Trophy Wives Read Online Free PDF Page A

There was a moment’s silence, then Magnus leaned forward. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
    â€œStunning,” Ethan replied woodenly.
    â€œI’m talking about our hostess,” Magnus chuckled. “You haven’t taken your eyes off her since you came in.”
    A jet of guilty pleasure whooshed up Ethan’s breast-bone, but he kept his voice casual. “A little young for me.”
    Magnus cleared his throat.
    â€œOh, Christ, Magnus. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
    Magnus didn’t appear to take offense. “That’s all right, boy. I know I’m being tarred with your father’s brush, and I can’t blame you for it.”
    Ethan’s hand curled into a fist in his lap. The way his mother had been discarded like yesterday’s news afterthe old man had struck it lucky still burned. After ten years—more—of slave labor and biting poverty. Just tossed aside for a younger model. He could forgive his father some things. Not that.
    He took a deep breath and rested his hands on his thighs. “What do you really know about her, Magnus?”
    â€œAll I need to know. She makes me happy. I know some folk think I’m a silly old fool. I didn’t expect to find this sort of thing again. I’ve been on my own more than a dozen years, Ethan.”
    â€œI know,” Ethan murmured, remembering the day of Theresa Anderson’s funeral. “I wish you all the best, you know that.”
    â€œThank you, Ethan.”
    He wouldn’t push it tonight. He had little to go on anyway. Now wasn’t the time.
    â€œActually I’m here on business, Magnus. I have a proposal and I didn’t want to wait.”
    Magnus watched his wife re-enter the room. “Tomorrow, I think. No business tonight.”
    Juliette sat and began whispering into her husband’s ear. “Are you coming in to dinner?” Magnus asked.
    Ethan stretched. “Do you mind if I don’t? I’m beat.”
    Tom seemed to have disappeared, along with all but one of the other couples. Lucy wiped glasses behind the bar. He excused himself and approached.
    â€œYou’ve lasted well for someone with jet lag. More wine?”
    He nodded when she held up a bottle of chardonnay. “Half a glass. Think I’ll call it a night.”
    She looked surprised. “Aren’t you going in to dinner with the others?”
    â€œNo. These were delicious.” He indicated the depleted platter of food. “Are you the chef?”
    She shook her head. “If you get hungry in the night, just call room service.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “If I get hungry at three in the morning, you’ll bring me a sandwich?”
    A slight flush tinged her cheeks, telling him she wasn’t slow on the uptake.
    â€œChef leaves around midnight, I’m afraid. Anyway, it’s bad for the digestion to eat at that time of the day.”
    There was no mistaking the voluptuous lilt of her voice or the sparkle in her eyes. Ethan was enjoying himself. He must have tipped over into holiday mode earlier than the usual couple of days it took for him to unwind.
    â€œI’ll remember that,” he said somberly, “and confine my appetite to chef’s hours.” He leaned back a little, and saw Tom re-enter the room. “Come show me the hunting gallery.”
    She put her tea towel down and accompanied him to the alcove. Hunting did not interest him in the slightest, but it was no hardship to be in close proximity to Lucy as she explained that wapiti were what North Americans call elk, and that thar and sika were different varieties of deer found here. He learned they were in the roar, or mating season. This was the preferable time to hunt because the animals were endowed with impressive antlers which dropped off after the season. Why else would Magnus, a keen trophy hunter, be here now?
    There were ample photos in the alcove of successful hunters