Getting Naughty. Avril Tremayne

and pressed for time before co-opting Teague into returning the ring to Frankie—which had to mean Romy knew nothing about it.

      Teague picked up his glass again, raised it to his mouth and knocked back a gulp of whiskey as the enormity of what it meant almost overwhelmed him. The enormity of what he’d lost.

      Romy, he’d lost Romy. No, worse than that—he’d given her away. He’d pleaded Matt’s case for him when Romy had been prepared to move on from Matt, because Matt had never loved anyone except her and Matt was torturing himself over her. A once-in-a-lifetime love shouldn’t be denied—that was how Teague had consoled himself. And now...

      Oh, God! God! Now to discover Romy wasn’t Matt’s once-in-a-lifetime love? To learn Matt had loved another woman enough to propose to her?

      He shot to his feet, knowing he was about to lose his shit.

      “Where are you going?” Frankie asked, startled.

      Hell—I’m going to hell. “Thanks for the whiskey.”

      She stayed sitting, giving him a quizzical look. “Why are you brooding at me?”

      “I’m not brooding.”

      “Yes, you are.”

      “I don’t brood. Rafael broods.”

      “Rafael only ever brooded in Veronica’s direction. You brood all over the place, you always did. It’s just that you’re an iceberg, so it’s hidden beneath the surface. It’s irresistible, you know. Makes women wonder what lies beneath.”

      That threw him, so much that it took him a moment to relocate his voice. “I don’t brood,” he said again—it seemed to be the best he could come up with.

      She leaned back in her chair. “Okay, you don’t brood, and you’re not irresistible. Happy?”

      “Yes. No. I don’t—” He stopped abruptly, telling his feet to move. Frustrating as hell when they wouldn’t.

      She sighed gustily. “Taking a wild guess here, but did Matt not explain any of the background to the ring?”

      “He doesn’t have to explain it to me, only to—” He cut himself off again, bit his lip to stop her name from coming out of his mouth.

      Her eyes narrowed. “Not to you, but to...Romy?” She sighed. “Romy. Of course. I see.”

      And because the thought of her “seeing” enraged him when he’d been hiding it for so long, the words “You see what?” snapped out of him like a whip. He was almost vibrating with the need to tell her she was wrong.

      “Things you don’t see, Teague. Things you could never see, things you seem to be unready to see even now, things you might never see even if someone waves them in front of your face before beating you over the head with them.” She stood then, too, as though spoiling for a fight. “But you know what? Good for Romy. Lucky Romy, to have two men so devoted to her, so in love with her for so damn long their brains turn to mush!”

      “I didn’t say I’m in love with her,” he said, way too loud.

      She snorted. “Oh, please, don’t even. That year I spent in DC there were plenty of women who wanted a piece of you, but they all knew they were wasting their time. The only one who didn’t know how you felt about Romy was Romy—and that was willful ignorance, because if she’d let herself see it she’d have had to let you go.”

      “She did let me go. She’s married. They’re married! They have Rose now.”

      “And Romy made you Rose’s godfather—which means, bozo, she’s not letting you go.” She rubbed the heels of her hands over her forehead and made a sound redolent of both frustration and disgust. “And why should she when you won’t let yourself go?”

      “There’s nothing left to let go of.”

      “Sure there is. Your propensity to wallow in misery over what you can’t have! How many years have you chalked up pining for her? Eleven? And it was hardly the love story of the century—only two measly months, and nobody ever saw you hold hands, let alone kiss! So perfectly discreet, so completely passionless! Yet you hung in there and let no one take her place with you. And now to find you’re still hanging in there?” She laughed, but there was a jeer in it. “All I can say is you must enjoy being miserable.”

      “I don’t enjoy it!”

      “No? Then get over it, the way the rest of us do. ’Cause I can tell you, lots of us want people who don’t have the good sense to want us back.”

      “If you’re talking about Matt—”

      “I’m not talking about Matt. God! I’m not interested in Matt and I never have been—not like that. And he’s never been interested in me that way.”

      “How can you say that when he bought you an engagement ring?”

      “I can say it because he wasn’t my fiancé—you were.”