Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(67)

“I don’t have time for games, Elise.”

“Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

Thoughts of Beth swirled around in her head, and it took all of her strength not to ask about the woman who’d been handling her husband with way too much familiarity for Elise’s comfort.

“Yeah. I have plans.”

“Now?”

“In an hour.”

She shrugged, feeling relieved (that he had an hour) and upset (that he was probably going out with Beth) at the same time. Refusing to let either emotion show, she turned the page of her script and quipped, “Then I guess I have about fifty-five minutes, huh?”

He huffed in annoyance, placing the file on a table by the room entrance and walking over to her. “Fine. I’ll run your goddamn lines with you.”

“Great,” she said, standing and handing him the script. “You’re Dexter. I’m Tracy.”

“What is this?”

“The Philly Story. It’s based on The—”

“Philadelphia Story,” he finished, a very slight grin turning up his lips. “Dexter and Tracy. Sure. I love that movie.”

“Me too,” she said, smoothing out her pink T-shirt over her black cotton shorts.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked.

Her cheeks flushed with anticipation. “Top of the page.”

He glanced down at the script. “Fine. Go.”

Tracy Lord. Tracy Lord. Tracy Lord.

She stepped toward him.

“What am I going to do? Oh, God, I’ll be the laughingstock of Haverford!”

Preston looked up at her.

“Tell them the wedding’s been canceled. Tell them it’ll be rescheduled sometime soon. Very soon.”

“I can’t,” she said, worrying her hands together. “I…I can’t. It’s a lie. I’m not marrying George.”

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked her, his green eyes searing as they captured hers.

She took another step closer to him. “I do, Dex, but…”

Preston searched her eyes desperately.

“Say ‘I do’ again, Sam,” he whispered.

“I do,” she murmured.

Preston’s eyes dropped to the script, then lifted quickly. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he read the direction to kiss her, then felt the heat of his eyes linger on her lips before he raised his gaze. Suddenly he flinched, thrusting the script at her. “I can’t do this.”

She stared at him, unmoving, daring him to kiss her or smack her or grab her or anything—anything—to let her know that he still felt something for her, that there was still a chance for them. His eyes were distraught as they searched hers, furious then tender, confused and uncertain, and she stayed rooted where she was, refusing to take the script back.

“Damn it, Elise!” he yelled, letting go of the script and turning on his heel.

As the book fell to her feet, she heard the front door open and slam shut. She didn’t think. For the first time in the history of their relationship, she ran after him.

***

“Wait! Stop, Pres! Wait!”

He heard her calling after him, which only made him walk faster. He sped across the gravel driveway, over the green grass, closer and closer to the little white gate that separated Chateau Nouvelle from Westerly.

“Don’t run away!”

“Yeah, sorry!” he yelled over his shoulder. “That’s your move!”

Reaching the gate, he threw it open and strode through without bothering to re-latch it.

“Talk to me!” she demanded from behind him.

He looked back at her red face, her hair escaping its bun, her little hands clasped into tight fists at her sides, her pink T-shirt and simple black short-shorts. And damn it, she looked just as gorgeous as ever.

“About what, Elise?” he asked, turning back around to stride through Westerly’s gardens on his way back to the house. “What the hell do we have to talk about?”

“Us!”

He turned to face her and found her standing about ten feet behind him with her hands outstretched and fingers splayed open. Stalking back toward her, he felt a bit of satisfaction as she backed up three paces, looking at him with wide eyes.

“What us?” he spat. “There IS. NO. US!”

“There could be!”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?”

She made a sound—a frustrated sound like a sob or a whimper—as she put her hands on her hips and searched his face with bright blue, fiery eyes.

“First I need to know…are you an ‘us’ with Beth?”

“What?”

He was having trouble keeping up with whatever the hell was going on here. You and me…Us…There could be…Beth…What was she saying? What was she trying to say? And what the hell did Beth have to do with it?

“Beth! Perfect Beth from Saturday! Are you an ‘us’ with her?”

“An ‘us?’”

“Are you with her?”

“Why do you give a shit?” he yelled, looking down at her face, unable to ignore the intense heaving of her breasts under her T-shirt. His eyes slid from her chest to her face, which was even redder than before. “What the f*ck do you want from me, Elise?”