Read Online Sweet Southern Betrayal by Robin Covington - Free Book Online Page A

little color returning to her cheeks, and she visibly relaxed. He rubbed his neck and stretched his back, moaning a little at the stiff kinks in his lower lumbar region.
    “I’m going for a run before dinner,” he said, watching as Risa’s eyes zeroed in on where his fingers opened a button on his shirt before slowly tracking upward to meet his gaze.
    Damn. She really needed to stop looking at him like that. Especially since he liked it so very much.
    He stood up, trying to shake off the ache of want in his veins. The heat traveling over his skin, down his belly to settle in his groin was something else he could take care of with a little exercise. She smiled, a wicked full-on flash of teeth that made him wonder if she could read his mind.
    She stood. “Can I join you? I brought my gear.”
    “I’m hoping to get in about seven miles. You think you can keep up?”
    Risa gave a happy skip and glided past him while delivering a quick slap to his ass. “You try to keep up with me, sweet cheeks.”
    Teague turned to watch her swagger the few steps to her room. A fine body. Delicious curves. A sarcastic mouth and backbone. Secrets. A deadly combination in a woman.
    It was a good thing she was headed back to Las Vegas.

Chapter Seven
    Risa was afraid to touch anything.
    Their seven-mile run ended at Elliott House, where they collapsed on the porch of the sprawling house straight out of Gone With the Wind to cool down and rehydrate. Just like during their run, people strolled by on the sidewalk all waving and saying a few words of greeting to Teague. He was gracious to everyone, his accent perfectly suited for the role of Southern man of the manor. Her legs weren’t wobbling like wet noodles from the run alone. And to her relief, he’d dropped the topic of the money she owed. She knew that if he kept digging he’d find out about Big Tony, and from there it would only be a matter of time before he discovered the whole mess and her part in it.
    Big Tony had called twice but left no message. Not a good sign.
    After cooling down, Teague offered a tour of the house. You didn’t pass up a chance to see a place like this, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw: antiques, lush rugs, twelve-foot ceilings—everything screamed money. Even her most house-proud foster mom couldn’t hold a candle to this place. Teague tossed out names and stories as they passed by generations of Elliotts on the walls. When they reached the wide landing at the top of the stairs, she tugged on his arm, her eye caught by a familiar face staring down at her from the wall.
    “Wait. Is that you?” she asked, walking over to the huge painting on the wall. It was Teague, younger, but still the same self-assured man who stood next to her. He was on the front steps of Elliott House in khakis and a light-blue oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his muscled forearms. The sun caught the gold in his hair and his eyes spoke volumes of how comfortable he was in his world. A large chocolate Labrador sat at his feet.
    “Yes. Mother had it done when I graduated from the University of Virginia.”
    “Is this something everyone does around here?” She had no concept of families with this kind of money and history. Did they all have portraits painted like some people snapped Polaroids? “Is it a Southern thing?”
    He shifted beside her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn’t stop looking at the portrait.
    “I don’t know about everyone doing it, but we do.”
    “It’s so realistic.” It was as if she could reach out and touch the hair just falling into his eyes if she wanted. “Very handsome.”
    “Thank you.” Teague’s breath on her ear made her realize they were closer than she realized. She couldn’t remember if she’d moved toward him or vice versa.
    Risa realized she still had her hand on his arm and she lowered her arm to her side, curling it around her midriff. It was a protective habit she’d picked up at