By C. Elizabeth
Romantic Suspense 434 pages
Cover art by Trisha FitzGerald
ISBN 978-1-61309-096-1 $7.50
ISBN 978-1-61309-907-0 $12.95
Being lonely isn’t anything new for 45 year old Rose Terrance. After all, that’s what she signed up for when she married beautiful, 33 year old movie star, Michael Terrance and in spite of her loneliness, their love stays strong. However, neither their love, nor Michael’s vehement over protectiveness, can shield Rose from a threat that is beyond Michael’s comprehension, one that annihilates his heart and lines his soul with guilt.
Michael has murderous intentions that lead him to a place he has already asked Rose to forgive him for, taking the phrase “I would die for you” to the extreme.
The lights in the kitchen were on and there were voices coming from the room. Upon entering, I stopped in my tracks. Jerry and Brant were sitting at the table with two half naked women wearing their shirts, one of those women being Serena, cuddled very close beside Jerry, the other very close to Brant. Michael would never deny them having women, as long as they followed the rules. They were never to reveal who they worked for, whose house they were in and they were to be gone by the time anyone got up. On the other hand, Serena wasn’t a party to those slack rules—she had been given her own. It was going to get ugly.
Jerry glanced up, the smile disappeared as he sprang up. Brant followed. “Shit! Rose, what are you doing up so early?” Jerry questioned.
Serena acted nonchalant, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “Hi, Mummy.”
The other woman looked up.
I nodded at them. “I couldn’t sleep.”
The stranger pushed away from the table, staring at me, then turned to Brant and pointed, stuttering when she spoke. “That...that’s Rose Terrance.”
Brant sighed hanging his head.
Serena finally realized the ramifications of me walking in at that moment. She stood up. “Mom?”
I extended my hand out as I sauntered toward them. “Yes I am, and you are?” There was a hope that I would get a chance to tell them that they had better get that woman out and Serena in her room before Michael walked in.
Slowly lifting her hand, she finally made it to mine and shook it. “I’m Ivy.”
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
She turned to Brant, giving the window of opportunity I needed to catch their attention—I mouthed the words, “get outta here, Michael’s up.”
Their eyes snapped to twice the size, Brant gave one quick nod acknowledging he understood and held his hand out toward the back of the house where his room was. “Well, let’s get going, shall we?” Giving a very bad fake smile.
Serena promptly moved around the table heading for the kitchen door… Too late!
“Beautiful, is that coff...” Michael stood just inside the door, it being worse because all he wore were his jammie pants.
Serena bolted to my side, hiding behind me.
Ivy screamed, putting her shaking hand up to her mouth. Brant immediately pulled her to his side, sternly saying, “Don’t do that.”
Serena folded further into my back, hiding her face.
Michael didn’t move, every bone in his body vibrated. He crossed his arms to hide the fact that his hands were clenched in fists, his pure sapphire eyes leered at Jerry and Brant.
Even with Brant’s cat-like reflexes, Ivy managed to appear rapidly in front of Michael. “Can I have your autograph?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, touching his chest.
He moved back a bit, eyes not moving from his prey. “You don’t seem to have much on you for me to write on,” he dangerously noted.
She turned to Jerry. “Do you have a paper and pen?”
Jerry chuckled nervously. “I don’t think that’s a goo...”
Michael cocked his head to the side, drawling out the words. “Why not, Jerry, find this nice lady a pen and paper, won’t you?” He passed his eyes over me trying to get to Serena—being totally aware of his surroundings.
Tucking Serena a little further out of the line of fire, I had hoped that me being there would lessen the wrath that was about to come.
Jerry stared at Michael, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary, it’s okay.”
Ivy looked at Jerry with disgust. “What do you mean? I’m standing in Michael Terrance’s kitchen, I should at least get an autograph.”
Shaking my head, yikes! Lady, wrong way to say it.