Breezy’s whole body softened next to Cori. “You miss your man, sweetie?”
“I do,” Cori admitted on a sigh. “Especially on a night like this.” She swept a hand toward the uplighting surrounding the tropical estate, the pool, and pavilion area trimmed with stately royal palms and littered with overdressed guests and obsequious waiters. “I turn around and expect to see him wearing that special look he saved just for me.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
Cori prodded Breezy’s ribs. “Did you come out here to abuse me or give me the latest numbers?”
“Neither, but I can do both. We passed two hundred thousand dollars on the last of the silent auction items. Some fool bid twenty-five thousand for a weekend on Lulu Garrey’s yacht.”
“Really? That’s great, Breeze.” Cori leaned her head toward Breezy’s thin but supportive shoulder. “God, I can’t believe how much work you did to pull this fund-raiser together. I’d be so lost without you.”
“Oh, please. I had fun. My goal was to make it so that all you had to do was slide your sexy self into that eye-popping Valentino, and show up to answer the one question on every collagen-enhanced lip in Miami.”
“Which is?”
“Did he really die in the sack?”
Cori tried to laugh. “You know he did. But in his sleep.”
He died in his sleep of natural causes.
How many thousands of times in the last three months had she uttered those words? And how many times had a little voice responded in her head: No, he didn’t?
She turned to Breezy. “What they really want to know is if the trophy wife has turned into a merry widow.”
“Screw ’em. You never were a trophy wife.” Breezy pulled a cigarette out of her tiny bag and shot a glance toward the house as she lit and inhaled sharply. “Anyway, I came down to tell you that you have a guest.”
“I have two hundred of them. Is there one in particular I’m supposed to see right now?”
“This one claims to be your bodyguard.” Breezy exhaled, her green eyes tapered by smoke and accusation. “So you really did it, huh?”
“I had to,” Cori said. “That little scene up in Bal Harbour convinced me.”
Breezy nodded knowingly. She hadn’t been shopping with Cori the day a menacing black Jag swiped her so close that the side mirror knocked her handbag to the ground, but she’d shared the postevent trauma.
“Where’d you find this guy?” Breezy asked. “He’s smoldering hot.”
“The insurance company hooked me up with some high-end security operation, and I requested someone intimidating and visible. I want to send a message to that weasel that I’m not afraid of him.” She had deeper reasons than that, but her stepson had unwittingly offered her the perfect excuse to beef up security.
Breezy snorted. “I notice that weasel hasn’t made his appearance yet.”
“Thank God.” The last thing Cori needed on her first major social outing as the widow of William Peyton was a run-in with the son of William Peyton. “After contesting the will, I doubt even he has the audacity to show up tonight.”
“If he does, you’ve got one sizeable stud up there being paid to protect you. Here, he gave me his card.” She snuffed her cigarette in a planter and reached back into her bag.
Cori started toward the steps. “I thought he was coming tomorrow, but Marta’s already set up the guest house. I’ll go talk to him.”
“Trust me, it won’t be painful.”
“No thanks, not interested. I’ve only been widowed for three months.”
“But you haven’t been laid in three years. So you might change your mind when you see…” Breezy tilted the card toward the light to read it. “Max Roper.”
Cori’s foot slipped off the limestone step. “What?”
“Executive protection and personal security. Max Roper.”
Cori seized the card, the blood draining from her head so fast the letters danced. “No. The universe could not be so cruel and twisted.”
At the top of the stairs, a shadow eclipsed the glittering party lights. She didn’t have to look and he didn’t have to speak.
She knew who it was.
“The universe is most definitely a cruel and twisted place.” His sinful baritone rumbled right through her. “You of all people know that, Mrs. Peyton.”
She looked up and swayed a little. But that was surely from her high heels sinking in the lawn—not the impact of a man she had loved and hated at the same time.