"Without question." John took a step forward.
Peter squared his shoulders, ready for battle.
Then Colt said, "Is it a bet?"
His brother's small stake in the company meant no one might question or undermine his orders. He swallowed and stared at Vicki. He'd take care of his sister no matter what. This bet was easy. No woman on earth existed that didn't have certain expectations and a playbook. All he had to do was figure out the woman's desires and then ensure she had everything.
His thoughts made him predatory, as Vicki would say, but it was just how he saw things. He shrugged, like nothing mattered. "Name the girl."
John dropped his arms to his side, "Oh, it's on."
Vicki's head went back and forth between John and Colt. "I will pick someone I'd like for a sister-in-law."
Peter swayed on his feet. "You're in on this too?"
She nodded. "Now I am. Peter, don't turn out like dad. I want you to be happy."
Her blonde hair and blue eyes warmed his heart. Vicki deserved everything she ever wanted.
He smiled at her, "I am."
She batted her eyes. "Fulfilled is a better word. You deserve to be in love."
The doorbell rang again. John joined his wife near the door and answered it together. A tall, thin brown-haired, browned-eyed woman stood in the door. Colt stood straighter, and as a result, Peter did too.
In her simple black dress and white dewy skin, she seemed the opposite of everyone here from Miami. The woman wore no makeup and stood tall. Her hands were clenched at her side, and there was something different about her.
He licked his lips. No one else here looked like her. Vicki hit her fiancé's stomach and said, "Belle. She's perfect."
Peter nodded.
John then returned to their group with the woman in question. "Colt, Vicki, your friend Belle Jordan is here."
The air around him smelled like apples.
John pointed to Belle and Colt nodded.
Vicki hugged the woman like they were old friends. Belle's grimace read like she didn't agree. Peter's shoulders tensed. Whoever this Belle was, she was new. He had never met her, though she knew Colt. And something inside him burst as he stared at her profile.
She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear and stepped out of the hug. Her shoulder had a thin, old scar like she'd been cut, and she didn't try to hide it. He fingered his chin. Every other woman in the party would have demanded plastic surgery to remove something like that.
Peter then couldn't stop himself and he asked, "What happened to your shoulder?"
Belle fiddled with her hair again. "I pulled Colt here out of a mine field he found himself in. The razor fence got me."
Colt nodded. "I'd not be alive if not for you."
Vicki then smiled brighter. "I’m forever in your debt. Belle, we're so happy you came."
Peter watched the exchange and understood. Belle was Colt's old fiancée. As he saw Belle's grimace, and how she held herself stiff and unmoving, she confirmed who she was.
How she held her arms around her waist, but still gave off a sense of strength took his breath away.
John poked his side. "We all agree. Belle is the bet."
His stomach clenched as he stared at this tall, thin woman. He'd never be able to give any woman the man his sister married. Now, more than ever, he'd have to win. He turned away from gawking. All women had their price. He'd figure out hers. Fast.
Chapter Three
Belle's entire body stayed tense as she wandered through the mansion. On the wall hung original paintings she had seen at museums. She hugged her stomach again. No wonder Colt chose Victoria. The Morgans had serious money. She had bare walls, half dead plants, and two bedrooms. The balcony overlooking the bay was reminiscent of Venice.
In class and upbringing, she'd never have a shot at true love. She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms as she sighed and gazed at a Monet. She'd seen it at the Smithsonian with a borrowed sign. They must have borrowed from the Morgans.
In Miami, and in the House of Morgan, the warm sunshine of the day ensured the evenings were pleasant and warm. Every Morgan must have enjoyed extravagance and money provided without once struggling.
Next to the Monet was a Van Gogh. She leaned closer to inspect. They must be the originals. The Morgans owned a chunk of the world's economy, and this luxury must be why Victoria thought it was fine to lie to everyone about dying. Belle would never be so reckless. She took care of herself and her family with hard work and determination.
Colt stepped away from his gorgeous blue-eyed bride to come over. Belle averted her gaze from the Van Gogh to the next painting. She wasn't sure of the painter as the signature was illegible, but it seemed familiar. She straightened her shoulders.
As she smelled Colt's cologne in the air, no pang in her heart came. She still stiffened like she was about to go into battle as he nodded and stood beside her. "We're glad you're here."
Her muscles jumped out of her skin. "Glad I could be here."
"Belle, I truly hope you can be happy."
His big eyes held something unsaid. Whatever it was, it wasn't her problem. Not anymore. If he didn't want her here, then he shouldn't have sent two invitations.
She polished a speck of dirt off her wrist. "Great. I hope the same thing. Your Victoria is waiting for you over there."
"I love her. She loves me. You are so great. I'm sure you'll be next to fall in love and find happiness."
No chance of that happening to her. She couldn't have swallowed if she tried at the moment. There was a pain in her throat.
She nodded, though the cords in her neck were tight. "Okay, perfect. Thank you so much. You should go now."
"I will. If you ever need me, I'm still your friend."
She winced. In the desert, he was one of the few people she knew without a doubt had her back. She shivered and held a whimper in her voice. "We were always that, weren't we?"
“Yes and I hope we still can be.”
“I’m here. The rest we’ll see.”
As soon as she could, she slipped out of the gallery hall and onto the patio. People in colorful dresses milled outside as they sipped colorful drinks. She held her hand up and bit one of her nails. A beer would suit her fine.
Heat washed through her. Then with a tremble, it slowed. The dark-haired, brown-eyed muscular man in a suit, who had stood next to Colt in the room, now walked over and slipped out the door. She clenched her hands at her side as he came and stood next to her.
He licked his lips. "Would you like a drink?"
Her shoulders went up like they'd serve as a shield. "How do I know it's not drugged?"
"Yes, this is Florida, but drugs aren't my scene." He swallowed. "You were hugging my sister, Vicki. I'll introduce myself. I'm Peter Morgan, and you are?"