Free Sarasota Bride by Talyn Scott

snorted. “Only because you want to fuck my physical therapist.”
    “Not funny.” Drake sat opposite of Trey on the long leather sofa, breathing deeply, contemplating. “I know about your kidney.”
    “Gilda shouldn’t repeat things.” Trey grew quiet, setting down his scotch.
    “I’ve kept it to myself, thinking if I helped you with this plan that there would be some justification in the world for Trey Easton. Problem is - I’m confused.”
    “What’s so confusing?”
    “Are you really seeking revenge on Libby’s father or on Libby?”
    “That’s ridiculous!” Trey shot back. “Libby didn’t really…do anything.”
    “Yeah, Trey, then why did you make her out to be the ultimate bitch? I would have helped you no matter what, but I hate being lied to.”
    “I’ve never lied to you.”
    “Then you’re lying to yourself.” Drake polished off his drink. “I’m going down to the club and get rid of this hard-on.” He stood. “While I’m gone, you have a long hard talk with yourself. Start by explaining why Libby is downstairs crying after you took her.”
    “She’s crying?” His heart kicked up. “Why? She seemed so indifferent, even cold.”
    “I didn’t see cold anything from her. I saw a woman who’d been hurt by the man she still loves. And after you kick yourself in the ass for making her cry, ask yourself why you took Libby without a condom and conveniently forgot to pull out?”

Chapter Eight
    Waiting in The Easton Trattoria for his coffee, Trey repeated, “Black, please.” Like my heart.
    “Yes, Mr. Easton,” the barista whispered nervously, her hand shaking so much he figured she’d spill the steaming liquid all over her, but she managed to pour, secure the travel lid, and wipe the drips. He handed her a twenty, turning around and spotting Elizabeth with a basket in her hand, shopping with Noah Wyatt. He stepped forward, his teeth on edge. Trey knew nothing was going on between Elizabeth and Noah, but he was standing too close to her, their movements and conversation coordinated in the way of old friends. The way she used to act with him. He nearly crushed the cup in his hand.
    “Is there anything else, sir?”
    “No, good day.”
    “Good day, sir.”
    He backed away from the counter, furious he’d been caught stalking someone in his own fucking hotel, and maneuvered around the tables and patrons with his long cane until he made his way outside to the harbor. He stopped to sip his coffee, wondering what he was going to say to Elizabeth, and stood for a while, watching tourists feeding seagulls bits of sweet rolls.
    “Fat gulls,” said Elizabeth from behind him.
    “Well, why would they dive for fish, when they can waddle on the pier in their delusional happiness and be hand fed?” Without looking at her, he used his heightened senses, catching the scent of her shampoo, the tangy sweet undertones of the skin he’d tasted. Trey didn’t want to look at her this closely. His eyesight was pretty acute today, and from what he could see when inside the trattoria, Elizabeth was wearing a fuck-me dress with matching shoes. His dick had preformed a salute, wanting to cozy up to her sweet cunt. So he kept his eyes fixed on the harbor. Of course, she had to move in next to him, brushing the side of his arm with one of her small but glorious tits.
    Pointing to a shit covered sign requesting hotel patrons not feed the birds, she asked, “Isn’t it odd how they dump all over the sign yet nothing else? You’d think they could read.”
    “Maybe they can.”
    Were they really having a bird conversation right now? Trey shook his head. How could she stand there and act so utterly blaze while he sweated beneath his suit, sporting a hard-on? Purposefully, he hadn’t run into her for three days now, asking Drake to see to her. With the company of his laptop, he had stayed on the roof garden outside his penthouse night after night, pulling Dylan’s load of work and then staring aimlessly