Secret Lovers (Friendship Chronicles Book 1)

by Shelley Munro

  A sharp pain sliced through his head, and he rubbed it with his fingers.

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Is your head hurting again?”

  “Yeah.” His anxiety made it throb worse than normal. The doctors said his headaches would tail off after a while. He wished he knew when that would be, ’cause it had been months.

  “I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He and Caleb had been best friends since they were five. It was weird how he recollected everything about Caleb and growing up together. He even remembered the words to their songs, yet his time with Julia remained blank. Those precious snippets of memories had taken weeks to return to him after the mugging, and even now his mind contained frustrating gaps.

  The cab slowed and came to a halt outside a new apartment block. He didn’t recognize it, but he and the rest of the band had been in Europe for almost a year, much longer than they’d originally planned. Now that he was here, nerves slid through him. His heart beat a little faster. He paid the driver, grimacing at the faint tremor in his hand.

  Caleb watched the taxi drive off. “Are we going to be here a while?”

  “Depends.” Ryan strode to the apartment entrance and checked the directory on the wall. Julia Maxwell. Only her Christian name seemed familiar while the surname could belong to anyone. He pressed on her apartment buzzer, keeping his finger down for long seconds. He waited. When nothing happened, he stabbed the button again.

  “She’s either a deep sleeper or she’s not home. Maybe she’s out on a date.”

  Ryan’s gut twisted, a sharp pain of protest. “No,” he whispered, appalled at the idea.

  Caleb’s dark brows rose. “Just because you’ve given up dating and become a monk, it doesn’t mean the rest of the world should follow your example. What’s so important about Julia?”

  Ryan sighed. He pushed the bell one final time, and when nothing happened, turned to his friend, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “Ryan, I don’t get it. Why is it so urgent for you to see this Julia?”

  Ryan’s chest ached in tandem with the throb at his temples. “Julia is my wife.”

  “What?” Caleb grabbed his arm, pincher fingers digging into his biceps. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “The time never seemed right. My memory was patchy, so there was nothing to tell.”

  “Fuck, she must have been worried sick when she didn’t hear from you. Why didn’t she ring?”

  “She probably tried,” Ryan said. “They took my phone. Even if she managed to get in touch with Seymour, he wouldn’t have believed her. And because the mugging happened between concerts and we only had to cancel one, she most likely thinks I abandoned her.”

  “You should have told me, man.”

  Ryan tried not to let the pain inside him gain momentum. “At first I couldn’t remember her name. Everything was so foggy I decided my memory might play tricks on me. Besides, Seymour would have had a cow.”

  “The ‘no serious relationships’ thing? There’s no reason we can’t get married if we want.”

  Ryan snorted. “That’s not what management says. You’ve heard Seymour’s lectures.”

  “Doesn’t mean we have to follow his advice,” Caleb said. “It’s not a formal clause in our contract.”

  “Is that your year of law talking?”

  “Fuck you,” Caleb said, giving him a one finger salute for emphasis. “I was humoring my parents. When did you get married anyhow? How did you do it without me noticing?”

  “You attended your family christening over Anniversary weekend. Julia and I flew to Fiji for a four-day break and married while we were there.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “She’s served divorce papers on me,” Ryan said with a snarl, anger warring with the jagged knife slicing into his brain. He loved her, damn it. “I’m not letting her go without a fight.”

  Caleb’s grin lit up his face. “And I worried a three-month break might bore me.” He rubbed his hands together. “This should be fun.”

  “There’s nothing funny about a divorce.”

  The amusement quit Caleb. “I know that, man, but I understand you. Julia won’t stand a chance. She’ll be putty in your hands again in days. I’ll be your wingman.”

  Ryan’s hackles rose and his fingers balled to fists. “You won’t be putting your hands on my wife again. That was a one-time thing.”

  Caleb raised his hands in surrender, his gaze steady, reassuring, and some of the tension seeped from Ryan. Caleb was his friend, not the enemy.

  “Why don’t we go back to the apartment, grab a few hours’ sleep then stake out her place. You can confront her when we run her to ground.”

  It was a sensible solution, despite his need for immediate action. He hesitated before admitting to his exhaustion. The damn headache had taken hold, and his skull thumped like the crazy beat of Neil’s drums during a solo spot. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.”

  Down but not out. Julia was his wife. His woman, and soon no one would doubt it, least of all her.

  Get Your Copy of Reunited Lovers

  Excerpt – One Night of Misbehavior

  A modern-day tale of Cinderella…

  “Charlotte Joanna Dixon!” A shrill voice—her stepmother’s—hacked through Charlotte’s Saturday morning lie-in and intensified the boom, boom, boom of her aching head. “Of all the mornings for you to sleep late,” Elizabeth screeched. “Didn’t you set your alarm clock? I have to meet the fundraising committee in an hour.” The sharp accusations kept coming, accompanied by a thunk on her bedroom door.

  Charlotte stared up at the damp spot on her bedroom ceiling and started silently counting to ten. One. Two. Three. Snippets of music, memories of a sexy masculine form crept into her mind, and her count faltered. Last night she’d experienced the dizzy taste of freedom and now the thought of her normal routine rubbed like a raw blister. Her mouth settled into a mutinous line. Maybe she’d stay here all day.

  “Charlotte!” Doors slammed. The water pipes in the old Victorian groaned as they gave up water for the shower. “Hurry up.”

  Or not. Sighing, Charlotte scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt and trudged down the sweeping stairs to the kitchen. On automatic pilot, she started the coffeemaker then filled the jug to boil for Gran’s tea. While she waited, she trotted outside to grab the early morning post from the mailbox.

  Soon the scent of fresh coffee flooded the kitchen, making her stomach lurch in protest. Maybe the last glass of Champagne hadn’t been the best idea. Gritting her teeth, she set the breakfast table, then swallowed down two headache tablets and assembled a tea tray for her grandmother. When she carried the tray and three letters upstairs, she found her grandmother was already awake, perusing one of the new craft magazines she’d had Charlotte purchase for her the previous day.

  “Morning, Gran. How are you feeling? You have mail from your friends.”

  “Charlotte.” Gran put down the magazine and peered over her glasses. Her blonde curls were already brushed into submission and a pale pink lipstick gave her face a touch of color. She cocked her head in Charlotte’s direction like an inquisitive bird. “You were late home. Tell me about the ball.”

  “Shush, someone will hear.” Heat suffused Charlotte’s cheeks as memories of the previous evening rose to thump her over the head—seductive music, dancing, glasses of tickly Champagne. Many glasses of crisp, fruity Champagne. And Zorro.

  Her entire evening summed up in a few words. She’d let a tall, masked man seduce her with his charisma and endless glasses of Champagne. The night of freedom had gone to her head along with the alcoholic buzz, and for one night, the mysterious and very sexy Zorro had shoved her loneliness aside. Unsteady hands poured tea for her grandmother. After adding a touch of milk, she handed over the cup and saucer.

  “I danced so much my feet are sore,” she said, opting for a partial truth. She did have a blister on her little toe.

  “Good. Did
you see Elizabeth at the ball? What about Jenny and Rachel?”

  Charlotte plopped on the end of Gran’s bed and nodded cautiously. The pain was muted now, the tablets working their magic. “They seemed to enjoy the ball. Everyone danced all night. The band was excellent.”

  Gran’s faded blue eyes twinkled behind the lenses of her glasses. “Did they recognize you?”

  “They didn’t glance at me twice.”

  “I told you so.” Her grandmother’s gaze zeroed in on her neck.

  Charlotte recalled the addictive kisses Zorro had trailed down her throat, the sensual bite and suck, and groaned inwardly. Kisses plus suction equaled one thing. Hickeys.

  “Did you meet someone special?”

  “No,” Charlotte said quickly. Too quickly.

  “I see.”

  Charlotte was glad someone saw because she didn’t understand her actions of the previous night. Yes, she’d had too much Champagne, but she’d known what she was doing. No one had forced her to kiss Zorro or to run her hands down his naked chest. Heck, no one had forced her to scream with the pleasure of her orgasm either. It was as if an alien had taken possession of her—one who enjoyed the heck out of sex.

  “I think I’ll go down to breakfast this morning,” Gran said unexpectedly. “I want to hear about the ball.”

  “I’ll help you dress.”

  “There’s a tube of concealer in my dressing table drawer,” Gran said. “Perhaps you should apply some to your neck while I’m taking a shower. You don’t want Elizabeth asking embarrassing questions.”

  No, she did not. Half an hour later, Charlotte had breakfast ready and Gran was seated at the table, eating a bowl of porridge.

  Elizabeth stalked into the kitchen and sat beside her mother. “Coffee.”

  “Elizabeth,” Gran said in a sharp tone. “Charlotte isn’t your maid.”

  Elizabeth yawned and smoothed a hand over her neat blonde bob. “I provide her with a roof over her head and a small wage. The least she can do is make me breakfast on a Saturday morning.”

  Charlotte frowned in Gran’s direction. Mother and daughter couldn’t be more different in temperament and often butted heads. She wasn’t about to get into the middle of one of their arguments. She rose from the table and her dry toast, grabbed a mug and poured coffee for Elizabeth. On hearing the clomp-clomp of footsteps on the stairs, she pulled two more mugs from the cupboard. She handed one to Jenny and the second to Rachel as they sailed past to join their grandmother and mother at the table. All four women were petite and blonde with blue eyes. Jenny and Rachel wore jeans and silky tops to highlight their curves while Elizabeth stuck with classic—black trousers and a feminine blouse in baby pink.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Jenny asked. “I’ve got the munchies.”

  “There’s fruit and cereal or I can make some more porridge,” Charlotte said, praying none of them noticed the love bites. The concealer hadn’t exactly lived up to its name.

  “I’ll have toast,” Rachel said. “Whole wheat.”

  “I’ll have fruit and cereal,” Jenny said.

  Without a word, Charlotte started preparing the requested breakfasts.

  “Did you enjoy the ball?” Gran chirped.

  Charlotte frowned in Gran’s direction, noting the satisfied glitter in her eyes. A secret smile played on Gran’s lips as she studied her granddaughters and daughter. Then she shot a mischievous glance at Charlotte, her granddaughter by marriage.

  “I want details,” Gran said. “The spicier, the better.”

  “I wish they’d had an ordinary ball instead of a costume one,” Jenny said. “It was difficult guessing identities. I don’t want to waste effort playing nice with men who don’t have money.”

  “That’s not a good attitude,” Gran scolded. “When I was a young girl, we accepted dances from everyone who asked us. It was good manners.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Times change, Gran. Women can vote now.”

  “I want the girls to make good marriages,” Elizabeth said. “Money is important.”

  “I don’t want a traditional relationship,” Jenny said. “I want a career plus a rich man. Did I tell you Marlborough Media is looking for a junior designer? They’re starting interviews on Tuesday.”

  “Are you applying?” Rachel asked. “You’d have a good shot since you’re already working there. More coffee, please, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte’s ears pricked, and she wondered if there was the slightest hope of scoring an interview. While she loved Gran and didn’t mind looking after her, she’d kill to break into the graphics field and gain more independence. No rich men for her. No marriage either. She wanted to step into Ms. Independent’s shoes and answer to no one but herself.

  “I’ve already booked an interview slot.” Jenny flashed a grin, sharing her confidence with each of them in turn. “I intend to grab that spot.” She shook out her long blonde hair and picked up her coffee. “I heard they’d stopped taking applicants because they have enough.”

  “Charlotte wants to go into graphic design,” Gran said casually.

  “Charlotte?” Elizabeth’s plucked brows rose to new heights. “How are you going to manage a job? Who is going to look after Mum when her lupus flares up? Who will run our errands? No, it’s impossible. We need Charlotte to cook meals and run the household for us.” She reinforced her words with a glower that dared Charlotte to argue otherwise.

  Charlotte picked up her toast with a trembling hand and forced herself to take another bite. It helped to still the tap-dancing in the pit of her stomach and dammed up her words of protest. She was saving every cent she could, but her bank account remained depressingly small. One day, she promised herself.

  “She doesn’t have the qualifications to apply for the job,” Jenny said, her tone and pointed look running along Smug Street. “So it’s a moot point. I hope Ash Marlborough sits in on the interviews. He’s amazing. And he’s single.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have an in with a rich bachelor,” Elizabeth said in a thoughtful manner, obviously dismissing any further thoughts of Charlotte getting a job.

  “Exactly.” Jenny smirked in Charlotte’s direction again. “A job and a rich lover in one swoop.” She’d made a turn onto Complacent Drive.

  “He has scars on his face,” Rachel said with distaste. “I can’t look at him for longer than a few seconds. Imagine having to kiss him.”

  Jenny shrugged. “Who cares what he looks like if he has money?”

  Charlotte wanted to clap her hands over her ears, or even better, go back to bed. Instead she dispensed toast, fruit and cereal and made another pot of coffee, tuning out the usual morning discussions and avarice from her stepmother and stepsisters. Her mind turned more pleasant corners, drifting to the previous night and her Zorro lover. He’d asked her for a dance early on in the night. They’d laughed and talked about the different costumes. She’d felt like a real princess in her apricot ball gown with full skirts and the beaded bodice that cupped, lifted and flattered. The best part was her invisibility to her stepmother and stepsisters. Her dark brown wig and skillful makeup, courtesy of Gran’s best friend Esther, had completed the fantasy, and Zorro’s attention made her feel extra special. Their conversation had morphed into design and different advertising promotions they’d enjoyed, and an undercurrent of lust hummed between them, growing more urgent as the evening progressed. Charlotte removed the dirty plates from the table and made Gran another pot of tea, the twinge of her muscles reminding her of their frantic lovemaking. Heat burst onto her cheeks, her hands shaking as she stacked the plates in the dishwasher.

  “I need you to take my costume to the drycleaners,” Rachel said.

  “Mine too,” Jenny said.

  “You can take them all,” Elizabeth instructed.

  Charlotte opened her mouth to object and snapped it shut again. She’d only find herself in the middle of another argument. Same old, same old.

  “Charlotte, dear. Could you find
me a pen and notepad please?” Gran asked. “What are you all doing today?”

  “I’m going to stay with my friend at the beach,” Jenny said. “I’ll be back late Sunday afternoon.”

  After handing over the requested items, Charlotte resigned herself to another evening of looking after Gran. A night alone in front of the telly since Gran went to bed around eight. At least the rugby was on and she could ogle the players to her heart’s content while working on one of her craft projects. Maybe she’d do some artist trading cards with a rugby theme. Yes, that would work.

  “Can I borrow your digital camera, Elizabeth?” Gran asked.

  “It’s in my room, Mum. Get Charlotte to grab it for you when she makes my bed. I must go or I’ll be late for my meeting.”

  Her stepmother and stepsisters left to enjoy their weekend, and Charlotte worked her way through the house, picking up clutter and cleaning as she went. She made a mental note to ring the taxi company. Maybe the driver had handed in the apricot rose that went with her gown. Maybe. She couldn’t remember if she’d still had the rose when she left Zorro in the hotel room. You sneaked, Ms. Feisty, Charlotte’s annoying inner dragon, drawled with a heavy helping of disbelief.

  “Charlotte!” Gran called.

  “Did you want something?”

  “I have a list of items for you to purchase for me. Here’s some money. There should be enough for you to have a quiet coffee and for a cab as well. You’ll need it to drop the dresses at the dry cleaners. Pass me the phone please, dear.”

  “I can’t leave you alone for that long.” Charlotte had noticed the hectic color in Gran’s face and her labored movements this morning, despite her determination to share the family breakfast. “The dresses can wait until Monday.”

  “The items on my list can’t. I’m going to ring Esther. We want to work on a scrapbooking project together.”

  Charlotte found herself overruled and ousted from the house. She hurried through her chores, but even so didn’t return to the house until late afternoon. She staggered through the door with three bags of groceries.

  “Where have you been?” Elizabeth narrowed her gaze. “What are those disgusting marks on your neck?”