Love by Association

She nodded again.

“So we’re clear?” he pushed. “We’re going to have sex again. Often.”

For the third time, she nodded.

“Chantel? Are you here with me?” he asked when what he wanted to know was what demons he’d scared up with that kiss to her shoulder. Wanted her to tell him what had her so out of sorts. Uncharacteristically out of sorts. She was someone else entirely. A woman disturbed by something. Vulnerable in one sense, and yet...not seeming the least bit weak or afraid.

“Oh, yeah, I’m here,” she said, her voice rough around the edges, less controlled than normal—confirming that he’d unnerved her far more than an unexpected kiss would have done.

He nodded. Deciding just to let it drop. To give her the space she so obviously needed. Just because she needed it.

“And you meant what you said about us being exclusive during your time here?” he asked when he’d just told himself to let it go.

“Of course. You think you’re the only one who wants that?”

Before he could answer her, she kissed him. Long. And hard. Taking ownership of him.

He wasn’t particularly happy about being so vulnerable. But he kissed her back. Taking ownership of her.

The kiss was filled with passion. And more. It was the more that had his pulse clamoring. That compelled him to leave her to gather herself.

And to promise himself that if it was humanly possible for him to eradicate her demons, he’d do so. Or die trying.

“I have to go,” he said with one last kiss.

Sadness filled her gaze for a second—or he was pretty sure that was the shadow that passed over her expression—and then she smiled and said, “Me, too.”

Turning, she headed for the bathroom. She didn’t hurry. As though she knew she obliterated every woman who’d ever come before her.

Just before the door shut behind her, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Eleven thirty, right?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They were going to the library meeting together.

And everywhere else, too.

They’d agreed to be exclusive.

And while he’d always imagined feeling a bit caged if he ever got to that point in a relationship, all Colin felt was...freedom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE LIBRARY COMMITTEE meeting did not take place at the Morrison home on Saturday. While disappointed that she wasn’t going to be able to see the home—a possible crime scene—disappointed that she wasn’t going to be able to observe the overall environment in which Ryder Morrison was growing up, Chantel was even more worried about Leslie’s absence from the wine tasting the night before.

They’d been raising money for Sunshine Children’s League, one of Julie’s—and Leslie’s—personal causes.

It was possible that the boy who’d suddenly come down with the flu—preventing his parents from attending the event—had had enough of a recovery by the next morning to be left without his mother’s care. Even more likely was the possibility that Leslie and James had family in the area to watch Ryder while his mother was away.

Chantel didn’t think either option was the case.

They met at the new library building again, in a smaller room that now housed the cases that had been designated for a rare book collection that would be there permanently. While Leslie’s face was unblemished and bearing no heavier than a normal dose of makeup, the woman had her hair styled differently. Instead of pulled into a twist at the back of her head—as it had been each of the other two times Chantel had seen her—her hair hung around her shoulders. Its thinness didn’t make the style very becoming on the otherwise beautiful woman.

But it covered enough of her neck that, along with the high-necked sweater she was wearing, Chantel couldn’t tell if she was hiding bruises.

She’d bet a year’s salary that she was. Leslie was friendly and as outgoing as always. But her hands were fiddling with the folders on the table in front of her, and twice she’d dropped the napkin she’d picked up at the side table when she’d helped herself to coffee.

The gala was only three weeks away, and at the conclusion of member reports, Leslie filled them in on her week’s progress toward the big event. Everyone got a copy of the script. They were to get any suggestions or opinions to Chantel by midweek.

Julie, sitting next to Chantel, seemed to be watching her friend more closely. But that could just be Chantel’s imagination. She was extrasensitive to Julie at the moment.

Because of the rape.

Mostly.

And because she was feeling more certain than ever that to help one of the women would help the other...

Colin, who was far too gorgeous for Chantel’s good, sat, as before, on her other side, his hand on her leg.