Crazy Love by Michelle Pace Read Free Book Online

saw her out of the corner of my eye. Her sudden nearness had my body on high alert, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. She looked out onto Forsythe Park as if searching the tree line for something. I cleared my throat nervously, and she turned toward me.
    “Your brother has a pretty impressive home.” Her delicate features contrasted with her bold eyes, which double-dared me to challenge her.
    “Yes. He does,” I conceded.
    “Looks like the home of a man with his shit together to me.” She muttered under her breath. Against my better judgment, I chuckled. Her smart mouth would have totally been attractive if her bite weren’t directed at me. She quickly shot me a look and then relaxed when she saw I was not laughing at her, but in appreciation of her. The delicious apple scent of her hair made it somehow hard for me to catch my breath. She locked eyes with me for a blissful moment, and I was able to take in her exquisite face unchallenged. I’d never stood so close to such flawlessness, and she stunned me silent. Physically, I couldn’t have found a more attractive package. I’m not sure how long I stared at her, but I could have happily continued to do so for days. But there was something else that pulled me to her. Underneath her undeniable surface beauty, I could just make out a lost little girl. As if she’d caught me reading her diary, Annabelle frowned and blinked rapidly like she was trying to clear her head. With visible effort, she coerced her perfect features into a harsh expression and turned back to the view of the park. Guilt gripped me, and I forced myself to look away. My brother liked this girl, really liked her. Then I remembered Violet, and that crushing weight of guilt vanished from my shoulders.
    “Water?” Trip asked from behind us. I definitely needed something to quench my thirst, but I suspected a cold shower would have been considerably more helpful. We both took a bottle from him. The water was painfully cold and I couldn’t suppress a grin when Annie practically chugged hers.
    “What the hell are you going to do with all these, Trip?” She asked as she ran her long fingers across a framed rubbing nearby.
    “Hang them in the bathroom…or maybe on the ceiling over my bed.” His gold-medal caliber grin scored a perfect ten as she giggled that melodious laugh of hers.
    “Classy,” she chirped. “I really want to see the studio. Do we get a tour? ”
    Annabelle twirled a strand of her long, wheat blonde hair as she waited for a response. Her enthusiasm felt almost childlike and her clipped, rapid speech must have seemed exotic to Trip, who’d never spent time up north like I had. His face softened in response to her request, reminding me of the look he wore the morning he stole Violet from me. Maybe that explained my sudden bout of nausea.
    Violet Duchamp was the only girl Trip and I ever fought over. And did we fight . He ended up with two black eyes, a broken nose and a bloody lip. I had to have six stitches and pissed blood for a week. Violet wouldn’t speak to either of us for a month. It’s funny because Trip and I usually attracted very different types of women. He usually lured the kind who chased after the “life of the party.” I usually nailed those who sought out the shy guy. I met Violet first, but unfortunately for everyone involved, Trip ended up being her type.
    A seventh generation Savannahian, Violet had all the breeding expected of a Beaumont wife. She’d been sent off to boarding school as a child, a fact which probably accounted for some of the glaring differences between her and the Georgia Peaches we were so accustomed to. Violet knew all the rules in the blue-blood handbook and broke them with spectacular panache. Though her family was notorious for having more money than brains, she was definitely an exception. Yes, indeed. Violet had vision. Pursuing a degree in business, the night we met she informed me she intended to be a buyer for