Chapter 8

By the time I decided to break for lunch, it was close to one in the afternoon. As I was about to head upstairs, I spotted a group of old photos along the right wall. Some looked like they’d been matted for framing, but most appeared loose.

The first two photos showed a group of friends at a pool party, likely in the backyard of this very house. I bypassed them when I didn’t recognize anyone. But the third photo had been matted for framing, yet either it had been removed from the frame or never finished. It was a black and white portrait of Dexter Larabee, wearing a tuxedo, judging by the snowy white shirt, paired in an old-fashioned manner with a cravat rather than a traditional bowtie.

The photo mesmerized me. He looked gorgeous, almost exactly how I imagined him last night. Dark swept hair, chocolate brown eyes, a five o’clock shadow done to sexy perfection.

A powerful wave of lust hit me, and I couldn’t help but recall the vivid dreams I’d had last night.