Hurricanes in Paradise Denise Hildreth (english novels to improve english TXT) 📖

helped her from the car, and walked with her toward her house. “Thank you for finally agreeing to have dinner with me.”

“I’m sorry for taking so long. I really had a lovely time.” She fumbled through her purse for her keys and finally felt them beneath her fingers. She turned at the doorway. This was the awkward moment she did not want. Once again, Christian took all awkwardness away.

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek. “I hope that means you’ll go again.”

“I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Good night, Riley.”

“Good night.” She opened the door and walked inside her cozy and inviting home. When she laid her head on her pillow, she realized the tightness she had carried in her chest for the last four years was gone. She had thought she was free before. She’d had no idea.

* * *

Tamyra’s pillow was soaked. She had cried from the moment Laine had pushed her inside her room and demanded she leave Winnie alone. She had been stupid. Presumptuous and stupid. Winnie wasn’t ready. She was finally away, having a great vacation, and Tamyra had completely screwed it up for her. Not to mention what she had done to poor Albert. Set him up wonderfully to be dumped at dinner.

It made all her self-doubt return. She had created this mess for both Albert and Winnie. Maybe she had created her mess with Jason too. Maybe she deserved the hits. Maybe she deserved AIDS. She had spent years being foolish and stupid, and her insensitivity tonight just proved that she moved too quickly. Made decisions too hastily.

Jason had told her that so often. In fact he had called her stupid more times than she could count. Maybe he was right. Stupidity deserved punishment. And if she were being honest, she’d rather have the pain of Jason’s fists right now in this moment than the pain of her own shame at hurting her precious new friend. The one woman who had opened her up and helped her begin to heal.

* * *

“I need a drink,” Laine said as she slipped onto the sofa. She knew it was right in that refrigerator. She looked up at the ceiling. “These women are crazy. They would drive a sober man to become an alcoholic. I’m telling You, I’ve had characters in books less crazy.”

She hadn’t realized until that moment how strong the urge to drink had become. She glanced at the clock on the DVD player and decided to sidetrack herself by trying Mitchell again. He didn’t answer. She factored in the time difference and determined it was about 5 p.m. in California. He was always home by five o’clock. Maybe he was sending her straight to voice mail because he simply didn’t want to talk to her.

She was past desperate now. She had been patient to an extreme that had shocked even her. She clicked the text icon on her phone. Call me, she typed. Then added, Please.

17

Thursday morning . . .

Laine’s iPhone sat by her head, staring at her with mock indignation. She must have fallen asleep with it there. She pushed a button and the screen burst to life. No missed calls. No missed texts. That said pretty much everything. Apparently her push on Saturday had been the final one. Right before she let the words come out of her mouth, she knew she could be sealing her fate. Yet her shame—no, her downright arrogance—had let them fly anyway. Jesus might have raised Lazarus, but she was pretty certain there would be no graveclothes flying today.

She sat up in bed. After her breakthrough the other day, she had finally bid adieu to the sofa. She pushed a button beside the bed, and the wall of draperies began to slowly open, letting in the morning. The sun had yet to make its official break, though her heart might. She grabbed a pillow beside her and pulled it tight against her chest, wrapping her arms around it in a symbolic act of need. She loved Mitchell more than she knew she was capable of loving anyone. And she had hurt Mitchell more than she knew she was capable of hurting anyone.

But in the midst of this horrific reality, she couldn’t deny a strange peace. A strange sense that everything was going to be okay. She let her cheek fall against the soft, expensive pillowcase. She knew now that Mitchell would never hold her again. But she had a sense she was being held even now. She lifted her hand and rubbed her eyes. They burned from too little sleep. She climbed out of bed, slipped on some workout clothes, and headed out to begin her day. It was sad to think that the remainder of her days would be spent without Mitchell by her side, but it was the only option she had.

* * *

Winnie woke up and rolled over in her bed to take in the sun rising above the ocean. The view was breathtaking, except for the large mass of ominous-looking clouds that seemed to be approaching. She had a feeling that at this rate the sun would be gone before long. Her sleep had been peaceful. Even though she knew her eyes were as swollen as Laine’s ego.

One more thing. The soft whisper fluttered through her soul.

She clutched the pillow next to her. “No, no more. I’m taking the day off.”

Get up. One more thing.

She knew what it was. She didn’t even have to ask. And she didn’t want to do it. Not one part of her wanted to do it.

Trust Me. I have something to show you.

She pushed herself off the bed and slipped into a lime green jogging suit with rhinestone-accented sleeves. In ten minutes she was standing at the edge of the beach entrance to the Beach Towers, the wind brushing past her and the sound of crashing waves providing background music. The very towers she had successfully avoided for almost a