treatment.
What was she doing now?
Was she at home, in bed, staring at the TV.
Was she wandering somewhere, trapped in her own head, driven there by all she'd lost.
Very suddenly, David was angry.
Where had she been when he'd needed her? When Lester Marscomb had given up looking for work and taken to drink, where had she been? Begging the doctor for sleeping pills and barely rising to look after him when he could hardly do anything for himself. Where had she been when he'd found a dead body in the bathtub? Asleep. She had hardly risen when the police and the ambulances had arrived. Plus, when she'd discovered that her husband was dead, she had not comforted her son. She had only screamed hysterically, frightening him when they took her away to sedate her.
His entire life he'd worked to support her, barely keeping them afloat and hoping one day she would come back to her senses, but she hadn't.
He was still waiting.
The grief clogged in his throat, choking him.
When he arrived at the restaurant Charlotte had spoke of, he merely stood on the curb, staring at it. Could he go in? Could he watch her smile and laugh knowing that in his pocket he had everything he needed to turn her joy to ash in her mouth?
He would have to.
If she suspected or discovered what he planned, he would lose his chance forever.
Taking a deep breath, he locked everything away deep within him. He arranged his expression into a semblance of carefree anticipation, and he entered the bistro.
She was in a candlelit corner, waving at him.
God, she was breathtaking. For once, she wasn't in one of her suits. Instead, she wore a lovely peach-colored sundress that showed off the dip of her cleavage and the strength of her sunned thighs. Her blonde curls were pulled back in a careless ponytail, and her blue eyes were bright. “You found it,” she said, her smile radiant.
“I did.” His voice was surprisingly level when he spoke to her, and she arched a brow. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
He would have to force the food down.
“This place has amazing meatballs. Wait until you taste them.” She passed him a menu, but as he took a seat and attempted to read it, the words ran together.
He was angry .
He was angry, he was lost, and he was upset.
And Charlotte...Charlotte was everything right with the world. She didn't deserve his lies or his tricks. “Hey.” He looked up to see her gazing across the table at him, her blue eyes concerned. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” His answer was curter than he'd intended, and at the hurt look on her face, his stomach clenched. Instead of apologizing, he merely looked back down at the menu.
“You are not fine.” Her proclamation drew his gaze upward to her again, and this time, her expression was irate. “What's the problem?”
“I'm just hungry,” he said, working his throat to keep emotion from coloring his words. “I need to eat, and I need to sleep.”
“So...you don't want to come back to my place afterward?”
He groaned inwardly as he was assaulted with images of her riding him, her head thrown back, and her lips parted in pleasure. “I'm not feeling well, Charlotte.” The words were emitted through gritted teeth. “I need to go home.”
“Is it something I've
What was she doing now?
Was she at home, in bed, staring at the TV.
Was she wandering somewhere, trapped in her own head, driven there by all she'd lost.
Very suddenly, David was angry.
Where had she been when he'd needed her? When Lester Marscomb had given up looking for work and taken to drink, where had she been? Begging the doctor for sleeping pills and barely rising to look after him when he could hardly do anything for himself. Where had she been when he'd found a dead body in the bathtub? Asleep. She had hardly risen when the police and the ambulances had arrived. Plus, when she'd discovered that her husband was dead, she had not comforted her son. She had only screamed hysterically, frightening him when they took her away to sedate her.
His entire life he'd worked to support her, barely keeping them afloat and hoping one day she would come back to her senses, but she hadn't.
He was still waiting.
The grief clogged in his throat, choking him.
When he arrived at the restaurant Charlotte had spoke of, he merely stood on the curb, staring at it. Could he go in? Could he watch her smile and laugh knowing that in his pocket he had everything he needed to turn her joy to ash in her mouth?
He would have to.
If she suspected or discovered what he planned, he would lose his chance forever.
Taking a deep breath, he locked everything away deep within him. He arranged his expression into a semblance of carefree anticipation, and he entered the bistro.
She was in a candlelit corner, waving at him.
God, she was breathtaking. For once, she wasn't in one of her suits. Instead, she wore a lovely peach-colored sundress that showed off the dip of her cleavage and the strength of her sunned thighs. Her blonde curls were pulled back in a careless ponytail, and her blue eyes were bright. “You found it,” she said, her smile radiant.
“I did.” His voice was surprisingly level when he spoke to her, and she arched a brow. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
He would have to force the food down.
“This place has amazing meatballs. Wait until you taste them.” She passed him a menu, but as he took a seat and attempted to read it, the words ran together.
He was angry .
He was angry, he was lost, and he was upset.
And Charlotte...Charlotte was everything right with the world. She didn't deserve his lies or his tricks. “Hey.” He looked up to see her gazing across the table at him, her blue eyes concerned. “Are you alright?”
“Fine.” His answer was curter than he'd intended, and at the hurt look on her face, his stomach clenched. Instead of apologizing, he merely looked back down at the menu.
“You are not fine.” Her proclamation drew his gaze upward to her again, and this time, her expression was irate. “What's the problem?”
“I'm just hungry,” he said, working his throat to keep emotion from coloring his words. “I need to eat, and I need to sleep.”
“So...you don't want to come back to my place afterward?”
He groaned inwardly as he was assaulted with images of her riding him, her head thrown back, and her lips parted in pleasure. “I'm not feeling well, Charlotte.” The words were emitted through gritted teeth. “I need to go home.”
“Is it something I've
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