It was disloyal, certainly. But it had been five years. She’d been in her widow’s weeds the entire time. Surely Josh would understand. Surely he would want her to be happy. She hadn’t planned this at all, hadn’t even thought to start dating again. But there was something about Chase that made her want to throw caution to the wind.
Hair combed out and sweats on, she went outside to join Winston for a play date in the backyard, frolicking in the grass. He caught her mood and capered like a puppy, all legs and barks and rolling silliness. They were both in high spirits when they came back in the house.
She fixed a quick Lean Cuisine for dinner, and as the microwave irradiated her meal, she remembered Tyler’s warning and finally allowed herself to think about what her foster brother had said.
Josh, not the man she’d thought he was. Involved with bad people.
Rivers of goose bumps slithered their way across her body. Damn Tyler. Couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Did he have to come and throw this in her face again?
She didn’t want to relive any of it, especially the days when she was so scared every noise made her jump, and she couldn’t sleep for fear that whoever had harmed Josh was coming for her, too.
The familiar panic began, racing through her chest.
She needed a distraction.
She stalked from the kitchen to the living room. Ran her fingers along the bookshelf, touching the spines of her favorite novels. No, reading would take too much energy. TV, then. She sat on the couch and flipped through the stations, but nothing caught her eye.
She poured a glass of wine.
And another.
Could Tyler know what really happened?
She picked up her phone and dialed his number, hoping it was still in service. Hoping he’d be coherent. It was a risk, at this hour, especially if he’d used the money she gave him.
He answered on the first ring, voice clear and lucid.
“Hey, sis. I thought you were pissed at me?”
“I am. Were you just mouthing off, or did you really hear something about Josh?”
CHAPTER 17
Chase
Chase clicked off his cell phone and felt vaguely uneasy. He was good at fabrication. He was a writer. Embellishment was his forte. But he was doing more than adding in a few flourishes to make the ends come together neatly.
He was staying at the Sheraton on Union, only a couple of blocks off the main strip. The room was anonymously nice: fourteenth floor, a corner king with large glass windows overlooking the small downtown area called South Broadway, SoBro, and the well-lit bridges over the Cumberland River that led to East Nashville.
He had omitted that little detail when he talked to Aubrey. She was under the impression he’d gone home to Chicago and was coming back, and he’d done nothing to dispel that assumption. There was no way for her to check on him; all he had to do was show up at her house at the right time in a new set of clothes, and she’d believe. She’d told him she didn’t go downtown much; he felt confident he wouldn’t run into her by accident.
She’d been pretty bombed, anyway, the first time. They’d gotten back to her house and were going at it hot and heavy when he stopped, worried she might be one of those who have next-day second thoughts, but she’d urged him on, and he asked if it was okay to go all the way, and she said yes, that’s what she wanted. She was wasted, but still together enough that he didn’t feel she wasn’t serious, and it had been rather amazing, screwing in her kitchen. She wanted to fuck, and she wanted to talk. About her dead husband, about the trial. And she wanted to fuck again, so he took her to her bedroom and laid her down on the soft sheets, but she didn’t want it gentle, and the dog watched mournfully from the corner as she rode him.
He got turned on again just thinking about it. She was an athlete, had the grace and unconscious security that came with being in good shape, and the liquor had killed whatever other lingering inhibitions she might normally carry around. If he were honest, it was the best sex he’d ever had.
He wanted to go back and do it again. He wanted to feel her lips on him, that hair tickling his thighs, driving him mad, those strong legs urging him on. Wanted to run his hands all over her body. Wanted.
Now that he was in, so to speak, in the most personal way possible, he didn’t want to mess it up.
He found a table at the hotel bar and ordered a beer. His mind kept drifting back to Aubrey. She was prettier than he’d imagined. The mug shots and court photos didn’t do her justice. She’d looked scared and lost and hopeless. Now she was strong and resilient, her skin glowed, and he couldn’t help remembering running his hand along her strong, taut leg. She’d given herself to him unreservedly last night, sparking a passion in him he’d never felt before with any woman.
There was an intoxicating darkness within her, swimming behind her eyes. He’d felt it the first time they touched, when she took his mug at the coffee shop, her eyes landing on his briefly as the spark shot between them. Electric and dark and unfathomably deep. Something secret. Something she was hiding from the rest of the world.