Read Online Love Lies Bleeding by Jess Mcconkey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jess Mcconkey
Ads: Link
She was dressed in a long lavender nightgown, thin enough for the light of the moon to reveal the shadow of her legs even at this distance. Sam saw the bright red ember of a cigarette move in a lazy arc toward her head as she lifted it to her mouth. A thin plume of smoke drifted above her and out across the lake when she exhaled.
Had she been the one Sam had heard whispering? Had she been close enough to the cabin for her cigarette smoke to drift inside? The thought made Sam’s breath hitch. The drapes had been open. She could’ve been standing on the deck, watching, and Sam would’ve been oblivious to her prying eyes. She dropped the drapes and clutched her hand at her side. What in the hell was some woman doing wandering around the lake in her nightgown at this time of night? And on her dock?
She inched the edge of the drape aside.
The moonlight still reflected off the placid water and the dock still looked shaded in soft grays, but the woman had disappeared.
Dropping the drape, she flicked on the Maglite, then grasped it with both hands like a weapon and shambled back to the bedroom. Once over the threshold, she shut the door, locking it. Crossing the room, she crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and turned on the bedside lamp.
She fell asleep clutching the Maglite to her chest.
Chapter Six
T he lights of the city spread out below me and a beautiful sense of freedom bubbles deep inside. I’ve escaped, at least for a little while. The opera I’d enjoyed tonight had made my spirits soar, and now I’d finish my perfect evening with a perfect late-night supper at one of the finest restaurants in Minneapolis. When I’m seated, I’ll order the best wine they have to offer, a thick steak, and asparagus done just right. My mouth waters at the thought and a faint smile tugs at my lips. Moving away from the plate-glass window, I turn to where the maître d’ waits at his station, in his starched white shirt, black jacket, and impeccable bow tie. He gives me an appraising look, and suddenly nervous about my own appearance, I flick an imaginary piece of lint from my sleeve.
Picking up a menu, he gives me a smooth smile. “Will anyone be joining you?” he inquires with a note of superiority in his voice.
I resent it. Who does he think he is? He’s nothing more than a glorified waiter. If she had allowed me to follow my destiny, this man would’ve been fawning all over me. He would’ve been honored to have someone of my stature choose his establishment. Instead he looks at me as if I were ordinary.
Masking my irritation, I assess him with a cool eye. “No, I’m alone.”
His shoulders sag under the weight of my stare, and turning, he motions toward the half-empty dining room. “Right this way.”
I follow two steps behind as he leads me to a table near the doors to the kitchen area. Placing the menu on the table, he pulls out a chair.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” he says as he begins to glide away.
With a light touch to his arm, I stop his retreat. “This table is unacceptable,” I say in a low tone, and point to an empty one by the window. “I want to be seated there.”
“But due to the late hour, that area is closed,” he replies swiftly.
“Then open it,” I say, turning away from him and moving toward my selected table.
I hear a slight hiss as he follows in my wake, but ignore it. Reaching my destination, I wait patiently for him to pull out my chair. He does, and with a nod of my head, I smile tightly and take my seat.
“I’ll send someone right over.”
Satisfied, I pick up the menu to peruse the selections. Glancing over the top of it, I see the maître d’ engaged in a hurried discussion with one of the waiters. The man frowns as his eyes settle on me, while the maître d’ spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. With a shake of his head, the waiter picks up a water pitcher and heads my way. Returning my attention to the menu, I allow myself a triumphant
Had she been the one Sam had heard whispering? Had she been close enough to the cabin for her cigarette smoke to drift inside? The thought made Sam’s breath hitch. The drapes had been open. She could’ve been standing on the deck, watching, and Sam would’ve been oblivious to her prying eyes. She dropped the drapes and clutched her hand at her side. What in the hell was some woman doing wandering around the lake in her nightgown at this time of night? And on her dock?
She inched the edge of the drape aside.
The moonlight still reflected off the placid water and the dock still looked shaded in soft grays, but the woman had disappeared.
Dropping the drape, she flicked on the Maglite, then grasped it with both hands like a weapon and shambled back to the bedroom. Once over the threshold, she shut the door, locking it. Crossing the room, she crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, and turned on the bedside lamp.
She fell asleep clutching the Maglite to her chest.
Chapter Six
T he lights of the city spread out below me and a beautiful sense of freedom bubbles deep inside. I’ve escaped, at least for a little while. The opera I’d enjoyed tonight had made my spirits soar, and now I’d finish my perfect evening with a perfect late-night supper at one of the finest restaurants in Minneapolis. When I’m seated, I’ll order the best wine they have to offer, a thick steak, and asparagus done just right. My mouth waters at the thought and a faint smile tugs at my lips. Moving away from the plate-glass window, I turn to where the maître d’ waits at his station, in his starched white shirt, black jacket, and impeccable bow tie. He gives me an appraising look, and suddenly nervous about my own appearance, I flick an imaginary piece of lint from my sleeve.
Picking up a menu, he gives me a smooth smile. “Will anyone be joining you?” he inquires with a note of superiority in his voice.
I resent it. Who does he think he is? He’s nothing more than a glorified waiter. If she had allowed me to follow my destiny, this man would’ve been fawning all over me. He would’ve been honored to have someone of my stature choose his establishment. Instead he looks at me as if I were ordinary.
Masking my irritation, I assess him with a cool eye. “No, I’m alone.”
His shoulders sag under the weight of my stare, and turning, he motions toward the half-empty dining room. “Right this way.”
I follow two steps behind as he leads me to a table near the doors to the kitchen area. Placing the menu on the table, he pulls out a chair.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” he says as he begins to glide away.
With a light touch to his arm, I stop his retreat. “This table is unacceptable,” I say in a low tone, and point to an empty one by the window. “I want to be seated there.”
“But due to the late hour, that area is closed,” he replies swiftly.
“Then open it,” I say, turning away from him and moving toward my selected table.
I hear a slight hiss as he follows in my wake, but ignore it. Reaching my destination, I wait patiently for him to pull out my chair. He does, and with a nod of my head, I smile tightly and take my seat.
“I’ll send someone right over.”
Satisfied, I pick up the menu to peruse the selections. Glancing over the top of it, I see the maître d’ engaged in a hurried discussion with one of the waiters. The man frowns as his eyes settle on me, while the maître d’ spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. With a shake of his head, the waiter picks up a water pitcher and heads my way. Returning my attention to the menu, I allow myself a triumphant
Similar Books
