The Billionaire's Ruthless Revenge by Clare Connelly

murmured without opening her eyes.
    “I bankrolled some of her work. I wasn’t going to attend, but seeing as we’re here anyway ...”
    “Yeah, of course,” Annie nodded. “Why wouldn’t you want to go?”
    Though she was saying all the right things, his exasperation grew. He had, in the past, felt that he had a better understanding of his wife’s moods and feelings. That was definitely no longer the case. Her mannerisms were almost indecipherable now.
    She stepped out of the car and he followed behind, his eyes drawn to her beautiful legs displayed so perfectly by the dress and trench coat. In fact, the trench coat was sexiness itself. He wanted her to wear it with nothing beneath. To dinner, in a restaurant, so that he could spend the whole night imagining peeling it off her and enjoying her nakedness.
    “Good evening,” a woman with a clipboard greeted Annie first. “Are you on the list?”
    “Probably not,” Annie simpered with saccharine sweetness. “Perhaps I should wait out here in the cold?”
    Kyle frowned at the unusually acerbic rejoinder and spoke over her head. “Kyle Anderson.”
    “Oh!” The woman’s eyes flew upwards. “Mr Anderson, of course.” The woman scratched something into the board. “Plus one.” Her smile encompassed them both. “Please, have a lovely evening.” She stepped sidewards to allow them entrée.
    “What’s going on with you?” He demanded, grabbing her elbow lightly and steering her to the side of the entrance-way.
    “Whatever do you mean?”
    “You’re being ... snipey.”
    “Snipey?” She laughed, but it was a brittle sound. “If your Plus One isn’t to your liking perhaps you could trade her in for the night?”
    He made a sound of frustration and put his hands on the lapels of her coat. “You’re the one who won’t wear your damned wedding ring.” He pushed at her trench, sliding it off her slender frame. Her collarbone was a visible protrusion and it angered him further.
    “Too bloody right.” She glared at him for a moment before remembering they were in public. And the last thing she wanted was to draw the attention of the gossips and paparazzi who were always somewhere nearby.
    A waiter passed by and smiled at them. “May I take your coats?”
    Kyle handed them over without a word of acknowledgement. “Come on,” he snapped at his wife and Annie was filled with the sense that she was far more troublesome than he recalled.
    Good.
    Perhaps he’d regret going to such lengths to bring her back into his life.
    “Who’s the artist?” She asked with admirable detachment in her tone.
    “Bianca deNicolai.”
    “The woman who does all those nude self-portrait photographs?” She asked, tilting her head to study his autocratic profile.
    He flashed a curt smile at his wife. “Amongst many other forms of art, yes.”
    They walked into the first room of the galleria and Annie almost burst out laughing. “Such as nude self-sculpture?”
    He stifled his response. Though her mannerisms had altered, one thing definitely hadn’t changed. Annie in a mood like this was better left to calm down.
    “Good evening, Mr Anderson. Might I say how delighted we are to have you with us tonight? Bianca was especially thrilled that you were able to attend after all.” A woman so officious and glamorous that she could, surely, have only been one of the owners, approached Kyle and began to speak instantly.
    “Of course,” he nodded dismissively. Annie took a small side-step, and waited to see how he’d react. It was an almost out of body experience, watching him in this environment. She’d done so numerous times, but that had been as his wife. His wounded, desperate, aching wife.
    Now she was still all those things, but she was angry too. Furious, in fact, at the husband who had bullied her back into his life and would no doubt soon find her powerless to resist him in bed.
    The very thought sent her pulse into overdrive.
    A man dressed in a suit passed by