To Love & Betray
Also By Shelly Ellis
Chesterton Scandal series
Lust & Loyalty
Best Kept Secrets
Bed of Lies
Gibbons Gold Digger series
Can’t Stand the Heat
The Player & the Game
Another Woman’s Man
The Best She Ever Had
Published by Dafina Books
To Love & Betray
SHELLY ELLIS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1 - Leila
Chapter 2 - C. J.
Chapter 3 - Paulette
Chapter 4 - Dante
Chapter 5 - Evan
Chapter 6 - Leila
Chapter 7 - C. J.
Chapter 8 - Paulette
Chapter 9 - Dante
Chapter 10 - Evan
Chapter 11 - Leila
Chapter 12 - C. J.
Chapter 13 - Evan
Chapter 14 - Dante
Chapter 15 - Paulette
Chapter 16 - Leila
Chapter 17 - Paulette
Chapter 18 - Leila
Chapter 19 - Dante
Chapter 20 - Evan
Chapter 21 - C. J.
Chapter 22 - Evan
Chapter 23 - Dante
Chapter 24 - Paulette
Chapter 25 - C. J.
Chapter 26 - Evan
Chapter 27 - Leila
Chapter 28 - Dante
Chapter 29 - Paulette
Chapter 30 - Paulette
Epilogue
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Shelly Ellis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0881-6
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0883-0
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0883-0
First Kensington Electronic Edition: December 2017
To Chloe,
Thanks for teaching me patience, humility, and how to focus on the good moments and take my setbacks in stride. It’s an honor to be your mommy.
Acknowledgments
It’s hard to believe this will be the eleventh full-length novel I’ve published, with eight of those novels written under the pen name Shelly Ellis. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been writing books forever, and other times the memories of the nail-biting experience of submitting my first book for consideration by publishers is vividly fresh. The good part about simultaneously feeling a sense of accomplishment as an author while also still feeling new to the whole “writing thing” is that it makes you both eager and unafraid to take chances with your vocation. That is why I’ve felt brave enough to take my writing in yet another direction, launching yet another pen name, Shelly Stratton. As Shelly Stratton, I’ll get to flex my writing muscles and write more serious fiction I’ve always been terrified to write but finally worked up the courage to try.
But back to Shelly Ellis. (Can’t forget her! LOL.) She’s no best-selling author, but I’m incredibly proud of the work I’ve done under that name and grateful to all the people who have assisted me in getting me where I am today. My support network, which includes my husband, Andrew, my parents, and even my daughter, Chloe, have made it much easier to do what I do. If it weren’t for the coveted hours of unhindered time they give me to research and write, I would not have published eight full-length novels in four years.
I’d also like to thank my editors. From my first editor at Kensington, Mercedes Fernandez, to my current editor, Esi Sogah, these women have challenged me to become a better writer, have a greater understanding of the market, and to essentially try to give readers what they want. The education and guidance they have offered is invaluable.
I’d also like to thank my resident cheerleader (and agent), Barbara Poelle. If you’ve ever read her advice column in Writer’s Digest, “Funny You Should Ask . . .” you know this woman knows A LOT about the publishing industry. She also has a great sense of humor. That knowledge and the ability to make me laugh have helped get me through some of the rougher times in publishing. Barbara is not only one of the first pairs of eyes that see my writing, but also the person I bounce story ideas off of. She counsels me through my writing career dilemmas. Having an agent as an author is great, but having an amazing agent is priceless. Barbara has taught me that.
And finally, thanks to all my many writer friends and readers out there. Without you guys, I probably would’ve thrown in the towel long ago. Thanks for making me and my work feel appreciated.
Chapter 1
Leila
Leila Hawkins walked toward the gold hotel elevator doors, listening as her high heels clicked on the marble-tiled floor. She trembled with each step she took.
A bellhop pushing a luggage cart loaded with suitcases nodded and smiled at her as she passed. “Good evening, ma’am,” he said.
She turned away, not responding to bellhop’s greeting, and dug into her purse, retrieving her cell phone. She tapped the glass screen and flipped through her text messages, finding the one that contained the hotel room number and the appointed time to meet.
9:30 p.m. sharp, floor 19, room 1926, the text read. And don’t even THINK about standing me up!
Every time she saw those words, she gritted her teeth in frustration. Even now, she wanted to head back across the hotel lobby, out the revolving doors, and give up on this whole idea. But instead, she dropped her phone back into her purse and pressed the up elevator button. She waited patiently for the doors to open. When they did, she stepped inside the compartment and pulled out the room key that a courier had delivered to Murdoch Mansion earlier that day. She inserted the key into the wall slot and pressed number nineteen. She leaned her head back against the glass wall and watched the digital screen above her as the elevator ascended floors. The compartment felt stifling hot, and the urge to press the emergency button and bring the elevator to a screeching halt overwhelmed her.
Just then, Leila’s phone began to ring, and she reached inside her purse again. She saw her mother’s number on the screen and took a deep breath.
Not again, she thought in exasperation. Her mother had already called and texted her twice, and she had ignored the messages. She knew her mother wouldn’t let up if she let this go to voice mail, too, so she pressed the green button to answer.
“Hi, Mama,” she said.
“Lee, where are you?” her mother asked, the worry apparent in the older woman’s voice. Leila could hear her whimpering infant daughter, Angelica, in the background. “You left here almost an hour ago. I thought you would be back by now!”
“I just . . . I just went out to run a . . . another errand.”
“Another errand? At ten o’clock at night?”
“I know what time it is, Mama,” Lee answered tersely. “I’ll be back soon—probably in another hour, maybe an hour and a half.” She looked up at the floor numbers again.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . eleven . . .
“What? Lee, I don’t . . . you can’t just . . .” Her mother sputtered helplessly. “You should be at home! With all that’s going on, honey, you need to be here with your children. You have to—”
“Please don’t tell me what I need to do, Mama! I’m doing what I have to do.”
“And what is that? You won’t even tell me where you are!”
Fourteen . . . fifteen . . . sixteen . . .
“I have to go,” Leila whispered before abruptly hanging up. She dropped the phone back into her purse and closed her eyes.
I’m doing what I have to do, she told herself again. And Evan would do the same for her if he were in the same situation.
Her fiancé had been in jail for almost a month now. Evan’s lawyer had finally negotiated his release on a one-million-dollar bond after appealing to the circuit court after a lower court judge had refused to grant Evan bail because the prosecutors had claimed that he was a flight risk.
“Mr. Murdoch is a very wealthy man, your honor. He could hop on a jet and leave the country for Switzerland or Mozambique, for all we know!” the commonwealth’s attorney had argued during Evan’s bail hearing. “We might never find him!”
Luckily, Evan’s lawyer had been able to convince the circuit court judge that the Murdochs’ ties to the community—and Evan’s responsibility to the business, not to mention his family—would keep him in town.
Evan would finally get out of prison in a matter of days, but Leila knew what awaited him when he exited the prison gates. He’d be greeted with lurid news stories detailing how he had tried to murder his half-brother, Dante Turner. He’d find that the stock prices of Murdoch Conglomerated had plummeted, and there were calls from shareholders and some board members to have Evan removed as CEO of the company his father, George, had built from the ground up. Evan would be shunned by the very people in Chesterton, Virginia, who had once clamored for his money and attention. And if Evan stood trial and was found guilty of attempted murder—a crime she knew in her heart he hadn’t committed—his fate could be even worse: Evan could spend decades in prison.
Where did that leave her and the little family she and Evan had created? Leila and Evan weren’t married; his divorce from his wife, Charisse, still hadn’t been finalized. Would Charisse kick her out of the Murdoch estate? Where would they go?
Leila raised her hands to her chest, patting breasts that were still sore and full of milk. Her mother need not remind her that she was a mother, too, that her daughters, Angelica and Isabel, depended on her. She also had their lives to consider.
Accept it, a voice in her head insisted, sounding hollow. You don’t have a choice.
Leila jolted as the elevator slowed to a stop. The doors opened, and she stepped into the carpeted corridor. She wasn’t shaking anymore. Leila followed the gilded signs that pointed her in the direction of room 1926. When she reached the door, she hesitated only briefly before knocking. The door swung open a second later.
Dante stood in front of her wearing only a crisp white bathrobe with the hotel emblem on the breast. A glass of champagne was in his hand. He looked a little different than she remembered: his face had gotten fatter in the past year, and he looked wider through the middle. When Dante saw her, he leaned against the door frame and looked her up and down. She wanted to slap the smug smile off his face. She wanted to yank the glass out of his hand and pour his champagne over his head.
“I said nine thirty. You’re late,” he said.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she strode past him into the hotel room. She looked around the suite as he shut the door behind her. The living room and adjoining kitchenette were in varying shades of cream, white, and gold, and decorated in an ornate, baroque style she viewed as gaudy, but she knew it suited a man like Dante perfectly, with his inflated ego and desperation to seem more important than he actually was.
“Make yourself comfortable. Have some champagne,” Dante said, making it sound more like an order than an offer. She watched as he strode across the room and reached for a bottle that sat in an ice bucket on the kitchenette counter. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“No, thank you,” she mumbled, tugging off her coat and tossing it onto the sofa.
He poured a glass anyway and held it out to her, swirling the champagne around and around. “Come on! It’ll do you good. It’ll help your nerves. You look more wound up than a Swiss watch, baby.”
“I’m not your baby, and I don’t want a drink!” she snapped, making him pause and squint at her.
“You know,” he began, lowering the champagne glass to the coffee table, “for a woman who needs a favor, you’ve got a lot of goddamn attitude.” He pointed at her. “You’re the one who reached out to me. It wasn’t the other way around. If you’re going to be a bitch, Lee, you can get the hell out now!”
That’s right; she had reached out to him. As soon as Evan was arrested and she had found out the details of the charge against him, she had called Dante and asked him . . . no, begged him to recant what he had told the investigating detective. She had asked him to rise above his unjustifiable anger toward Evan and the other Murdoch siblings. Though they had never done anything to him, Dante’d had no problem cheating with Evan’s wife, Charisse; attempting to blackmail Evan’s sister, Paulette, into selling her company shares to him by threatening to reveal her affair with her ex-boyfriend; or representing a woman who had unsuccessfully sued Terrence, Evan’s little brother, for millions of dollars.
But Dante could change, couldn’t he? He could finally be a good man for once or at least be a decent human being.
“Please don’t do this,” she had pled over the phone. “Don’t ruin his life like this, Dante. He could lose everything! You know he didn’t shoot you!”
“I know no such thing,” Dante had answered with mock innocence.
“Enough! Enough, all right? This isn’t a fucking game!”
“Oh, but it is a game, sweetheart—and right now, I’m winning. I’ve got the queen in my sights and I’m about to yell, ‘Checkmate!’ unless . . . unless you can convince me differently.”
“What the hell does that mean? What do you think I’m trying to do now?”
“You know what it means, Lee. You’re a big girl. I wined and dined you and didn’t get shit in the end. You lied to me! You told me you had nothing going on with Evan, that he was ‘just your boss’ and—”
“I didn’t lie to you! While you and I were dating, Evan and I weren’t together!”
“And you fucked him,” he had continued, ignoring her, “and left me with a bad case of blue balls! You owe me, and if you want me to help get your man out of this mess, you know what you have to do.”
Leila now stood in the hotel room, staring at Dante.
“So what will it be, Lee? Are you gonna play nice . . . or play the bitch?” he asked, tilting his head.
Out of the corner of her eye, through an open doorway, she could see the hotel bedroom. Only one lamp burned bright on one of the night tables. The rest of the room was mostly in darkness. Beside the lamp was a bottle of baby oil and a box of Trojan condoms with the lid already open. The satin comforter and sheets on the king-size bed were already turned down.
Leila wondered if Dante had left the door open purposely for her to see that. Maybe it was his way of gloating, of reminding her what she had to do tonight to get him to talk to the prosecutor and call off the case against Evan. She wondered if Evan’s sister, Paulette, had felt the way Leila felt now when she had been blackmailed into having an affair with her ex-boyfriend more than a year ago. Did Paulette feel like an animal caught in the bear trap left with only two choices: gnaw off your own foot to escape or accept the inevitable?
Leila pursed her lips and forced herself to take yet another deep breath.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I’m just nervous. I don’t want anything to drink because . . . well, because I can’t have alcohol.”
He furrowed his brows. “Why the hell not?”
He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot you popped out a baby.” He looked her up and down again. “You can barely tell.” He reached out and wrapped an arm around her, catching her off guard. Dante pulled her close so that she was flush against his chest and torso. “You’ve still got that tiny little waist.”
She fought the urge to smack his hand away and take a step back.
“It was a smart move to get knocked up by him. You won’t get that alimony money, but a child support check from a rich guy like Ev isn’t anything to sniff at, either. And you get it for eighteen years. You were—”
“I didn’t ‘pop out a baby’ to get Evan’s money,” she argued, feeling her irritation perk up again. She met his eyes. “I did it because I was in love with him. I am in love with him! That’s why I’m here.”
Dante laughed. “So you’re fucking one guy to prove how much you love the other?”
“Exactly,” she said coldly.
“Well, if that’s the case . . .” He dropped his arm from around her, took a step back, and clapped his hands before rubbing them together eagerly. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
He then undid the knot in his robe belt and let both panels of the robe fall open. Leila glanced down and saw that he was naked. Her stomach dropped. Her pulse quickened. She teetered back slightly and he reached out for her again—more roughly than before. Dante wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and the other around her waist, drawing her close, bringing her mouth to his. It wasn’t a kiss that could be mistaken for tender or loving. It was all mouth, all tongue, and she winced and tried her best not to pull away from him in disgust.