A Family Affair: Winter: Truth in Lies, Book 1 by Mary Campisi

Author:Mary Campisi
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780985777333
Publisher: Mary Campisi
Published: 2011-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Harry let himself in the front door. He could hear Greta moving around in the kitchen, cupboards, drawers, opening and closing, water running. She’d made bread today or maybe it was rolls he smelled, the sourdough kind with butter smothered on top. What would it be like to come home just once to real apple pie filling his senses, not the manufactured aroma of an apple air freshener? He’d never know, of course. His women didn’t cook and hiring someone like Greta, or even hiring Greta herself, was out of the question. How could he screw Bridgett on the kitchen table with Greta mashing potatoes next to him?

He could never hire Greta as a cook or housekeeper or whatever in the hell she was. How long would it take before he forgot she was a decent woman with two kids and tried to bang her? One day? Two? He just had to picture her bending over the oven, that nice ass full and tight against the white of her uniform and bam, he’d be after her.

He heard her humming some soft little tune that made him picture her lips, teeth, tongue. Jesus, he was sick. He shrugged out of his coat and headed for the staircase. It was midafternoon and Chrissie was still at work, which was why he’d decided to make the trip now. The poor kid looked worn out—popping in to visit her mother every morning and every night, squeezing a few hours of work in between, then running around the city picking up magazines, books, lotions, anything that might speed Gloria’s recovery. The damn bitch was wringing the life from Chrissie, one damned aromatherapy candle at a time.

But that was all about to end.

The bedroom stood at the top of the stairs to the right. Harry eased the double doors open and stepped inside. It was different from what he remembered; no crimson and gold walls with matching curtains and bedspread poured out in lavish excess, smothered in heat and sensuality. Even the carpeting was gone, a dark red that later he thought of as blood-red, seeping betrayal, harboring secret remnants of sweat and lust within its thick piles. The new carpet was a palest blue, the color of an ice pond.

This new décor suited Gloria. He bet she’d picked it from a showroom window, down to the stuffed white cat sitting on the rocker. Or she could have gotten the idea from a House Beautiful cover. There were blue stripes, some pale, some almost white, and peach; at least he thought it was peach, covering the walls, the curtains, a few pillows. And then she’d gone and mixed a flower pattern, peach and blue with white, on the rest of the pillows and the bedspread, or was the technical term comforter? He guessed House Beautiful would consider the room elegant, but Harry had one word for it—dead.

He took a step toward the bed. She lay on her side with her back facing him, two pillows wedged between her legs to elevate the cast on her right ankle.

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