As she paced in front of Vandevelde Jewelers, Sylvie Noll cursed Neal Harrier eight ways from Sunday for being a lying, sneaky, yellow coward dog scumbag. Then she chastised herself for insulting the dog.
How could I have been so stupid to have been taken in by that cretin? she wondered.
Because he’d wined and dined her, lowering her defenses with charm and gifts, giving every impression he was a privileged jetsetter. And she’d bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Damn it, she’d been flattered and dazzled by his good looks, unable to imagine that someone like him would be interested in someone like her.
Idiot.
When he said he wanted access to her kitchen to cook her a special meal for their three month anniversary, she’d thought, Oh, how sweet, and given him a key.
Moron.
He cleaned
