I was currently dating another woman, even if technically, I did not touch her.

I moved quickly, brushing shoulders, crossing the vast room, my fingers pressing hard against the thin champagne glass.

I wanted to kill James, and lock Emmabelle in an ivory tower. Though really, could I blame her? She thought I was about to get engaged to someone else in a few short weeks, maybe even days.

What kind of claim did I have over this woman? None at all.

I stopped in front of them, smiling like all was well in the world.

“Belle, darling, I’ve been looking for you.” I made of show of kissing her cheeks, but ignored it when James reached for a handshake.