by Vicki Tyley
“Guilty.”
Propping his elbow on the table, he peered around her. “Your friend’s first time, too?”
Megan drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Actually, she’s only here to support me.”
“Good friend.”
“The best,” Megan said. “What about you? Are you a Dinner for Twelve virgin, too?”
He laughed. “I wish. No, I’ve attended a few of these functions. Call me a sucker for dinner parties with strangers.” Nick’s gaze strayed to the other side of the table.
“Or new friends.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Dinner parties with new friends.”
“Right.”
At that moment, Wayne returned. “Do you mind?”
“Just keeping it warm for you, mate,” Nick said, standing.
Megan reached for her wine. By the time the main courses arrived, she was famished and more than a little tipsy. Her Cajun chicken could have been made of cardboard for all she cared as she devoured it with gusto. With eating as an excuse, she didn’t have to continue feigning interest in Wayne’s prattle. If she heard negatively-geared or positive cash flow one more time, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions.
Brenda, on the other hand, appeared to be in her element. The small clique that’d formed around her consisted of Pauline on her left and Lawson directly opposite her. Even the wanton Linda wasn’t impervious to Brenda’s charms.
However, those charms didn’t extend to Mr Ginger Moustache. His interests lay elsewhere, and unfortunately for Megan, she chose that instant to look up. She found to her disgust he was leering openly across the table at her breasts. And then the sleaze winked at her. She gagged, her appetite promptly deserting her. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She only just managed to refrain from throwing what was left of her wine over the creep.
COMING SOON: BITTER NOTHINGS
PROLOGUE
She stirred, her hand seeking her husband’s reassuring touch. Cold sheets. Panic fluttered in her chest and then died. She remembered now. What had happened to them that they could no longer talk? Her splayed fingers caressed the empty space next to her, as if searching for some imprint of the man she’d married, the father of her two children. What or who had come between them?
From downstairs, she heard a thud, followed by what sounded like a muffled grunt. She gritted her teeth. He daren’t wake the kids. It had taken all her wiles and half the night to convince little Oliver there were no three-eyed, boy-eating monsters living under his bed. Kayla hadn’t been much better, getting up at least once every hour to ask for a glass of water and a cuddle. Damn Warren. Didn’t he know by now children picked up on every vibe?
Another thud. Closer this time. She held her breath, listening. Footsteps. She rolled over, feigning sleep when she sensed his presence in the doorway. Her breathing didn’t falter.
A slight movement of air brushed across her face. She inhaled. Her breath caught, the sharp smell registering in the same instant the cold metal kissed her temple…
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