All Jacked Up (Rough Riders #8)(76)

Then Martine’s lipsticked mouth bestowed a tight-lipped kiss on each of Jack’s cheeks. “Jack. Darling.


How marvelous to see you. You’re looking devilishly handsome as ever.”


Jack ground his teeth at Martine’s mispronunciation of Keely’s name. He managed a civil smile.


“You’re looking…rested.”


Baxter chuckled.


Martine allowed a brittle laugh and addressed Keely. “Isn’t this awkward. I’m sure Jack told you about our past relationship. Whenever our paths cross and he’s so cool, I realize I miss the divine compliments he used to lavish on me.”


He withheld a snort. Lavish. Right.


Keely blinked innocently at Martine. “You and Jack had a fling? Really?” She half-elbowed Jack in the gut. “Seems someone forgot to mention that tidbit to me.”


Martine’s eyes narrowed first at Keely, then at Jack, as if she couldn’t believe she hadn’t rated mention.


Jack leaned over to brush a soft kiss on Keely’s temple. “Sorry, sweetheart. We’ve been preoccupied, haven’t we?”


“Yes, we were all quite shocked to hear the playboy had been caught.” Martine’s gaze lingered on Keely’s midsection. “I assume since the engagement was so quick, a hurry-up wedding is to soon follow?”


That bitch thought Keely was pregnant. Jesus Christ. How had he ever been attracted to her? The woman was an absolute nightmare. “No, we haven’t actually set a date. Next year, maybe. She’s wearing my ring. That’s what matters to me.”


“Oh, yes, let me see the ring,” Martine cooed.


Keely held out her left hand.


Martine scrutinized the diamond. “Lovely. What is it? About seven carats?”


“Nearly eleven,” Jack said. “A daily reminder that Keely ranks above a perfect ten in my eyes.”


Keely swallowed hard. To anyone else it’d appear she was overcome with emotion, but Jack knew she was choking back a snort of disbelief.


“A Tiffany creation?” Martine asked.


“No, Harry Winston.” Might be petty, but he knew that’d grate on Martine. She’d always dropped hints about wanting jewelry bearing that exclusive name and he’d never indulged her.


“I hope you’ll accept my sincerest congratulations,” Baxter said. “It’s good to see you smiling again, Jack.”


“Yes, thank you. I have quite a bit to smile about these days. We’ll see you later.” He steered Keely away.


When they were alone, Keely said, “You actually f*cked her? Dude. Did her forked tongue feel exceptionally good on your dick or something?”


Jack grinned. “She didn’t ‘do’ that more than once, if I recall. My taste has improved markedly, hasn’t it?”


“Yes. So has your bullshitting ability.” Keely peered into his eyes. “A daily reminder that I’m above a perfect ten? Please. Jack. I almost gagged.”


“Mmm.” He kissed her. Twice. “Why do you think I got us out of there so fast?”


“Smart move. After that…I need alcohol so badly I’ll even drink a shitty glass of wine.”



“Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”


After dropping off her wine, Jack left Keely in the midst of a group of his colleague’s wives. She’d done this meet and greet before with great success and she didn’t need him holding her hand, especially when he had business to discuss. Keely was tough. Smart. She could hold her own with anyone. She’d do just fine.


This party was Keely’s worst f*cking nightmare.


First, she was underdressed. Way underdressed. The women in attendance wore smart, classy cocktail dresses that probably cost more than her truck. The frumpy little engagement dress which’d worked in so well in Wyoming and Utah made her look like an escapee from Hee Haw in this ritzy setting.


Second, her feet hurt. She’d worn heels, but checking out the other women’s expensive shoes, flip-flops would’ve been a better footwear choice. And would’ve garnered fewer, “Are those shoes from Payless?” type of raised eyebrows the females aimed at her poor aching feet.


Third, no beer. What kind of party didn’t have a cash bar that served beer? Which served as another reminder of how hopelessly low class she was. How out of her league Jack was.


Fourth, Mr. High Class himself had abandoned her. Completely. No looking back, no encouraging smiles from across the room. He’d ditched her in a nest of snakes.


Even the women’s clattering bracelets and earrings sounded like rattles—but she doubted she’d get any warning before they struck.


“You’re from Wyoming?” a brunette with far too many Botox injections asked.


Keep it simple. “Yes.”


“I’ve never actually met anyone from Wyoming,” another brunette with beady black eyes commented.


“What on earth do you do there? Is there anything to do there? Or is that why the state is so meagerly populated? Because no one can stand to stick around?”