My Husband Traded Me by Mithras Laran

Author:Mithras, Laran [Mithras, Laran]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

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She tried on the full-length skirt the next day, deliberately picking the day she would be cleaning the floors. We'll see how this works.

Blake ignored her while she made breakfast. He said nothing when she put down the plate. He didn't even look at her.

Did I make him mad? What's wrong? "Is breakfast okay?"

He looked up with a look of surprise – as if just realizing she was there. The carefully plastered look on his face didn't seem genuine. "Yes, of course."

She knew there wasn't anything wrong with the scrambled eggs, but his silence was eating at her. She couldn't suffer not knowing what he was thinking. Does he hate me?

After breakfast, she rinsed the dishes. She could feel his eyes on her. She glanced back and caught his eyes rising from her skirt. Was he staring at my butt? "What's the matter?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe the skirt wasn't a good idea."

"What? Why?"

"It's a looser material than the blue jeans. It drapes…more…"

"Drapes? What do you mean?"

"It…shows more." He looked angry.

She felt the familiar surge of strange sensations in her bringing a giddiness that threatened to break into a smile. No, I can't smile; that would be bad. But the excitement coursed through her; she couldn't deny it, even if she did deny its expression.

She bent down to put the dishes in the sink.

He blew out a loud breath.

She straightened and he stood at the same time. She leaned back against the counter, watching him with wide eyes. Is he going to blow up? Be mad at me?

His fingers were twitching, looking as if they were itching to strangle. He took a step toward her and she gasped in a breath.

Her pulse was racing, beating a staccato tempest in her neck. Does he mean to hit me? Is he that kind of a man? But she knew he wasn't.

Then he took a larger step forward, coming to her fast. His hands came down on the counter on either side of her and his face was close, looking at her with a mixture of anger and desire.

Molly tilted her head to him automatically, her lips parted in a silent pant.

But he was gone – pushing off the counter and away from her. He spun, shoulders tense, and stomped into the mudroom.

She heard the back door slam. That draining, deflating sensation moved through her, leaving her empty and cold. What did I do? Water rimmed her eyelids and she fled to her bedroom.

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