Читать книгу Tender to His Touch - Adrianne Byrd - Страница 9

Beverly Clark’s eyes were wide open when her alarm clock blared at five-thirty. She flung out an arm and shut off its loud and annoying buzz. However, she didn’t climb out of bed. Instead she remained nestled in her white cotton sheets, staring up at her popcorn ceiling.

She hated that damn ceiling.

It reminded her of cottage cheese or, worse, something she used to study under a microscope in her old science lab class eons ago. One of these days she was going to take Spackle or a chisel to the damn thing and scrape that junk off. Beverly huffed, rolled over onto her side and stared at the clock. Its loud ticking sounded as if it had been hooked up to an amplifier. In no time her heart and the muscles along her temples thumped in precise harmony.

Maybe she should just stay in bed today.

Why not? What difference would it make? It wasn’t as if anybody cared—or that she had anything to do.

The numbers on the clock blurred and in the next second warm tears slid from her eyes, rolled down her nose, then dripped quietly onto her pillowcase. She pulled in a deep breath, but her lungs felt as if they were trying to resist being revived. Her shoulders trembled and before long her entire body followed suit. It was five forty-five in the morning and she was crying.

A whole fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

Reluctantly Beverly peeled the sheets back and pulled herself up. Those two simple acts nearly zapped all her energy. From across the room, she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror and was repulsed by what she saw.

“Oh, God.” She raised a hand to her sunken face while her fingers traced the deep lines below her bloodshot eyes. Her full lips looked bee-stung and cracked, and her hair…well, let’s just say that it would probably be easier to cut it than comb it. Her hands fell from her face and slapped against her lap. “Look at what’s become of me.”

Being the daughter of two prominent doctors, Beverly had grown up in an affluent and privileged life. Friends and family had told her throughout the years that she’d been lucky to have inherited her mother’s honey-brown complexion and liquid-gold eyes. In her youth, the combination had made her popular with the opposite sex and garnered more than a few sniping remarks from girls who’d assumed she was stuck-up. Those opinions usually changed, though, once people got to know her.

Beauty and charm helped land her the Miss Georgia Teen crown at sixteen and the Miss Georgia crown at eighteen. Plus she was also homecoming queen in both high school and in college. She was smart, too—at least she liked to think she was. She had managed to graduate in the top of her class and at one time had given serious thought to following her parents’ example and enrolling in medical school. But after an art teacher pointed out she had a natural flair for fashion, Beverly started spending hours upon hours daydreaming that one day her fashions would be worn on red carpets around the world.

But love intervened and she ended up marrying her old high-school sweetheart, David Clark, right after college despite the protests of her parents. It didn’t matter at the time. Surely her parents could grow to love her husband.

David had been a year older and, once upon a time, more mature. They had been so careful planning out their lives. He’d continued his schooling and become a dentist. It turned out to be a great decision. His career had afforded them a great life in the suburbs, but three years ago it all came crashing to an end.

More tears leaked from Beverly’s eyes.

From a distance, a car turned into the driveway. She turned her head toward the open window and listened to the smooth rumble of a Mercedes engine as it coasted toward the house. Beverly wiped her face and reached for her satin robe draped over the foot of her bed.

Beneath the window, the engine shut off, the car door opened and then slammed shut. The familiar footfalls of expensive Ferragamo loafers slapped against the pavement and then up the front porch. Beverly stood when she heard keys rattle in the front-door lock.

Inside the house, the heavy footsteps continued through the foyer and then up the staircase. Beverly tried to mentally prepare herself for her daily battle, but on this day she found that she simply couldn’t. She just didn’t have anything left.

The knob turned and the bedroom door crept open. David poked his head inside, his attention on the empty bed.

“Glad to see that you found your way home,” Beverly said, her wintry voice chilling the room. “And here I thought buying that GPS unit was a complete waste of money.”

Unable to hide his disappointment, David released a long, frustrated sigh. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“I haven’t slept in years.”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his wrinkled tie from around his neck. “Maybe that’s your problem.” David headed toward the adjoining bathroom.

“My problem?” she said, her eyes narrowing on his retreating back. Beverly followed. “Maybe my problem is that my husband is out screwing his office manager at all hours of the night while I’m stuck in this suburban prison cooking dinners for one.”

“There you go again. No one’s screwing around,” he said. “And I’m not stopping you from getting out of the house. That’s your choice. In fact, I wish you would get out. Maybe the neighbors would stop looking at me as if I’ve chained you up in the basement or something.” He turned on the shower.

“No one’s screwing around,” she thundered incredulously.

“Do I look stupid to you?” she hissed. “It is six o’clock in the morning. Nearly twelve hours since the office closed yesterday. Are you going to tell me that you had some dental emergency that kept you at the office and strategically away from a phone all this time?”

His eyes rolled again as he unbuttoned and then slid out of his pants. “I went out for a few drinks with the guys. I crashed over at Curtis’s place.”

David finally stopped and looked at her. Guilt was etched in every inch of his handsome face. The same face that she’d once vowed to love for the rest of her life. She now longed to rake her nails down its gorgeous perfection. Why did it seem as if the nightmare of the last three years had not scared him the way it had her? Why was it so easy for him to just move on? If they were truly soul mates why weren’t they living in the same hell?

“What?” David asked defensively.

“If you’re going to be a playa, then learn to get your lies straight.”

“I told you—”

“Curtis called here last night looking for you. He wanted to know whether you two were still going fishing today.”

Thick clouds of steam billowed from the shower, then swirled around the fractured husband and wife. The battle of their heated gazes raged on for a few heartbreaking seconds and then finally, resignation flickered across David’s face. He’d been busted and his brain failed to come up with a plausible lie.

“Just admit it,” she urged in a thin whisper. She half convinced herself that she would feel better if he’d just confess that he’d been having an affair. Confess that the perfume clinging to his clothes right now wasn’t just her imagination.

“Beverly—”

“Say it,” she choked out.

“Bev—”

“Goddamn it, say it!” She snatched a curling iron from the vanity counter and hurled it at him. The bastard ducked and the curling iron slammed against the glass shower stall. It hit a weak spot and the whole thing shattered as if she had unloaded an AK-47 at it.

David leaped away from the shower as shards of glass launched toward him. “All right! All right! I’m having an affair. Are you happy now?” he roared.

Beverly sucked in a breath and stepped back as if he’d punched her. Her mind reeled. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit him, scratch him or kick him in the balls.

As he realized what he had said, regret blanketed David’s face. He reached for her. “Beverly, I—”

“Don’t touch me.” She pulled away. “I want you out. Out of this house and out of my life!”

“Look, Beverly. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s over.” She took another huge step back, shaking her head. “I want a divorce,” she said evenly.

He wouldn’t give up. “We’ve been through a lot,” he reminded her. “We can get through this.”

“No, we can’t,” she contradicted. “We can’t…because I don’t love you anymore.”