What I Did for Love (Wynette, Texas #5)(5)

“I’m not exactly unemployable.” Bram crossed his sandy ankles. Even the arches of his feet were as gracefully curved as the blade of a scimitar. “Just last week I got an offer to humiliate myself on a new reality TV show. If I hadn’t been stoned when the call came in, I’d probably have accepted. Just as well.” He waved an elegant hand. “Too much work.”

“Point made,” Trev said.

She frantically scanned the sand for photographers. This was a private beach, but the press would do anything to get a photo of her with Bram again. Skip and Scooter publicly reunited after all this time. Her stomach churned at the thought of someone as predictably evil as Bram Shepard becoming part of her public nightmare.

He leaned back and closed his eyes again. He looked like a bored aristocrat taking in the sun—a deceptive image, since he was a high school dropout who’d been raised on Chicago’s South Side by a deadbeat father. “I hope you hid your razor blades, Trev. Word is that our Scooter has a death wish now that life’s dealt her such a cruel blow. Personally, I think she should celebrate finally getting rid of that moron she married. Jade Gentry must have lost her mind to let herself be taken in by Mr. All-American. Tell me the truth, Scoot. Lance Marks can’t get it up, can he?”

“I see you’re still a perfect gentleman. How reassuring.” She had to escape without looking like she was running away. She made a play of slowly rising from the chair and sauntering over to fetch her sandals. Too late, she realized she couldn’t remember where she’d left them.

He opened his eyes and gave her the lazy, mocking smile that had annihilated so many otherwise sensible women. “I read that the happy couple is back on foreign shores doing more of their well-publicized good work.”

Lance and Jade had spent their honeymoon on a humanitarian trip to Thailand. She’d never forget their press release. “We want to use our celebrity to spotlight Jade’s pet cause, the exploitation of children in the sex industry.”

Georgie didn’t have a pet cause, at least nothing that went beyond writing some generous checks. She looked frantically around for her shoes.

Bram pointed the tip of a lean finger toward the base of the chaise where she’d been sitting earlier. “Their campaign to beef up laws against child-sex tourists is heartwarming. And while they’re battling Congress, I hear you’ve been power shopping at Fred Segal.”

Just like that, her self-control snapped. “I truly hate you.”

“Impossible. Scooter could never hate her beloved Skip. Not after he spent eight years of his life getting her out of those crazy little jams.”

She grabbed the sandals and shoved in one foot.

“Stop it, Bram,” Trev said.

But Bram wasn’t done with her. “Remember when you fell in the lake wearing Mother Scofield’s fur coat? Or what about the time you released that cage of mice at her annual Christmas party?”

If she didn’t react to his baiting, he’d stop.

But Bram had always loved slow torture. “Even on our wedding day, you got into trouble. A good thing we never actually shot that show. I heard I was going to knock you up on our honeymoon. If the network hadn’t pulled the plug, I would have sired a little Skip.”

Her fury erupted. “It wasn’t a little Skip! It was twins! We were supposed to have twins—a girl and a boy. Obviously, you were too high to remember that small detail.”

“Immaculate conception, I’m sure. Can you imagine Scooter naked and—”

She couldn’t take any more, and she spun toward the house, one shoe on, one in her hand.

“I wouldn’t go, if I were you,” he said lazily. “Ten minutes ago, I spotted a photographer crawling into those shrubs across the road. Someone must have seen your car.”

She was trapped.

He raked her with his eyes, one of his many unpleasant habits. “You haven’t taken up smoking by any chance, have you, Scoot? I need a cigarette, and Trev refuses to keep a carton around for his guests. He’s such a Boy Scout.” Bram arched a flawless eyebrow. “Except for his filthy habits with members of his own sex.”

Trevor tried to ease the tension. “You know I only put up with him because I secretly lust after his buff body. Such a pity he’s straight.”

“You’re too fastidious to lust after him,” she retorted.

“Look again,” Trev said dryly.

It wasn’t fair. Bram should be dead by now, killed by his own excesses, but the bony body she remembered from Skip and Scooter had grown tough, its wasted elegance transformed into hard muscle and long sinew. Beneath the sleeve of his white T-shirt a tribal tattoo banded a formidable bicep, and his navy swim trunks revealed legs with the taut, extended tendons of a distance runner. He wore his thick, bronzed hair rumpled, and the pale skin that had been as much a part of him as a hangover had disappeared. Except for the air of decadence that clung to him like a bad reputation, Bram Shepard looked shockingly healthy.

“He works out now,” Trev interrupted with an exaggerated whisper, as if he were divulging a juicy bit of scandal.

“Bram never worked out a day in his life,” she said. “He got those muscles by selling what was left of his soul.”

Bram smiled and turned his badass angel’s face to her. “Tell me more about this plan of yours to get your pride back by marrying Trev. Not quite as interesting as the pubic hair conversation, but still…”