Commitment by Margaret Ethridge Read Free Book Online Page A

tracing the rim of the champagne flute with her fingernail.
    “How do you think?”
    He glowered at her finger. She tapped the glass with her nail to capture his attention and he met her gaze at last. “I hate that this is happening to them,” she said softly.
    Those indigo eyes flashed hot. Then they froze, icing over like Lake Michigan in January. He drained the rest of his drink. “It isn’t happening to them . She’s doing it to him.”
    His glass smacked on the bar, but it was the sharp edge in his voice that made her flinch. Rather than allowing him the pleasure of intimidating her, she bristled. Her fingers tightened around the glass. “It takes two people to make a marriage work.”
    Tom turned his head, scanning the crowd with supreme indifference. “And only one to blow it all to shit.” Before she could work up a suitable retort he pinned her with a challenging glare. “Trust me, I should know. I see it every day.”
    She pulled her shoulders back, refusing to be the first to look away. “I suppose that’s the only angle you would know,” she said derisively. “Excuse me. I think I’ll slip out while Sheila’s not looking.”
    Her retreat was blocked by the handsy pervert stationed behind her. Maggie planted her stiletto on the toe of the man’s gleaming wingtip and whirled to glare at him. “Next time you touch my ass you’ll lose a finger. Got me?”
    A woman gasped. The rumble of masculine laughter rolled after her. Keeping her head held high, she focused on the ballroom door as she wove her way through the crowd.
    “Maggie!”
    Tom’s voice carried over the hum of conversation, smothering the tinkle of glasses, and cutting through the haze of indignation making her see red. She squeezed past a knot of over-perfumed women and their olfactorally -challenged escorts. Someone grabbed her elbow. Angry, annoyed, and all out of patience, she whirled.
    “What?” she hissed. “After fifteen years of pretending I don’t exist you finally have something to say to me?”
    He dropped her arm, but the square toes of his polished shoes dared to bump her precious Louboutins . His Adam’s apple bobbed. Tom spared a quick glance at a cluster of silk and satin-clad women inching closer for better reception. He ran his hand through his thick sable hair. A tiny tuft at his crown broke free from its carefully styled restraint. Maggie curled her fingers into her palms, raking her nails over tender skin to resist the itch to smooth it into place.
    “Maggie—” His hand reclaimed her elbow. His palm was disturbingly warm against her cool skin. Long, strong fingers pressed into her arm. Ebony lashes lowered, shielding his vibrant violet eyes. “I’m sorry.” His voice was hushed, tinged with a boyish sincerity that caught her off guard. “I’m sorry. I was rude. I just…I know she’s your friend, but he’s my brother….”
    Maggie lowered her gaze. His golden-brown fingers glowed in sharp contrast against the whiteness of her skin. A sprinkling of fine, dark hairs peeked from his cuff. She wet her lips and swallowed the urge to stroke them. The differences between them were too stark. This man was the antithesis of everything she ever wanted. She needed to remember that. She had to remember that because his hand looked too damn good on her.
    “Sean is my friend too,” she managed at last. Maggie chased the simple statement with a defiant lift of her chin and his grip relaxed then fell away. Her arm tingled. Faint pink imprints marked the spot.
    His gaze lingered on the marks for a moment before he raised his head. His lips parted. His pupils dilated, inky black overtaking the precious millimeters of midnight blue. “She’s the only sister I’ve ever had.”
    Maggie took a bracing breath and stared straight into those fathomless eyes. “I’m not Tracy.”
    The corner of his mouth twitched then lifted. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile bloomed. He shook his head slowly, eying her