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Authors: Samantha Westlake
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finger stabbed out, Barry immediately took an instinctive step towards the door, but then paused. "Come on, Rebecca," he said, trying to put on a calming smile as he turned back towards me. "Look, we had some good times together, didn't we? There's no reason that this has to get nasty between us."
"Has to get nasty?" My mouth dropped open. "Barry, those good times were built on lies! You were cheating on me for what, months, before I found out? And you expect me to just forgive you for all that?"
"I'd forgive you if you had cheated on me," he pointed out, as if this made everything hunky-dory.
"Yeah, well, now I'm wishing that I had cheated on you," I snapped back at him. "Maybe with someone who can go for more than thirty seconds without getting winded and needing me to climb on top!"
Barry winced, and I grinned savagely to myself. Score one point for Becca!
"Clearly, you're not in a reasonable mood to talk about this," Barry said, now retreating towards the front door of the gallery. "I'll come back when you're less emotional."
"Emotional?" I howled, looking around for something to throw at him. My hand strayed temptingly towards a heavy looking stapler sitting on the desk, but my good sense managed to intervene at the last second and convince me that an assault charge wouldn't look good to my long-suffering lawyer. "Get out, before I do something that's a lot more than just emotional!"
My hand finally settled on a binder clip, which I hurled overhand at Barry. It hit him in the neck, but didn't have quite the same impact that I imagined the stapler would leave on his fleshy, soft skin. Still, Barry's eyes widened and he quickened his retreat.
"Good to see you, Rebecca," he called out quickly before the door closed. My eyes widened, but he was gone before I could manage to find a suitable insult.
I stood there behind the front desk of the Halesford Gallery, glaring at the door with an intensity probably strong enough to send invisible beams of hatred straight through the wood. Maybe, if this was a fair and just universe, my hatred would earth itself in Barry's stomach and give him some ulcers or dyspepsia or that Irritable Bowel thing that seemed to feature in so many TV adverts.
"Well, that was interesting."
What? Who said that? I jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning around as my eyes flew wide open in surprise.
I spotted the speaker immediately as he moved forward, standing up from the wall he'd been leaning against behind me. He'd been in the second room of the gallery, with a line of sight on both Barry and me, but not close enough for either of us to notice his presence. He now advanced forward, and I felt a little chill of something run down my spine.
"Old friend?" he asked, dark eyes the color of black coffee examining me.
"Um, ex-husband. Who are you?" I stammered out.
He smiled. "Must be a recent break."
I caught myself halfway through a nod, trying to regain my conversational balance. "Seriously, who are you? When did you come in here?"
He smiled, and brilliantly white teeth flashed in strong contrast against skin the color of coffee with lots of creamer. "Name's Onyx. Heard of me?"
Chapter Nine
*
"Onyx?" I repeated dumbly, staring back at this man who'd somehow managed to sneak into the art gallery as I argued with my ex-husband. Maybe not the best first impression, I considered ruefully to myself.
I seemed to have a problem with that, as of late - especially when it came to sexy, handsome, mysterious men.
He nodded, taking another step forward. He crossed over to where the binder clip that I'd chucked at Barry's head had landed, and bent over to pick it up. I tried to not ogle him as he leaned down, his long, mocha fingers extended out, and failed miserably.
Onyx looked like he stood at least a few inches over six feet tall, long and limber with cords of muscle standing out on his exposed forearms. I didn't doubt for a moment that those bands of muscle also extended over the rest of
"Has to get nasty?" My mouth dropped open. "Barry, those good times were built on lies! You were cheating on me for what, months, before I found out? And you expect me to just forgive you for all that?"
"I'd forgive you if you had cheated on me," he pointed out, as if this made everything hunky-dory.
"Yeah, well, now I'm wishing that I had cheated on you," I snapped back at him. "Maybe with someone who can go for more than thirty seconds without getting winded and needing me to climb on top!"
Barry winced, and I grinned savagely to myself. Score one point for Becca!
"Clearly, you're not in a reasonable mood to talk about this," Barry said, now retreating towards the front door of the gallery. "I'll come back when you're less emotional."
"Emotional?" I howled, looking around for something to throw at him. My hand strayed temptingly towards a heavy looking stapler sitting on the desk, but my good sense managed to intervene at the last second and convince me that an assault charge wouldn't look good to my long-suffering lawyer. "Get out, before I do something that's a lot more than just emotional!"
My hand finally settled on a binder clip, which I hurled overhand at Barry. It hit him in the neck, but didn't have quite the same impact that I imagined the stapler would leave on his fleshy, soft skin. Still, Barry's eyes widened and he quickened his retreat.
"Good to see you, Rebecca," he called out quickly before the door closed. My eyes widened, but he was gone before I could manage to find a suitable insult.
I stood there behind the front desk of the Halesford Gallery, glaring at the door with an intensity probably strong enough to send invisible beams of hatred straight through the wood. Maybe, if this was a fair and just universe, my hatred would earth itself in Barry's stomach and give him some ulcers or dyspepsia or that Irritable Bowel thing that seemed to feature in so many TV adverts.
"Well, that was interesting."
What? Who said that? I jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning around as my eyes flew wide open in surprise.
I spotted the speaker immediately as he moved forward, standing up from the wall he'd been leaning against behind me. He'd been in the second room of the gallery, with a line of sight on both Barry and me, but not close enough for either of us to notice his presence. He now advanced forward, and I felt a little chill of something run down my spine.
"Old friend?" he asked, dark eyes the color of black coffee examining me.
"Um, ex-husband. Who are you?" I stammered out.
He smiled. "Must be a recent break."
I caught myself halfway through a nod, trying to regain my conversational balance. "Seriously, who are you? When did you come in here?"
He smiled, and brilliantly white teeth flashed in strong contrast against skin the color of coffee with lots of creamer. "Name's Onyx. Heard of me?"
Chapter Nine
*
"Onyx?" I repeated dumbly, staring back at this man who'd somehow managed to sneak into the art gallery as I argued with my ex-husband. Maybe not the best first impression, I considered ruefully to myself.
I seemed to have a problem with that, as of late - especially when it came to sexy, handsome, mysterious men.
He nodded, taking another step forward. He crossed over to where the binder clip that I'd chucked at Barry's head had landed, and bent over to pick it up. I tried to not ogle him as he leaned down, his long, mocha fingers extended out, and failed miserably.
Onyx looked like he stood at least a few inches over six feet tall, long and limber with cords of muscle standing out on his exposed forearms. I didn't doubt for a moment that those bands of muscle also extended over the rest of
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