The Abandoned Wife novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: The Counter

Emil was scrambling eggs in my kitchen at nine o'clock on Wednesday night with a dish towel over his shoulder.

He had slept on my floor the night before, on a pile of couch cushions.

Neither of us had said a word about the elevator.

We had said a great many words about everything else.

He had spent the day with Bernadine's lawyers, signing papers.

Then he had come home with grocery bags.

"My partner covers the clinic through tomorrow," he said, and slid the eggs onto two plates. "I'm driving back at dawn."

I stood at the counter with my wine glass and said nothing.

"The notarized statement is in the safe at Gilchrist," he went on.

"The chart is copied three times. You won't need me until the hearing."

"You're leaving."

"I have eleven patients with the flu and a woman due in Amity any minute."

"Emil."

"I know what it looks like."

He put the pan in the sink and turned the water on and off again.

"I'm not going because I want to."

"Then stay."

The kitchen went quiet except for the fridge.

He looked at me for a long moment.

"If I stay," he said, "I won't sleep on the floor."

"I know."

"Dara."

"I know exactly what I'm asking."

I put my glass down.

My heart was going like I'd run up twenty-two flights.

I had not been touched on purpose in three years, by anyone but a physical therapist.

I had not wanted to be.

I crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his shirt.

"I want you to take me to bed," I said. "And I'd like it to be soon."

His throat moved.

"I'd like it to be now," Emil said, hoarsely, and I grabbed his collar and pulled.

His mouth came down on mine, hard, nothing like the surprised kiss in the elevator.

This one was hungry.

His hands went to my waist and he lifted me in one clean motion.

He sat me on the cold granite of the counter with my knees on either side of his hips.

I wrapped my legs around him and pulled him in until his belt buckle pressed against me.

He made a sound low in his chest.

"Three years," he muttered against my throat.

"What?"

"Nothing. Three years of nothing. Keep going."

I ripped at the buttons of his shirt.

He had a broad chest, lightly furred, with a long pale scar along his ribs.

I laid my palms flat on it and felt his heart slam.

"What's this?"

"Fell off a barn at fourteen."

"It's perfect."

"You're a terrible liar," he said, and pulled my blouse over my head.

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