that the ruler is still on the floor.
Picking it up, I swat my palm. Ow! It stings.
Why can’t I take a little more pain for my man?
Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt
Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt
for a good read.
Most of the books are first editions. How can he ha一ve
amassed a collection like this in such a short time? Perhaps
Taylor’s job description includes book buying. I settle on
Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I ha一ven’t read this for a
long time. I smile as I curl up in one of the overstuffed
armchairs and read the first line:
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again . . .
I am jostled awake as Christian lifts me in his arms.
“Hey,” he murmurs, “you fell asleep. I couldn’t find
you.” He nuzzles my hair. Sleepily, I put my arms around
his neck and breathe in his scent—oh, he smells so good
—as he carries me back to the bedroom. He lays me
down on the bed and covers me.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispers and he presses his lips
against my forehead.
I wake suddenly from a disturbing dream and am
momentarily disorientated. I find myself anxiously checking
the end of the bed, but there’s no one there. Drifting from
the great room, I hear the faint strains of a complex
melody from the piano.
What time is it? I check the alarm clock—two in the
morning. Has Christian come to sleep at all? I disentangle
my legs from my robe, which I’m still wearing, and
my legs from my robe, which I’m still wearing, and
clamber out of bed.
In the great room, I stand in the shadows, listening.
Christian is lost to the music. He looks safe and secure in
his bubble of light. And the tune he plays has a lilting
melody, parts of which sound familiar, but so elaborate.
Jeez, he’s good. Why does this always take me by
surprise?
The whole scene looks different somehow, and I
realize that the piano lid is down, giving me an unhindered
view. He glances up and our eyes lock, his gray and softly
luminous in the diffuse glow of the lamp. He contin
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