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Grace watched me closely. "You wanna talk about Atlanta some more?"
I shook my head. I'd talked and talked about it with a therapist - or at least I'd talked as much as I was going to. Talking hadn't done much good.
Grace stood, picking up her glass and the bottle. "I should go. "
"Sure. " She was disappointed in me. I couldn't blame her. I was disappointed in myself.
Grace would not only have arrested Josh; she would also have carved him a new hole - right where his uncontrollable penis used to be.
Standing abruptly, I grabbed my glass and led the way inside.
We set everything on the counter. Grace touched my arm. "If you want to talk again, I'm here. Any time. Day or night. If you want to file a complaint, I can help you. "
"It's a little late for that. "
She went to the front door and glanced at me over her shoulder. "It's never too late. "
"I just want to forget, Grace. "
"Looks like that's really working out well for you," she said, and closed the door behind her.
She was right. I hadn't moved past that night. My life had become divided into before and after. If I'd truly forgotten, I'd have. . . well, forgotten.
What had happened with Josh would forever be a part of who I'd become. It had been a life-altering experience, because here I was, right back where I'd started, and I didn't even mind.
I returned to the kitchen, planning to load the dishwasher and recork the wine. I'd just lifted both goblets when a tiny tap made me glance up.
A man peered through the sliding glass doors.
Chapter 11
I dropped the glasses. They shattered at my feet. Oprah, who must have been snoozing in the hall, squalled, then thundered up the stairs. The man opened the glass door and stepped inside.
"Are you all right?" Malachi Cartwright knelt and began to pick up the larger pieces.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.
He tilted his head, and his hair swung back from his shoulders; his earring glinted sharply in the overhead light. With him kneeling at my feet I felt like Cinderella. Too bad I'd learned the hard way that life was not a fairy tale.
Slowly he rose, just as he'd risen out of the water only hours earlier. Except this time he had on all his clothes. Too bad.
The thought was so out of character for me - the new me, the "after" me - I almost laughed. What was it about this man that made me want him? Could it be that he wasn't going to stay?
My therapist had recommended I have sex with someone I trusted. I didn't trust Cartwright. I didn't even know him. But that also meant he didn't know me. That anonymity, the promise that there'd be nothing more than sex between us, was unbelievably appealing.
"I came to see if you were all right," he said. "You seemed upset. "
He didn't know the half of it. I liked that in a man.
He stood so close the heat of his body warmed me; I caught the scent of chill lake water and sunshine. The contrast was so enticing I swayed, my body yearning for the promise of his.
Cartwright stepped back, then glanced around helplessly. "Garbage can?" He lifted hands full of shards.
"Oh! Sorry. Under the sink. " I opened the cabinet, pulled out the basket. "The cat gets into it otherwise. "
The jangle of broken glass sent me to the closet for a broom. Then I gathered the remaining mess and bent to sweep everything into the dustpan.
Black-clad legs appeared in my line of vision. I glanced up to find Cartwright staring down. I was possessed by the sudden urge to press my cheek against his thigh, turn my face, and mouth him through the thin cotton layer of his pants.
