Journey Of The Heart. Elissa Ambrose

“My full attention.”

      Laura knew that there was something about her when she got angry, something that either sent his libido into overdrive or made him want to throttle her. His libido, so it seemed, had won.

      He reached across the couch, encircling her with his arms. Every instinct told her to push him away, every nerve in her body screaming, Run, Laura, run! She let out a gasp as he pressed his mouth on her throat, his breath warm and moist on her skin, his scent reminding her of timber and grass. “Jake, no,” she whispered into the air, not sure if she’d even said the words aloud. He ran his tongue along the side of her neck, up to the coil of her ear, sending little shivers down her spine. Her pulse throbbed wildly.

      She jerked herself free. “I said no.”

      “Could have fooled me.” His voice was dripping with mockery. “Like I said, some things in life don’t change.”

      In an instant she was on her feet, her face hot with humiliation. She wanted to lash out, yell, throw something. On his lips he wore that awful, smug smile, but it was his cool, knowing eyes that sobered her. “In case you haven’t noticed,” she spoke in a dull, flat voice, “I’m not your plaything anymore. That’s all you ever wanted, anyway. A plaything for you, and a nanny for Cory. Poor, sweet Cory. I wish he had been mine. I wish to God I could have taken him with me. Not that you would have noticed.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Something in her snapped. Words she’d kept locked up for years started pouring out in a furious torrent, and she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried. “Tell me something, did you ever really see him? Did you ever really see me? Well, I’ve got news for you. Some things do change. I have a full life now, which includes an attentive, caring man who knows I exist. And let me tell you something else, Mr. Macho, you made the same mistake with Cyn you made with me.”

      “Be careful, Laura….”

      She ignored his warning and continued her tirade. “Did she ever tell you she gave up going to college to become your wife? Ever since we were kids, she’d wanted to study design. Do you have any idea of the sacrifice she made? And speaking of Cynthia, it would have been nice if once in a blue moon, you hadn’t taken her to bed with us. I’m not talking about sex, lover-boy. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just wish that you had remembered it was me you were sleeping next to. Just once I wish you had known I was even there.”

      Afraid her legs would buckle under her, she stepped back to lean against the credenza. “I loved her, too,” she said in a tired voice. “She was my best friend. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of her. But she’s dead, Jake. She’s gone.”

      He gave her a hostile glare. “What are you talking about? What does Cynthia have to do with us? Let me remind you that you were the one who left me. Where do you get off thinking you were blameless?”

      “Go home,” she said without expression. “I have a life to get on with.”

      He stared past her for a long moment and finally stood up. With hands clenched stiffly at his sides, he turned on his heels and left the room.

      She slumped down on the couch, listening to his footsteps thundering in the hallway. The front door opened with a creak, then slammed shut. From the living room she could hear the squeal of his tires as he pulled out of her driveway.

      In the hallway the grandfather clock erupted in a series of chimes. She sat in the living room a little while longer, and when she finally reached for her coffee, she wasn’t surprised to find that it had grown cold.

      Chapter Three

      It was close to nine-thirty by the time Laura finally found the energy to rise from the couch. On the way to the kitchen, she caught her reflection in the antique mirror hanging next to the clock. Her face was ashen and smeared with mascara, her hair damp and tangled like a fallen nest after a storm.

      Good Lord, had Jake seen her like this? She thought of Cinderella before the ball. Except in Laura’s version of the story, there was no fairy godmother, and the prince got to see Cinderella at her worst.

      After downing a glass of juice and some dry toast, she climbed the stairs sluggishly, her body still aching from sleeping on the floor. Inside her room she glanced in the mirror over the bureau. Her linen suit was a rumpled mess, her panty hose twisted at the ankles. This is what she had worn at the ball, except there hadn’t been a ball; she’d gone to her aunt’s funeral, and there her prince had rebuked her.

      He had no right to talk to me that way, she thought. Who does he think he is? And why should I care that he saw me looking so disheveled? For that matter, why should I care that he didn’t bother to show up at the house yesterday after the service? Not that it makes any difference, but he did come by this morning. Except he forgot to bring the glass slipper.

      She recalled the way he’d pulled her onto his lap, teasing her, mocking her, expecting her to react exactly as she had, and once again her anger rose. She was angry with herself for having responded. Angry with him for being a jerk.

      This was no Cinderella story. The man was no prince.

      She watched herself in the full-length mirror on the bedroom door as she stripped off her wrinkled suit. Here I am again, she thought. I seem to follow me everywhere. Her eyes swept over the reflection of her petite frame, stopping to appraise her toned legs, her flat stomach, her narrow waist. Her gaze continued upward to her firm breasts, visible through a sheer rose-pink bra. Not bad, she admitted reluctantly, remembering when she’d been heavier. She’d always been self-conscious about her body. Even now, she focused on what displeased her, noting the lines of fatigue on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes. Maybe I should get rid of all the mirrors in the house, she thought.

      She pulled her green fleece robe from the closet and went into the bathroom. Still wearing her bra and panty hose, she reached into the shower and turned on the faucet, wincing as a brown liquid trickled out. She knew she would have to wait five minutes before the water started running hot and clear. The plumbing was shot. Coronary artery disease, she imagined Edward saying. Eroded arteries caused by fatty streaks along the inner walls.

      What would the meticulous Dr. Palmer’s reaction have been to her appearance this morning? He could never acknowledge that she could be anything less than perfect. The prestigious heart surgeon probably would have had a coronary himself.

      Be fair, she reprimanded herself. Isn’t this what you always wanted? To be perfect in someone’s eyes? To sit up there, high on that proverbial pedestal?

      Tell me, doesn’t it get lonely up there, alone in your ivory tower?

      Be quiet, she imagined herself telling Jake. I’m happy now. Edward and I are perfect for each other. You shouldn’t put him down; he’s a lot like you—handsome, bright, driven by his career. Oh yes, there’s one more thing. Like you, he doesn’t want children. Except there’s one small difference. You don’t want more children, and he doesn’t want any. But any way you look at it, it comes down to no children in my life, now that I no longer have Cory or the ability to conceive. So you see? Edward and I are made for each other. What’s that, Jake? Why did I leave you, only to hook up with someone who’s a lot like you? The difference between the two of you is that he knows I’m around. He adores me. In his eyes I’m perfect.

      She ran her fingers along the bridge of her nose. Well, almost perfect. Edward was always urging her to get that little bump removed. He didn’t see it as an addition to her character, as Jake always had.

      Maybe she would have her nose fixed, after all.

      Looking in the vanity mirror over the sink—oh, those damn, cruel mirrors!—she rubbed her hand against the side of her neck. With clarity she remembered the sick feeling she’d had when she’d first discovered the swelling. She’d tried to ignore it, hoping it was only a sign of another cold—the third in two months. But the swelling didn’t go away, and she was exhausted all the time, often waking up in the middle of the night in a sweat. It was Ellen who had insisted that