CROSSFIRE by Jenna Mills

Author:Jenna Mills [Mills, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-27T04:19:45+00:00

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Chapter 9

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Soon. The time for waiting was over. The time for planning. The time for watching, fantasizing. Soon he would make his move, and this time Elizabeth Carrington would meet her assigned fate.

But first she would be his.

Just the thought sent anticipation humming through his blood. There was nothing sweeter than collecting payment.

From the downstairs of her tidy, historic town house, a light still glowed. Monroe, no doubt. More than two hours had passed since he'd seen Elizabeth's silhouette through her bedroom window. She'd drawn the shade, but the shadowy outline of her body had provided a show of its own. She'd been stretching, bending and twisting with a sinuous grace that made his mouth water.

Monroe had not joined her.

From his vantage point on the crowded, car- and tree-lined street, he turned to leave. He knew what he had to do. This time Elizabeth Carrington would not escape, not survive. Monroe could not stop what was coming. Sooner or later the arrogant fool would blink, and when his eyes opened again, he would discover the taste of failure.

Elizabeth Carrington would suffer, and an old wrong would be one step closer to being righted.

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Nothing prepared her. She knew he'd spent the night. She knew he'd made himself at home, sprawling on the sofa with pretzels during those rare moments when he hadn't been prowling her town house, gun in hand, peering into the darkness. She knew he'd barely slept. Knew he'd showered an hour before.

She knew all that, but knowledge didn't prepare for finding him seated at her antique pedestal table with the newspaper spread before him and a glass of orange juice in his hand, his soft blue oxford cloth shirt wrinkled, its shirtsleeves rolled up, his jeans faded, feet bare. His dark blond hair was damp, falling against his cheekbones and curling at the nape.

Her heart did a cruel little stutter step.

In the years since she'd walked away, she hadn't let herself think of him, remember him, had tried to keep him even from the shadowy images of her dreams, but seeing him here, now, like this, drove home how easily the man dwarfed everything in his path. He dominated the cozy alcove, making the spacious area look cramped despite the bright sunlight pouring in through the plantation shutters. Even her huge ficus looked like a miniature.

The man didn't belong here. Having him at her table, in her home, her life, was not part of the plan she'd patched together that bitterly cold night two years before, when she'd told him goodbye. They were from different worlds. They saw life through different lenses. They could barely tolerate being around each other.

And yet, here they were.

Time doesn't always mean anything, does it? Some wounds linger, growing deeper and darker even though everyone promises they'll soften and lighten.

The stream of emotion surprised her. Time was heralded as the great healer, but as she watched him read the paper and munch on an apple, it was as though not a second had passed.

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