Beauty in His Bedroom by Ashley Summers

Beauty in His Bedroom by Ashley Summers

Author:Ashley Summers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2001-11-15T00:00:00+00:00


Morning dawned tender-blue and gold. Regina came awake with a start as memories of last night flooded her mind. Her wakening gaze shot to his side of the bed. Empty. No sounds came from the adjoining bath. Maybe he’d gone back to his personal bathroom. Climbing out of bed, she grabbed her gown and wrapped it around her nude body. “Clint?” she called softly. Then louder, but he didn’t answer.

“Because he’s not here,” she muttered, closing the master bedroom door behind her.

In her own room she slipped on a housecoat then hurried to the kitchen. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the air, but still no Clint. Shoulders slumping, Regina poured a cup of coffee and walked to the French doors looking out on the pool. Its waters glistened Caribbean blue, but no dark head ruffled the surface. “Face it, Gina, he’s gone again.”

Pondering his absence, she wondered if he’d wanted to avoid facing her. Had their night together been more of a failure—his failure—than something magical? In some confused way, had he, in his mind, cheated on his wedding vows?

Like unsupervised clothes-hangers in a dark closet, questions bred questions. The only answers were what she came up with. “Which is zilch,” she muttered.

It was Saturday, so she leisurely bathed and dressed, thinking she’d go out for breakfast, then drive down to pick up Katie for the weekend.

Clint hadn’t mentioned his plans. Stepping outside into searingly bright sunlight, Regina was even more certain that he’d gone off to avoid that discomfiting “morning after.”

Straightening, newspaper in hand, she turned to go back inside when a florist’s truck wheeled up the driveway. Puzzled, she shaded her eyes against the blaze of sunlight and waited. The young man exiting the truck carried an enormous bouquet of roses. Exquisite roses, white blushed with pink, long stemmed, wrapped in waxy green paper tied with a resplendent pink bow. “For me?” she asked.

For her.

Taking the flowers inside, Regina eagerly opened the little envelope and stood for a moment absorbing its message. “Thank you for a beautiful night, Regina. The rarity of that kind of pleasure makes it even more priceless.” It was signed with a flourishing C.W.

A lovely sentiment, she thought dryly, but what did it really say? That he’d enjoyed their lovemaking? “Well, duh, Clint,” she muttered. Enjoyment was a given. She’d held nothing back from him.

“Well, maybe he didn’t want that much of Gina Flynn,” she whispered, her eyes misting. But the flowers were lovely, a round, closely packed circle of fragrant pink blossom. She buried her nose in satiny petals and inhaled their matchless scent. She had to get a grip, regain her steady grasp on life, a life that now included Clint Whitfield, in whatever shape or form that inclusion took.



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