Sympathy for the Devil (International Bad Boys Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

they do, they keep it to themselves.”
    “And the family business? The marina and the fishing boats . . . it’s all going well?”
    “They’ve added boat building to their repertoire. Judging by the number of contracts I draw up for them, I’d say it’s going very well. Why do you ask?”
    “Just curious.”
    “Cutter Jackson’s still a hellion, my sweet, if you’re looking in that direction again.”
    “I wasn’t,” Bree hastily assured her. “I’m not.”
    “And from all accounts, Caleb’s worse.”
    “How could he be worse ?”
    “At least, the eldest one respects the sanctity of marriage—not that he’s ever been married. The middle one doesn’t appear to care if they’re married or not.”
    “Who’d he do?” Breanna was all ears and sinking heart.
    “Allegedly? Because there’s never any proof.”
    “Allegedly, then.”
    “Rainey Lincoln, solicitor’s wife. Gemma Brucker, she’s gone now. Then there was the Spanish aristocrat’s wife. She was a client of theirs—she had a yacht built for her husband.”
    “So he just . . . what? Gets them to break their wedding vows and then doesn’t want them anymore?”
    “Darling, how would anyone besides the parties involved ever know? And, to be honest, the gossip mill is divided as to whether the couples had split before Caleb turned up. All I am saying with confidence is that with the exception of the youngest boy, who is married, the Jackson lads run through women the way water runs through a sieve.”
    “Yeah, well. They kind of always did.” It was time for caffeine, way past time. “I wouldn’t have thought that about Caleb though. Want another coffee?”
    Her mother nodded and turned her attention back to the crossword. Bree reached for the coffee with an almost steady hand. She made coffee for her mother and took her own out to the back porch. Time to sit and embrace the sun on her face and the cloudless summer sky, the joys of small town gossip and the faint hope that her father might come out and join her later in the day. A good man, her father. A trustworthy one.
    She’d gotten lucky with her parents, she really had.
    Yes, she’d had to fight for the right to follow her photography dreams. She’d left home at eighteen with half-a-year’s rent in her bank account and her father’s disapproval snapping at her heels. There’d been rocky years when it had seemed easier all around just to go her way and let her parents go theirs. Lonely years, in which where she’d honed her focus and turned her passion for photography into the thriving business that she commanded today. Better years, once her parents had tentatively reached out to her and everyone had begun to paste over the cracks left by angry words. Angry loving words about not living up to her potential and about wasting the opportunities given to her.
    Her parents respected her business skills these days, even if they still didn’t understand her passion for photography.
    The verandah door creaked open and she turned her head and smiled as her father shuffled over to his favorite chair. He looked ill, his skin pasty, lines of pain drawn heavy on his face. Hormone therapy hadn’t worked for him. Radiotherapy hadn’t worked. And chemotherapy wasn’t being kind.
    “Morning,” she said.
    “Your mother said you were up taking photos of the sunrise.”
    “I went to Green Point. Little stroll down memory lane. I used to go there a lot.”
    “Anything changed?”
    “Some things never change. The beauty of sunrise over the ocean is one of them.”
    “What will you do with today’s pictures?”
    Her father had never been more interested in her career. Bree spun him an answer that she hoped he’d like. “I’ll put half a dozen of them up for grabs on a royalty-free stock photo site and hope that they catch people’s eye.”
    “Does that make money?”
    “A little.”
    “But not enough?”
    “Not to live on. The money’s in contracted photo shoots. Magazine