The Affair: Week 1 by Beth Kery Read Free Book Online Page B

billowing silence that followed.
    “It may be beautiful to you,” he said finally.
    “It’s not to you?” she asked, bewildered. “Why did you have this house built then? The view dominates every room.”
At least when you’re not in it, it does.
    One look at his frozen features and she knew she’d gone too far. His gaze dipped suddenly, skimming her body. If another man had done it, she would have been offended. In Michael Montand’s case, it was like a mild electrical current passed through her. Her nipples tightened and something seemed to prickle in her belly, like a hook of sensation pulling at her navel. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, her wisp of confidence evaporating.
    “I didn’t say it wasn’t beautiful to me,” he said. He glanced away and Emma knew she’d imagined that flash of heat in his eyes. He seemed to hesitate. “How is she doing?”
    “Cristina?”
    He nodded once and picked up a roll from a basket. Emma noticed he possessed strong-looking hands with long, blunt-tipped fingers. “She’s in a great deal of pain. It’s getting worse. I’ve asked the doctor to increase her pain medications.”
    He looked up sharply.
    “It’s not uncommon, as the cancer spreads,” Emma said, reading his glance of unease.
    “Won’t increasing her pain medication make her more confused?”
    “Possibly. But it’s better than forcing her to suffer. She’s living the last days of her life. We’re not talking about a headache here. This is severe, mind-numbing pain. When she’s in the midst of it, she’s not very cognitively sharp anyway. None of us would be,” Emma said pointedly.
    They stared at each other for a few seconds. Again his gaze dropped over her, so fleeting it might have been her imagination.
    “Why do you dress that way for work?” he asked, returning to the task of buttering a roll.
    Her mouth fell open. “I like to be comfortable. My hospice doesn’t have an issue with it. Do you?”
    He began slicing a filet of beef, his gaze averted from her. When he didn’t reply for a moment, her anxiety ratcheted up, but it was accompanied by a spike of defiance. “Is it not
formal
enough for you?” she asked, as if determined to dig her own grave. He looked up, and she glanced down significantly over his tuxedo-clad form.
    He gave a small, unexpected smile, white teeth flashing against tanned skin. Her heart paused.
    “You’re wondering if I put on a tuxedo to dine alone near midnight as a custom?” He raised his fork to his mouth and took a swift bite of beef, watching her as he chewed. Emma became highly aware of the movement of his lean, angular jaw and then the convulsion of his strong-looking throat framed by the stark white, open collar as he swallowed. He reached for a crystal goblet of red wine. “That would be pretty pitiful on my part if I did, wouldn’t it?” he asked before taking a swallow of wine. Emma heard the thread of humor in his voice and didn’t know how to reply.
    “I just meant—”
    “I know what you meant. And no, I’m not a formality hound. I just came from a public relations event in the city sponsored by my company. I didn’t get hungry until now. I always lose my appetite at those things. All those cameras. All those vampires,” he added distractedly. He took another bite of beef, and for a moment, Emma wondered if he’d forgotten she was there. “I didn’t mean that I object to your clothing,” he said quietly after a pause. “I just asked because I noticed it was different than the other nurses’.”
    His words seemed to hang in the air
. I noticed
. There was only one way he could have noticed since he never visited Cristina’s suite. He’d taken notice of her on the surveillance camera. Maybe his thoughts went in a similar direction, because his expression suddenly grew sharp and then went carefully blank.
    “I thought it might relate to your age,” he said, picking up his knife. “You seem much younger than the