Page 70 of The Price of Scandal

He grinned at me, and I found myself beaming right back. Sleeping next to the man had done nothing to lessen his effect on me. I doubted spending fifty years married to the man would dilute his sex appeal.

That would be one lucky, perpetually infuriated wife, I predicted.

“So what’s the diabolical plan of public manipulation today?” I asked.

A string of expletives exploded from the kitchen behind me.

“Isn’t it interesting how Cristoff doesn’t feel the need to tone down his badassery,” Derek mused. “Yet he is still wildly successful.”

“Enough with the life lessons today, Price. Get it through your thick head. I’m going to continue to work very, very hard. We Stantons don’t half-ass anything. My father and I are workaholics. My mother is a master manipulator. And my brother is fully committed to partying his life away. There is no sailing off into the sunset for a private island with a tiny house and taking up knitting for me. So let’s focus on getting me where I need to go.”

“As you wish,” he said pleasantly.

* * *

After breakfast,Derek helped himself to my shower… leaving the bathroom door wide open should I decide to wander in and catch another eyeful of his nudity.

An internal struggle ensued, and in the end, decorum won out. I ducked into my closet to find something powerful that didn’t say “collapsed from exhaustion yesterday.”

It needed to be slimming since pregnancy rumors would be spewing forth from the rumor mill. And I’d need to be photographed with alcohol—responsibly, of course—as soon as possible.

I felt a twinge of annoyance.

Why?Why did I have to use up so much of my energy, my time, trying to stay a step ahead of public opinion? I was the head of my own company. I was the one calling the shots. Why did I have to work so hard to make other people more comfortable?

“Dammit,” I whispered.The naked man in my shower had gotten to me… again.

I chose a pair of skinny black cropped pants and a fitted black sleeveless top. When in doubt, dress in head-to-toe black. I was working my way through my jewelry drawers looking for just the right bracelets when I heard Derek yelp from the bathroom.

A manly, slightly British yelp, of course.

I hurried out of the closet and into the bathroom and promptly doubled over.

The shower was polished stone on three sides with a tall glass wall separating it from the rest of the bathroom. Derek was standing under one of the shower heads, hands clutched in front of his family jewels. At the entrance of the shower was Brutus, the gigantic free-range Saint Bernard.

“I’m so glad you find this amusing,” Derek said, mustering a dry tone.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Jane strolled into the bathroom, eating one of Cristoff’s special peach tarts and immediately choked.

I slapped her on the back, and we clung to each other in hysterics.

“Does someone want to remove this hulking beast before he makes me a eunuch?” Derek demanded.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Crumpets,” Jane quipped. “C’mere, Bruty.”

She held out a tiny bite of tart. Brutus shambled out of the shower and shook off, raining shower water in a ten-foot radius. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a washcloth.

Derek turned off the water and reached for a towel but not before Jane and I both got another appreciative eyeful of his full-frontal nudity.

“Don’t be scared. Brutus is just looking for someone to snuggle with,” Jane crooned.

Brutus delicately put the hand that held the remains of the tart in his mouth.

“Harmless? He just bit your hand off,” Derek said, cinching the towel low on his hips.

I was still laughing. My face hurt from it.