Descent (Black Heart Romance)

She swallows, her body ramrod straight as I draw her lovely fingers close and bow my head over them. I inhale the floral scent of her skin and close my eyes as I press my lips against her left ring finger instead of her knuckles.

The place where a ring would be if she had a husband.

Feels right to kiss her there.

The roots of possessiveness grow a little longer as I hold her hand in mine. It’s too fleeting, though. Just as she knew she’d have to let me kiss her hand to keep up appearances, I know I’ll have to let go of her for the same reason.

Not that keeping up appearances is remotely important to me, but it clearly is to her. She’s enduring this for the sake of it, so I suppose I can’t let all her effort be in vain.

“You look lovely today,” I tell her as I drop her hand.

She snatches her hand back and absently rubs the skin I kissed. Despite her best intentions to play it cool, I can see she’s struggling.

She doesn’t thank me. That’s a lapse. If she wanted to be herself, she would thank me for the compliment.

It’s a small one, though. Easy enough to recover from.

I expect her to recover. I really do.

But she doesn’t.

Maybe she can’t.

The panic wins out over her best intentions and she flees without a single explanation.

Chapter Seven

Hallie

I can’t believe he’s here.

I can’t believe he kissed me.

I stand inside the ladies’ room with my back pressed against the door, needing a moment alone to collect myself.

As soon as my heart stops racing, I’m able to think clearly again.

I shouldn’t have come to the ladies room. It’s down a dark corridor away from the crowd. If he watched me disappear down that hall, he could have easily followed me. He could get me alone here, and after last night…

I can’t believe he’s here.

I try to breathe normally, but it still feels like a lead weight is pressing down on my chest. Now fear takes hold, because while normally it would seem irrational to worry some man I barely know might have followed me down a hall to corner me, after last night, it seems almost inevitable that he’s waiting for me outside.

This bathroom isn’t a single stall, it’s a room meant for many ladies, but a quick walk past the stalls tells me no one else is inside. There’s a lock on the door, though. If Calvin is in the hall, he could easily push me in here and lock it so no one would be able to get in. I’d be locked inside with him just like I was last night.

Impulsively, I turn the lock.

My stomach drops the moment I do.

He probably isn’t out there yet.

I need to text someone, a wedding guest or bridesmaid who can come escort me out of here, but one who won’t tell Charity or ask a lot of questions I can’t answer.

The only person I can think of is my sister, Georgia. She knows all about ‘don’t ask’ situations.

With shaky fingers, I grab my phone out of my small purse and shoot her a text asking her to meet me outside the bathroom. I would never ask her to come if I thought I’d be putting her in danger, but there’s safety in numbers. Even if Calvin is waiting outside in the hall, he won’t be alone with her for more than a few seconds. The moment I know she’s out there, I’ll open the door and we can leave together.

Someone tries to push the door open and my heart jumps.

I hear a confused murmur, and a moment later my phone lights up.

“It’s locked?” reads the text on my phone.

I breathe a sigh of relief and unlock the door.

I pull it open and see my very confused sister standing on the other side, glancing in and seeing it’s a multi-stall bathroom, so why was it locked?

“Thank you,” I say, without explaining. I step outside and look both ways down the hall. I know I look like a paranoid lunatic, but I don’t care. When I see the coast is clear, my chest opens up and I can finally breathe again.

He’s not here.

Thank God.

Georgia is still standing there in her stunning green dress with her auburn hair piled up in a casually elegant up-do. “What’s going on?” she asks.

I shake my head, pushing past the door and then letting it close behind me. “It’s a long story.”

Georgia nods. She knows all about long stories. Absently reaching into her purse for her lip gloss, she asks, “One you want to tell?”

“Nope.”

She accepts my answer without prodding like I knew she would, and I’m so glad. Georgia is my sister and of course she cares about me, but her own life experiences have made her less pushy about butting into my business. Charity would be like a dog with a bone, ruthlessly terrorizing the truth out of me. Georgia won’t make me spill if I don’t want to.