by L. B. Dunbar
“Three. Four. What are you doing?”
My eyes lift back to the mirror, watching him stalk closer to me in the reflection. He’s almost to my back but the aroma of him proceeds him. Manly and woodsy like this area. I didn’t grow up in a place quite so lush with foliage and greenery. Texas was more dry dirt and barren. Dull brown.
His presence overshadows my childhood memories. His chest nearly presses into my back.
“Five. Six. I’m still waiting.” He pauses and then his body language shifts. “Are you trying to steal something from me?” His voice elevates. His brows pinch, furrowing his smooth forehead and I glance up at him again through the mirror, but he’s not looking at me. He’s scanning the top of his dresser which is relatively clean for a man. He’s not a bachelor. This I also know about him. He’s a single father and he lives in this large house with his only child, Lucy. My mother is her nanny along with her other duties.
Thick hands come to my shoulders and he spins me to face him. My back collides with the tall bureau and I glance up at him, my eyes captivated by his. The brown isn’t dull like desert sand, but earthy and rich like turned soil. His mouth curls downward as he continues to scowl at me.
“I wasn’t stealing anything.”
“Then what are you doing with your hands?” A brow tips again, the look almost playful, as if he has something more to say, something mischievous to add, but he stops himself.
Lowering my head, I lift my left hand and hold the back to him so he can see what I’ve done.
“It’s stuck.”
His eyes stare at my finger, focused on the gold ring with a large emerald and two smaller diamonds on either side of the gem. It’s simple and beautiful, antique looking, and priceless, I imagine.
“Where did you get that?” His voice lowers, the rugged sound turning rough and menacing.
“I swear I wasn’t stealing it. It was sitting in the dish.” He has a small bowl with coins and such on the dresser and the ring sat inside with the collection of items. “I slipped it on.” I exhale. “I shouldn’t have slipped it on, and now I can’t get it off.”
With my right fingers, I tug once again, but my left knuckle is already red and raw from the aggressive effort I’ve put forth in attempts to remove the item.
“I should call the police,” he states, and he’s within his right. I can explain, but again, I don’t want my mother in trouble. She says Charlie’s a good boss, fair and kind, and I don’t want to put any blame on her for this situation. I’m the one who slipped on the ring and I’m the one who can’t get it off.
“Please don’t. Just…Just let me get this off my hand and you’ll never see me again.” I’m good at being in the shadows. I’ve done it most of my adult life, married to a man who’d rather pretend I didn’t exist, at least not exist with thoughts or intelligence.
Just stand there, Janessa. Look pretty.
Charlie grips my hand and I instantly react when I shouldn’t. Something charged and prickly races up my arm and my heart skips a beat like it’s been jump-started, although it’s already racing.
Without words, he tugs me forward and I stumble after him. He drags me to the bathroom off his master bedroom and shoves my hand under the sink. Turning on the faucet with his free hand, the cold water almost hurts it’s so cold. He reaches forward for the green bar of soap and works at my hand, coating it in a thin lather. More woodsy fragrance permeates the air around us.
He drops the bar in the sink and massages at my finger, but the ring isn’t moving.
“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps under his breath and rinses my hand, working his fingers over mine to wash away the soap. Once satisfied I’m free of sudsy residue, he lifts my hand, droplets of water sliding down to my wrist and opens his mouth.
“What…”
Before I can finish my thought, my ring finger is inside the warm cavern between his cheeks. He closes his lips over the digit and his tongue circles around my finger. Within seconds, his teeth scrap the length of my finger. He pauses at the tip like he’s pressing it with a kiss and then tugs my finger free like it offended him. Leaning forward as he lifts his other hand, he spits.
The ring falls into his palm and he stares at the sparkling emerald with the almost white diamonds on either side of it. I tug at my hand still held within his, but he doesn’t release me. He glances up at me instead.
“This was my grandmother’s,” he states as if I asked which I didn’t, but from the puzzled look on his face, I sense its value is more than something on a price tag.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, staring down at it, and then slowly my eyes lift, and we lock stares again. We’re standing in his bathroom, a space clearly occupied by only a man. The scent of aftershave. The woodsy soap. The dark towel over the rod. His eyes aren’t leaving my face but slowly his hold on my hand lessens. There’s a question in those eyes. He wants to know more than who I am and what I’m doing in his room, but I won’t give him answers. He’s too similar to what I left behind, and I’ll never go back to where I was, who I was.
Once I sense I’m free, I pull back my hand, turn for the door, and race for the hallway. He calls after me, but I take the stairs two at a time, hopping down them as if I’m a teen instead of a forty-something woman trying to escape a man’s home, hoping to get away Scott-free from both his house and those rich, haunting eyes.
Silver Mayor – pre-order for June 4, 2020.
About the Author
Love Notes
www.lbdunbar.com
L.B. Dunbar has an over-active imagination. To her benefit, such creativity has led to over thirty romance novels, including those offering a second chance at love over 40. Her signature works include the #sexysilverfoxes collection of mature males and feisty vixens ready for romance in their prime years. She’s also written stories of small-town romance (Heart Collection), rock star mayhem (The Legendary Rock Stars Series), and a twist on intrigue and redemption (Redemption Island Duet). She’s had several alter egos including elda lore, a writer of romantic magical realism through mythological retellings (Modern Descendants). In another life, she wanted to be an anthropologist and journalist. Instead, she was a middle school language arts teacher. The greatest story in her life is with the one and only, and their four grown children. Learn more about L.B. Dunbar by joining her reader group on Facebook (Loving L.B.) or subscribing to her newsletter (Love Notes).
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Other Books by L.B. Dunbar
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
More by L.B. Dunbar
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Nibble of Silver Mayor