Heartbreaker by Linda Howard Read Free Book Online Page A

the ramifications of what he'd told her. His parents were dead, and she
had been counting on them to control him. That was the deal she'd made with
them; if they would keep Roger away from her, she wouldn't release the photos
and medical report to the press, who would have a field day with the scandal.
Imagine, a Beckman of Philadelphia nothing but a common wife-beater! That
evidence had kept her father safe from Roger's insane threats, too, and now he
was forever beyond Roger's reach. She had lived in hell to protect her father,
knowing that Roger was capable of doing exactly what he'd threatened, and
knowing after the first incident that his parents would make certain Roger was
protected, no matter what.
    She had honestly liked her in-laws until
then, but her affection had died an irrevocable death when they had bought
Roger out of trouble the first time he'd really hurt her. She had known their
weakness then, and she had forced herself to wait. There was no one to help her;
she had only herself. Once she had been desperate enough to mention it to her
father, but he'd become so upset that she hadn't pushed it, and in only a
moment he'd convinced himself that she'd been exaggerating. Marriage was always
an adjustment, and Michelle was spoiled, highly strung. Probably it was just an
argument over some minor thing, and the young couple would work things out.
    The cold feeling of aloneness had spread
through her, but she hadn't stopped loving him. He loved her, she knew he did,
but he saw her as more of a doll than a human being. His perfect, loving
darling. He couldn't accept such ugliness in her life. She had to be happy, or
it would mean he'd failed her in some basic way as a father, protector and
provider. For his own sake, he had to believe she was happy. That was his
weakness, so she had to be strong for both of them. She had to protect him, and
she had to protect herself.
    There was no way she would ever go back to
Roger. She had dealt with the nightmares and put them behind her; she had
picked up the pieces of her life and gone on, not letting the memories turn her
into a frightened shell. But the memories, and the fear, were still there, and
all it took was hearing Roger's voice to make her break out in a cold sweat.
    The old feeling of vulnerability and
isolation swept over her, making her feel sick.
    She jerked around, wrenching herself from the
spell, and dashed what was left of her coffee down the drain. The best thing
was to be active, to busy herself with whatever came to hand. That was the way
she'd handled it when she had finally managed to get away from Roger,
globe-trotting for two years because her father had thought that would take her
mind off the divorce, and she had let the constant travel distract her. Now she
had real work to do, work that left her exhausted and aching but was somehow
healing, because it was the first worthwhile work she'd ever done.
    It had been eating at him all morning.
    He'd been in a bad mood from the moment he'd
gotten out of bed, his body aching with frustration, as if he were some randy
teenager with raging hormones. He was a long way from being a teenager, but his
hormones were giving him hell, and he knew exactly why. He hadn't been able to
sleep for remembering the way she'd felt against him, the sweetness of her
taste and the silky softness of her body. And she wanted him, too; he was too
experienced to be mistaken about something like that. But he'd pushed too hard,
driven by ten years of having an itch he couldn't scratch, and she'd balked.
He'd put her in the position of paying him with her body, and she hadn't liked
that. What woman would? Even the ones who were willing usually wanted a pretty
face put on it, and Michelle was haughtier than most.
    But she hadn't looked haughty the day before.
His frown grew darker. She had tried, but the old snooty coldness was missing.
She was dead broke and had nowhere to turn. Perhaps she was scared, wondering
what she was going to do