Modern Romance November Books 5-8. Annie West
not. Why would they?
Rodrigo’s gaze dropped to Lola’s backside, her hips. The gentle curve of her waist. She drew him like honey. He could hardly wait to take her home and—
He watched Lola take her phone out of her coat pocket. Looking down at it, she read something and smiled. A warm, intimate smile. As if she had a wicked secret. Still smiling, she tucked the phone back in her pocket.
What message could make her smile like that?
Who had sent it?
A memory of her voice came back to him. If you’re just going to ignore me, I’m taking Jett back to New York. To be with friends.
Friends? A trickle of ice went down his spine. Friends like Sergei Morozov?
Why would the man propose if he’s never even slept with you? His question echoed in his memory, along with her answer.
Because he thinks it’s the only way he can have me.
It’s nothing, Rodrigo told himself firmly. She hasn’t been in contact with Morozov. I know she hasn’t.
So why did he feel so suddenly on edge?
He interrupted the director in the middle of the man’s sentence. “Excuse me.”
“Of course.” The director looked shocked, as if no one had dared to be rude to him for a long time. Leaving without a glance, Rodrigo strode past the side lights and cameras to the edge of the set.
“Hello,” he said shortly to Pia Ramirez, who had been married to another man for eight years now. They had three children, none of whom he’d met, but he knew about them, in the way that everyone knew everything in the insular world of television and film production.
The Spanish actress sobered. “Hello.” She smiled at Lola. “I just met your new wife.”
“I see that.” He looked at Lola. “What have you been talking about?”
Her lovely face was blank. “Nothing in particular.”
But Rodrigo thought Lola had a guilty expression. What was she hiding? He didn’t like it.
He ground his teeth into a smile. “I’m done here. Shall we go?”
“Sure.” Her voice was overly casual as she turned to tuck a blanket around their baby in the stroller. “Jett is hungry, anyhow.”
“So am I,” he said.
She fed the baby in their waiting Rolls-Royce, then they decided to have lunch at his favorite tapas bar in Salamanca, on the Calle de Serrano. Afterward, sending away the Rolls-Royce and driver, they walked home down the lovely, boutique-lined street, pushing the sleeping baby in his stroller on the beautiful, though chilly, November day.
As they walked, they spoke of inconsequential things, such as the recent nominees for Best Picture and Best Director, and the speech Rodrigo intended to make during tomorrow night’s International Studio Guild awards ceremony. But as he tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, because he’d already decided he could trust her, he found himself growing increasingly on edge as he heard pings from her coat pocket, indicating she was getting more messages on her phone.
Messages she studiously ignored.
Messages she obviously did not want to read in front of him.
Trying to reason away his sudden irrational fear, he reminded himself about the prenuptial agreement. Lola would never cheat on him. She’d lose everything.
But the more pings he heard from her pocket, the more his nerves felt scraped raw.
At Rodrigo’s suggestion, they stopped in a designer boutique so Lola could find a new dress for the awards ceremony. As she went to the private dressing room with an armful of gowns, he waited in a private sitting area, next to their sleeping baby, calming his nerves with a glass of good champagne given to him by the solicitous salesgirl. He was already anticipating seeing Lola in the gowns.
Then he heard the noises from her nearby dressing room.
The pings coming fast and furious from behind the curtain.
And he realized, with a sickening lurch, that Lola was secretly, frantically sending messages back to the person who’d made her smile.
Rising from the comfortable white leather sofa, he crossed four steps to her dressing room. Scowling, he yanked open the velvet curtain.
Turning, Lola gasped, instinctively covering her half-naked body with her arms. He had a swift glimpse of her full breasts barely covered by a lacy black bra, and flimsy black panties. Instantly his breathing was hard, and so was everything else.
Then he saw the phone in her hand.
His body went cold, his breathing steadied, and everything became clear again. Looking down at her, Rodrigo said, his voice like ice, “Who are you talking to on your phone?”
Lola suddenly seemed to forget she was naked. She straightened, dropping her arms. Clutching her phone behind her back, she lifted her chin. “None of your business.”
It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“None of my business?” His voice was dangerously quiet now. “You’re my wife.”
“Your wife.” Her eyes glittered. “Not your prisoner.”
“Give me your phone.”
“No!”
Reaching around her with his powerful arms, he felt her soft, half-naked body brush his own. As her plump breasts were crushed against his chest, his gaze fell to her full, raspberry-red lips.
He heard her intake of breath. Watched as the tip of her pink tongue nervously licked the corners of her mouth, before her white teeth tugged into the tender flesh of her lower lip. For a moment, he felt lost, dizzy with need.
Grimly, he shook off the blinding haze of desire and reached around her to snatch her phone from her hand.
“You are such a jerk!” she cried.
He expected the phone to be locked, and for him to have to demand her password. But to his surprise, it wasn’t protected. He touched the screen, and instantly saw whom she’d been talking to.
Rodrigo’s eyes widened. She hadn’t been exchanging messages with Sergei Morozov, or any other man.
She’d been chatting with two women. One called Tess, the other Hallie.
He looked swiftly through the messages, then looked up, dumbfounded. “These are just your friends.”
“Of course,” Lola said angrily, snatching the phone back. “Who else would I be talking to?”
“Why did you try to hide the messages from me?”
“Because they’re private. They’re my friends, not yours!”
“No.” Did she think he was that stupid? He glared down at her. “There’s a reason.”
She narrowed her eyes, then said resentfully, “Fine. I wanted to ask you later tonight. After I had the chance to butter you up. Fat chance of that now!”
“You can’t butter me up,” he said arrogantly. She snorted, then shook her head.
“My friends were worried, since they hadn’t seen me around for a while. They went to my apartment and Mildred told them I went away with some man.”
“Not just a man. Your husband.”
She sighed. “I didn’t share that part yet. They were shocked enough as it was. I just said you were an ex who’d come back into my life.” She bit her lip. “They’re dying to know more. Tess invited us to Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday. I want to go. And tell them everything in person.”
Rodrigo looked at her blankly.