Honor Bound by Joey Hill (good novels to read in english TXT) 📗

But before, they’d been friends and business associates.

Now they were . . . what? What exactly were they now?

Nothing. They were exactly what they’d been before, because that was what Ella wanted.

She’d gotten the sex she’d needed, and she wasn’t interested in having a relationship, in falling in love, in having what she’d had with James.

Trouble was, his entire focus had changed since that week in Hawaii. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it. He’d seen what could happen when you loved someone.

Love, loss. Losing his mom had hurt. It had devastated his father. And him.

Love sucked. Look what it had done to Ella. Losing James had damn near destroyed her.

She’d loved James with her whole heart. And he’d sure as hell loved her. They’d been faithful to each other. James had talked about Ella as his partner, his friend. Clay hadn’t understood that kind of love, to be able to feel something that deep for another person.

He did now. He wanted it now. He wanted it with Ella.

But Ella had already found the love of her life. Clay would never be able to compete with that. And he wasn’t about to settle for second best.

Which left him right back where he started.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered to himself, picking up the papers on his desk and setting back to work. He should have known better than to dwell on Ella. It led only to problems that had no solutions.

Nine

“Holy hell and a biscuit,” Tish said.

Ella looked up. “It’s okay?”

“Woman, if I wasn’t straight, I’d be all over you.”

Ella burst out laughing. “Thanks, I think.” She moved to the mirror in her bedroom, palmed her stomach, and lifted her gaze.

Whoa. “I can’t believe you made me buy this dress. I can’t breathe.”

“Of course you can’t breathe. It’s a corset. And you’ll need me to get you out of it at the end of the night, too.”

Ella wasn’t one to dress up, another reason she hated the annual ball. But admittedly, she felt like a princess tonight. A lot of that had to do with this dress. All black and satiny, and it hugged her body in ways Ella had never imagined. The strapless corset top was so snug her breasts nearly spilled out and over the top of the bodice. The back was laced tight—but not too tight—and it drew in at the waist, flowed over her hips, and the skirt fell in soft waves to the floor. As she moved back and forth, Ella caught sight of the high heels Tish had insisted she buy.

“I wear work boots for a living. I’ll never be able to walk in these things.”

“Please,” Tish said, rolling her eyes. “You’re a woman. Fake it for one night.”

She laid her hands on her hips. “I’ll try. And may I say you look ravishing?”

Tish beamed and twirled around in her red ball gown, the color enhancing her dark skin and mocha eyes. “Thanks. I’m glad you spotted this dress. It’s so me.”

“It’s definitely you. Men will drool on you all night.”

Tish laughed. “No, honey. Tonight is all about you.”

They rode together to the ball, an event hosted in the ballroom of Tulsa’s swankiest and most expensive hotel. Despite her initial misgivings, Ella found herself excited to attend tonight, if for no other reason than to get her mind off Clay. She knew Clay wouldn’t be there. It was a dining and dancing night and she knew he didn’t dance. Nor did he ever attend this ball. Like her, he always sent a nice fat contribution and skipped the festivities.

She intended to drink some wine, schmooze some politicians and bigwigs in the industry.

Maybe a few people would take pity and dance with her. She’d have fun.

And not think about men or love or fear or complications.

The ballroom was packed when they got there. Tish disappeared almost immediately, having spotted some friends and rushing off to greet them.

Traitor.

Ella grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and decided to wander the room, see who she knew, then figure out where they were seated, since there seemed to be place cards with everyone’s names on them. She greeted a few of her fellow

contractors and their wives, people she’d known for years. Some she hadn’t seen in a while—not since James had died. So of course she had to stop and answer the obligatory

“How are you doing?” questions. She understood people cared, that they hadn’t seen her in a long time and wanted to know how she was getting on with her life and her work.

Maybe she should stop hiding out so much and attend more social functions in the future.

Then she could go back to being thought of as a normal person instead of James’s widow.

The ballroom was a glittering mass of tuxes and beautiful gowns. Ella could find a chair and spend the entire evening gawking at the fashion. And the jewelry . . . Dear God, some of these women definitely had money. Or their husbands did. She felt out of her element adorned only in her mother’s pearl earrings, but Tish had told her the dress spoke for itself, that Ella was beautiful and she needed nothing else. Tish had insisted they get their hair done for the occasion, so she sported some kind of updo with a few tendrils swept against her face. So not her, but whatever. She supposed it was okay to play dress up every now and then. She still felt like a sham when she saw the glittering diamonds and expensive furs and even the china laid out on the starched linen tables. Wow.

But she really loved the dress and the fancy shoes, so she decided she was going to enjoy herself tonight and not care what anyone thought. Besides, she was being hypercritical.

No one had batted an eyelash the wrong way at her.

It sure would have been a lot easier to send a check, though. She could be home in her pajamas right