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Who Killed My Husband?
    By Sheila Rose
     
     
    Copyrighted Material
     
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
     
    All characters, names, artwork and related materials mentioned herein, whether registered or unregistered are the property and trademarks of Sheila Publishing. All rights reserved.
     
    No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
     
    Copyright ©2015 Sheila Publishing
     
    FOR MORE ROMANCE BOOKS BY SHEILA ROSE CLICK HERE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Rochelle walked briskly up a stone walkway towards a house, her heels clicking softly on the ground. She wore a light green blouse and a black pencil skirt, which was just an inch or two shorter than she normally wore. Long enough to still be appropriate in public, but just short enough to drive him crazy. She suppressed a grin.
     
                  She arrived nervously on Michael’s doorstep. She’d spent the better part of the morning preparing herself for this one blessed hour that she was able to spend with her lover. Her chocolate skin was freshly waxed and velvety smooth, coated in the fragrant lotion that Michael loved. Her hair fell in soft waves down her shoulder, and she had taken the time to apply a light layer of makeup to play up her natural features. She felt beautiful when she took the time to care for herself this way, but she felt even more so whenever Michael glanced at her.
     
                  Unlike with her husband, these small efforts never went unnoticed by Michael. He showered her with endless affection and compliments, and admittedly, Rochelle loved it. If she was being honest with herself, she’d even go so far as to say she loved him too.
     
                  Rochelle met Michael three years ago where they worked together. And although she was married, they clicked almost immediately. It was one of those situations where it couldn’t be helped. The spark was there, refusing to be denied. But Rochelle, had to leave work soon after to care for her autistic son. It was the right decision for her, but she couldn’t deny that she missed Michael. She spent her days at home, a lonely house wife devoting her time to caring for others. But at some point she realized that she needed to care for herself as well. And that meant her heart as well as her body.
     
                  She reached out to Michael after a time, and they reconnected. But this time, they became much more than friends. She would never forget the first time she felt his hands on her body, how it made her burn with a desire she had never known.
    She glanced over her shoulder, checking her surroundings once more.   This was where she felt safe. This was where she felt at home. She was just raising her arm to knock on the front door when it flew open before her.
     
    “Hello, Rochelle.”
     
    A man stood before her, looking as handsome as ever. His dark brown hair was shaved short, freshly cut a day or two ago. She locked eyes with him, deep browns staring into his blues. He was still wearing his light gray suit from work. It looked marvelous.
     
    “Michael,” she responded, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a grin. He took a step back from the doorway and she stepped inside.
     
    “Did you park down the street?” He asked, peering down the road as he shut the door.
     
    “Yes, of course,” she answered. “Stop being so paranoid.”
     
    “I just don’t want you getting into trouble,” he murmured, drawing closer to her. He trailed his fingers down the side of her cheek while he inspected her face. She