Grounds for Divorce by Helena Maeve Read Free Book Online

call me that.”
    A few heads had turned at the commotion. Kayla had a clear line of sight to the bar, where she saw the colonel watching them intently.
    Booker frowned. “You okay to drive?”
    “I’m fine.” Saving face was the least she could do for him, so Kayla swallowed her pride and rose up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. “Night.” She turned and wove through the crowd before Booker could stop her. She wasn’t sure why she assumed he would, after that performance.
    Her pulse tripping, her cheeks numb, she all but vaulted behind the wheel of the Mercedes. The rear view mirror drooped, a narrow band of glass confronting her with the dark circles under her eyes and the remnants of that evening’s make-up.
    “You’re one crazy bitch,” Kayla told her reflection.
    The Mercedes revved to life with a sputter and a groan.
    She didn’t let herself glance back to see if Booker had come out to see her off. Men like him didn’t put up with being strung along by women like Kayla. There was plenty of willing pussy in the bar. They’d make him forget his woes in no time.
     
    * * * *
     
    The ceiling fan spun lazily, stirred by the dry evening breeze. Kayla counted its slow revolutions. She’d tried warm milk, late night TV. Her vibe. Counting sheep only made her antsy, so that was out. She was beginning to understand that none of the traditional methods of beating insomnia worked.
    That left her two options.
    She kicked off the sheets and fetched her cell from the nightstand. Zach should be at the club, still. Maybe they could agree to meet at his place within the hour. Maybe he’d be willing to give her what she needed so she could get some sleep. She hovered her thumb over the call button.
    Ever since she’d been with Booker, things had gone from bad to worse with Zach. They’d spent a week trying to squeeze profit margins for another ten grand. The Hounds paid them nightly visits—purportedly to enjoy the show and avail themselves of the girls on payroll, but according to Zach, they were there as a reminder.
    Kayla had seen blood stains on the tarmac a few nights in a row. She didn’t ask questions.
    She tossed her cell to the bed and put her head in her hands. She didn’t want to go to Zach just so she could blow him while he pretended to pull her hair. She didn’t want to fake gagging just so he’d hurry up and finish.
    “ Fuck .” Sleeping with Booker had done a number on her.
    Maybe the only way to excise the memory of his hands on her was to prove that he wasn’t that good, that she’d only enjoyed herself because it had been so long since she’d been with anyone other than Zach.
    Kayla grabbed her cell phone and keys, and tore out of the house in her sleep clothes. She was lucky that Tamra was sleeping over at a friend’s two doors down.
    Her body remembered the way. Her pulse sped at the sight of all those bikes lined up outside, but it was late and odds were that Booker had already skipped town. She could still go inside, look around. Maybe ask someone.
    She wasn’t counting on slamming her foot down on the brake right outside the bar, heart leaping into her throat. The hazy glare of headlights brought into sharp relief in the oil streaks on Booker’s hands even as they elongated his shadow.
    “Kayla?” He squinted, bemusement writ on his rugged features. “What’re you doin’ here?”
    She had no memory of shoving the car door open. Her legs didn’t seem like her own as they carried her across the parking lot. But those were her hands on his cheeks and those were her lips against his, clinging to the dying embers of a flame that had long been snuffed out.
    Proof lay in the stiff shelf of Booker’s shoulders.
    “I’m sorry,” Kayla panted, sinking to the balls of her feet. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”
    The rest of her half-baked apology died, suffocated beneath the force of Booker’s lips on hers. He backed her up onto the hood of the Mercedes,