CHAPTER THREE
WARD
I SIP MY WHISKY AS I watch Penelope step into the venue. Then almost choke.
My fucking god.
I’ve seen her naked, with candlelight flickering over her beautiful olive skin, but still the sight of her tonight takes my breath away.
“You all right, Montgomery?” A guy slaps me on the back.
I lift a napkin to my lips and follow her with my eyes as she walks into the black-tie fundraiser. Her long, black, figure-hugging dress shimmers in the low light, the curves of her breasts perfect.
Motherfucker.
It’s backless and finishes just above the round of her smooth bottom. Vintage Chanel.
I should know. I’m in the fashion industry.
I am the fucking fashion industry.
Penelope’s family comes from old money, and when I learned who she was the night we met, I expected the opposite of what I found. Her long dark hair, bright green eyes, and slim figure make her attractive, but it’s what’s underneath that intrigues me.
“So, let me try to understand this. You think you can change the way people shop and eat via this program?” I asked after she’d shared the workings of the animal welfare charity she ran.
“Not at all. Consumers themselves will,” Penelope replied. “We’re not asking them to change their diets, simply the product they choose.”
I tilted my head. “Explain.”
Comfortable in her own skin, Penelope accepted another flute of champagne as the server passed and took a sip, in no hurry to answer.
I liked that.
A lot.
“Well, our job is to educate them via marketing that the logo on the chicken or eggs, for example, means the animals lived a happy life. Simply put. They can then choose those eggs or the product where the layer hens lived in cages.”
“So no cages?”
“No cages at all in our standards. They are cruel,” she replied firmly. “It’s a win-win for everyone. The farmers choosing to care more for their animals get more business, more animals live happier lives, and consumers don’t have to spend hours trying to figure out which one is the best.”
I thought about standing in the grocery aisle myself searching for free-range eggs.
“Isn’t it just looking for free range?”
“God no. That’s just another marketing term. There is no legal definition.”
My brows lifted.
“Most people would be horrified if they saw the conditions some animals lived in. This way, our auditors check on them regularly and we can trust the blue heart logo on the packaging represents a good choice.”
“So, farmers pay for the use of the brand.” I nodded.
“It covers the auditing, marketing, and administration. We are non-profit, remember?”
I couldn’t fault it personally.
Aside from the fact it didn’t give them the money or influence to lobby for policy changes . True change.
Farming is big business. Worth billions.
She smiled at me. “I can see where your mind is going, Ward. Trust me, this is a different way of doing things. We take the power away from the corrupt senate—not sorry—and put it back in the hands of consumers.”
Now I was really listening.
“Change happens at the checkout. People vote with their wallet, as we say. More farmers are joining and having to improve their farming methods, otherwise people buy their competitors’ products.”
Penelope smiled, and I could see her passion for what she was doing.
“It’s not about hurting farmers—we are open to everyone joining. If they can meet our standards. It’s simply eliminating the hidden animal cruelty from the consumer which has gone on long enough.”
Incredible.
“Do you think it will work?” I’d asked next.
“Yes. I know it does. Other animal welfare organizations are doing it around the world with huge success.” She smiled broadly and took a sip.
Pride poured from her.
God, she was beautiful. Smart, beautiful, and intelligent. If I’d been a younger man—a different man—I might have fallen in love on the spot.
Perhaps I did in my own way.
Penelope Goldsmith had captured my attention, and I was having trouble looking away, completely charmed by her.
“You put me to shame, Ms. Goldsmith. All I’ve done with my life is to create beautiful clothes.” I smirked, glancing down into my liquid gold.
It was a dick thing to say. Verity I have to be responsible. Who I bring into their world needs to be the right woman. If I ever do.
They all still grieve, and this will be another stage in their process that will hurt them.
Whether I like it or not, me loving another woman will hurt my kids. Sorry, but I never signed up to do that. My job is to protect them.
So, I can’t.
The image of someone sitting at Tina’s place at our dining room table and the faces of my kids looking back at me makes me want to punch something.
What? Life? I can’t punch fucking life. The intangible motherfucker. There is no one to blame. Nothing to hate. Just raw grief which never seems to leave. Like an unwanted guest, it’s always hovering in the shadows.
That was two weeks ago, and I have had regrets. I wish I had shown up and spent a few dirty hours with Penelope, making each other feel good.
Or called her to cancel.
That’s the sort of thing a respectful man would do. I taught my boys to treat women well and yet something happened, and I froze.
“I thought you would have merged companies, Ward.” The surrounding conversation brings me back to the present.
“Not at all,” I reply, lifting my Macallan to my lips as my gaze returns over and over to the sexy woman in the black dress.
Like forbidden fruit, I want her.
I want to fuck her— need to fuck her—so hard it fucks every ounce of this unwanted desire out of me once and for all.
She isn’t going to forgive easily. A woman like Penelope with such high self-worth wouldn’t. I expect to have to work for it.
The thought just makes me desire her more.
Men. We are predators at heart, I’m sure of it.
“Excuse me.” I nod at the people around me and make my way across the room.
I’m almost at Penelope’s side when an arm snakes around her and my brows shoot to the roof of my head. The hand belonging to a tall, well-dressed man settles on her hip and brushes the curve of her ass.
A rush of anger surprises me as it fills my chest.
I watch as Penelope lifts her face to his, and he kisses her cheek.
Motherfucker.
Then she turns and our eyes meet.
I know my gaze is fierce, but I can’t stop it. I might not have any right to feel like this, but I’m seconds away from ripping his arm off her and threatening to steal his last breath if he touches her again.
Fury has me clenching my whisky tightly.
Penelope gasps as the glass smashes.
Fuck.
Three servers come rushing toward us, picking up the broken pieces and wiping me down as she takes a step back.
But our eyes never leave one another.
“Ward.” She breathes as I step toward her.
We’re inches apart and I force myself not to cup the back of her neck and clamp my mouth down on hers.
I clear my throat.
“I wanted to apologize.” My voice is rough as I steer her farther away from the glass.
This time it’s my hand on her hip.
Penelope nods gracefully and I love that she didn’t ask me what for. She knows. I know. We both know exactly what I’m apologizing for.
“Why?” Penelope asks instead.
I glance around, then at the man who had his hands on her. He’s watching us, but not with the look of a man enamored with her, and when he catches me watching, he simply turns to chat to another guest.
Good.
He’s no threat.
She deserves the truth, but all my excuses die on the tip of my tongue as I stare down into her bright green eyes.
Penelope wants more than I am offering. That is clear. But I’m a greedy man and want one more night.
Then I will be free of this obsession.