The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque) Read Online Free Page A

owner a piece of her mind. Who knew the man would actually capture a piece of her heart as well?
Ophelia slipped out of her gown, grabbed a satin hanger from the top of the towel rack, and hung the gown up on the back of the door. She admired the dress for a few minutes while her mind transformed the pink dress into a white wedding gown. Mrs. Jonas Hinton. She smiled. She could get used to that.
* * *
     
After Jonas gave his personal chef, Raul, the night’s menu, he quickly found himself pacing the floor of his bedroom. So far, he’d only managed to remove his tuxedo jacket and loosen his tie. He wasn’t at all thrilled with how the day’s events had played out.
By all accounts, he should be a happy man. He had, after all, proposed to the woman of his dreams, albeit without a ring, and even though she’d said yes, he feared that he could actually lose her.
“Solomon Bassett,” he spat, and then shook his head. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? In the four months he’d been dating Ophelia, she’d talked of little else. There was always the time when she and Solomon did such-and-such or had a ball at this place or another. Hell, she’d actually managed to convince him that this guy was nothing more than a brother figure. But after what he saw today, that b.s. was no longer going to fly.
“But how in the hell am I going to keep those two apart?”

Chapter 4
     
S elma Parker pulled up to the Bassett estate and punched in the security code. She drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel while she waited for the tall wrought-iron gate to creak open and allow her access to the property.
It had been a full week since a drunk Solomon had called and dropped the bomb about Ophelia’s pending nuptials. Consequentially it had also been the last time she’d heard from him.
The moment the gate opened wide enough, Selma stepped on the accelerator and peeled down the long driveway.
“If he’s not dead, I’m going to kill him,” she vowed. During the past seven days, she had imagined every possible scenario as to why he wasn’t returning her calls, and each one was worse than the last. “C’mon, Selma. He wouldn’t do anything stupid,” said her inner voice of reason. Yet she wasn’t entirely convinced.
She screeched to a halt, shut off her engine, and exited the car—almost at the same time. Seconds later, she hammered on the oak door like she was the police. When she didn’t get a response, she took to playing musical numbers with the doorbell.
“I’m coming,” came a bearlike growl.
She eased off the bell and jabbed her fists against her waist. When she heard the last of the three locks, she grabbed hold of the doorknob and forced her way into the house.
The door banged against something hard, and at Solomon’s explosive expletive, she peeped around the heavy partition. “There you are!”
“If you say so,” he mumbled, rubbing his head.
A dog’s bark drew her attention, as well as the sound of paws slapping against hardwood floors.
“Brandy, don’t you dare jump on my new suit,” Selma snapped.
Reacting to the tone of her voice, Brandy stopped and cocked her head from side to side.
“It’s good to know I’m not the only one afraid of you,” Solomon said, closing the door.
“You should be scared.” She popped him on the arm. “Having me all worried about you. Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”
“I’ve been busy.” Solomon tightened the belt on his robe and shuffled past her.
“Busy my ass.” She fell in line behind him. “Admit it. You’ve just been moping around here feeling sorry for yourself.”
“If you came over to cheer me up, you’re doing a lousy job.”
“I’m not your damn cheerleading squad. I came because—what in the hell—?” She stopped at the entryway of the living room, but feeling something underfoot, she glanced down and kicked at an underwire bra.
“It was just a little party.” Solomon plopped down on a nearby sofa.
Selma stepped away