Misery Loves Company by Rene Gutteridge Read Free Book Online Page A

ever smelled, like it had cooked for hours. She could taste the fresh herbs in it.The cream was divine. Despite her lack of appetite earlier, she’d eaten heartily, crackers and all.
    She’d not seen Patrick Reagan again, however. She listened for sound outside her door, but it was very quiet.
    Anxiety was starting to overcome her as the dizziness in her head faded. She sat on the edge of the bed and chewed through her fingernails, eyeing the door. She’d already tried the window. It was locked down and the glass looked thick.
    As the once-bright sunlight dimmed outside the window, she planted her feet firmly on the ground, without the slippers, and stomped across the cold wood floor. She hadn’t checked to see if the door was really locked. She firmly grasped the handle but it didn’t budge. She made a fist and began pounding. It felt good. Released some of the aggression she was feeling.
    “Hey!” She put her face close to the door. “Hey! You! Let me out of here! Do you understand me? You can’t hold me here! You can’t do this!” It sounded so ridiculous coming out of her mouth. First of all, he obviously could, or she wouldn’t be here. Secondly, she was yelling through a thick wooden door at her favorite author, who had kidnapped her. Between the shouts, she’d take a breath and wonder if she was really losing her mind. Maybe, just maybe, it had fractured.
    But along with the smell of the soup, she’d smelled him when he’d delivered it. It wasn’t cologne   —too light for that. But there was a certain scent that reminded her of a walk in the woods. Or Christmas. Pine, maybe? Musk?
    “Heeeeyyyyy!” Her voice had risen to a screeching pitch.
    Then, footsteps.
    Jules breathed hard. Stepped back a little.
    Silence.
    “Listen to me! I want you to let me out right now!” She stepped forward again. “Now! Right now! Now!”
    Another sound. A key in the door. She took several steps back, put her hands on her hips, waited.
    As the door slowly opened, she wished her chest wasn’t moving up and down so rapidly. She planned to take a stand or defend herself if he attacked her, and she had enough adrenaline for either, but it was showing itself a bit too early.
    Patrick Reagan regarded her for a moment, and she regarded him. His hair, just like in the picture on the back of his books, was soft brown and wavy, flowing back like a tidal wave. He didn’t wear a particular expression as he looked at her.
    Jules tried to find a few words, but nothing came out. As usual.
    He stepped into the room and then looked her up and down. “Why are you still in your nightclothes?”
    She glanced down at the luxurious pajamas she’d found herself in when she’d first awoken. “Maybe I should be asking you how this happened?” she growled, gesturing wildly at herself.
    “You dressed yourself,” he said. “I suggest you do it again. I don’t serve supper to people in their pajamas.”
    Suddenly she felt improper, as though she were a houseguest who’d rudely overslept. But that thought was so weird .
    She folded her arms, tried to speak slowly. “Dress code aside, what is going on here?”
    “All in due time.” He gestured toward a closet. “You’ll find something suitable in there.”
    I’m not interested in this bizarre bed-and-breakfast you’re running, she thought, wishing she could speak as harshly as it sounded in her head. “I want to go home.”
    He coolly put his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t overly tall, probably not even six feet, but he seemed to tower over her with his presence. “Do you really, Juliet? You really want to go home? It’s that fulfilling, all by yourself, peering at a computer screen?”
    “Don’t act like you know me.”
    “But I do.”
    “How is that? We’ve never met before this.”
    “You’re a fan, are you not?”
    Was. Less so by the second.
    “You’re quieter than I imagined you to be. You don’t come across that way on paper.” He gave a small