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"No." At the very least she had that. He had been only one more in the line of men she'd enjoyed, flirted with. And, yes, used. "I wanted to believe everything he told me. Enough that I let him string me along with that shopworn line about his wife holding up his divorce." She smiled thinly. "Of course, that was fine with me. As long as he was married, he was safe. I wouldn't have married him, Laura, and I've begun to realize it wasn't that I was in love with him so much as I was in love with the life I imagined. Gradually he took over everything, because it was easier for me not to have to bother with details. And while I was dreaming of this glorious future where the two of us would bop around Europe like royalty, he was siphoning off my money, using it to finance his drug operation, using my minor celebrity over there to clear the way, lying to me about his wife."
She pressed her fingers against her eyes. "So the upshot is that my reputation is in tatters, my career is a joke, Bella Donna's dropped me as their spokeswoman, and I'm damned near broke."
"Everyone who knows you understands you were a victim, Margo."
"That doesn't make it better, Laura. Being a victim isn't one of the faces I'm comfortable wearing. I just don't have the energy to change it."
"You'll get past this. You just need time. And right now you need a long, hot bath and a good night's sleep. Let's get you settled in the guest room." Laura rose, extended a hand. "Where's your luggage?"
"I'm having it held. I didn't know if I'd be welcome."
For a moment Laura said nothing, merely stared down until Margo's gaze faltered. "I'm going to forget you said that, because you're tired and feeling beat-up." After tucking an arm around Margo's waist, Laura led her from the room. "You haven't asked about Kate."
Margo blew out a breath. "She's just going to be pissed at me."
"At the circumstances," Laura corrected. "Give her some credit. Is your luggage at the airport?"
"Mmm." She was suddenly so tired it was as if she was walking through water.
"I'll take care of it. Get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow when you're feeling better."
"Thanks, Laura." She stopped at the threshold of the guest room, leaned against the jamb. "You're always there."
"That's where friends are." Laura kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Always there. Go to bed."
Margo didn't bother with a nightgown. She left her clothes pooled on the floor where she peeled them off. Naked, she crawled into the bed and dragged the cozy comforter up to her chin.
The wind screamed at the windows, the rain beat impa tiently against the glass. From a distance, the sound of the surf roared up and snatched her into dreamless sleep.
She never stirred when Ann slipped into the room, smoothed the blankets, touched her hair. Offered up a quiet prayer.
Chapter Three
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"Typical. Lying around in bed until noon."
Margo heard the voice dimly through sleep, recognized it, and groaned. "Oh, Christ, go away, Kate."
"Nice to see you, too." With apparent glee, Kate Powell gave the drape cord an enthusiastic pull and sent sunlight lasering into Margo's eyes.
"I've always hated you." In defense, Margo pulled a pillow over her face. "Go pick on someone else."
"I took the afternoon off just so I could pick on you." In her efficient way, Kate sat on the edge of the bed and snatched the pillow out of Margo's hands. Concern was masked behind an appraising eye. "You don't look half bad."
"For the waking dead," Margo muttered. She pried open one eye, saw Kate's cool, sneering face, and shut it again. "Go away."
"If I go, the coffee goes." Kate rose to pour from the pot she'd set at the foot of the bed. "And the croissants."
"Croissants." After sniffing the air, Margo warily opened both eyes. She was greeted by the sight of Kate breaking flaky bread in two. The steam that poured out smelled like glory. "I must have died in my sleep if you're bringing me breakfast in bed."
"Lunch," Kate corrected and took a hefty bite. When Kate remembered to eat, she liked to eat well. "Laura made me. She had to run out to some committee meeting she couldn't reschedule." Still, Kate lifted the tray. "Sit up. I promised her I'd see that you ate something."
Margo tugged the sheets over her breasts and reached greedily for the coffee. She drank first, felt some of her jet lag recede. Then, sipping slowly, she studied the woman who was briskly adding strawberry jam to a croissant.
Ebony hair cut gamine short accented a honey-toned triangular face. Margo knew the style wasn't for fashion, but for practicality. It was Kate's good luck, she mused, that it suited so perfectly those large, exotic brown eyes and sassily pointed chin. Men would consider the slight overbite undeniably sexy, and Margo had to admit it softened the entire look.
Not that Kate went in for soft, she thought. The trim navy pinstriped suit was all business. Gold accessories were small and tasteful, the Italian pumps practical. Even the perfume, Margo thought as she caught a whiff, stated clearly that this was a serious, professional woman.
