Read Online Sins of the Flesh by Fern Michaels - Free Book Online Page A

more autonomous and selfish? Bebe shuddered and shook her head to banish the thoughts from her mind. Her hand automatically searched for the personally engraved silver flask that was never far from her grasp. With a trembling hand she took a good long desperate swallow, then stared idly out her window.
    The journey down Sepulveda was a familiar route from the Los Angeles County Airport. How many hundreds of times had she made it, she wondered dully. And always at the end of it, the house of her empty marriage. Only once, she realized, had she considered it home, and that was on her wedding day. On that day she had felt new and triumphant and full all at once. The disastrous past she and Reuben had shared together in France—when she had been forced to watch this man of her dreams in love with another woman—was behind her. On that new day there was no need to dwell on the nightmare rape that had resulted from her misfired attempt at seducing him, no need to brood upon the abandoned child of that crazed union. France and everything connected with it had faded in her memory as she’d walked down the aisle with her father and seen Reuben standing there, waiting to claim her as his own. But only a few hours later—from the time they arrived at 5633 Laurel Canyon—she was forced to recognize that all her hopes and dreams were hideously false—a realization borne out by the utterly pathetic eyes of her inebriated and impotent new husband. From that day on, their home had become Reuben Tarz’s house.
    Bebe’s eyes focused on the flask in her hand. She drained it dry and cursed under her breath.
    The estate at 5633 Laurel Canyon was choice and prestigious. It was filled with priceless objets d’art, paintings, and fine furnishings—so beautifully embellished that it had been photographed and written up numerous times in posh decorating magazines. The kitchen was a marvel of modern convenience, and the gardens were lush; their game room and private screening room were elaborate and unique. Reuben and Bebe Tarz had entertained and lived there and two children had grown up in it, at least part of the time, but it had never been a home.
    â€œDid you say 5633, lady?” The driver’s voice startled her.
    â€œYes, 5633 Laurel,” she managed to say. Impatiently she checked her watch. Two-fifteen A.M . Bebe looked up and saw that the driver was half slumped onto the front seat. “Could you please use the gas pedal with some authority?” she whined. “I’d really like to get home as soon as possible.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” he said, and sullenly pressed his foot down on the gas. His passenger’s furtive swigs from the silver flask had not passed unnoticed. Snippy, boozin’, society dame, he said to himself.
    Less than five minutes later the cab driver turned onto the long driveway and brought the car to a grinding halt in front of the large, stately mansion. “Fifty-six thirty-three Laurel, lady. It doesn’t look like anyone is awake,” he said matter-of-factly, and shifted on his seat to stare at her. “That’ll be fifteen dollars.”
    Bebe handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” she said magnanimously.
    The driver glanced at the twenty, then at her, and sniffed his displeasure. “If you want your bags carried inside, that’s an extra five dollars,” he said boldly.
    â€œAll right,” Bebe said wearily as she fished around in her purse for another bill. All she found was a wad of twenties crunched in a ball. When she handed him one and was rewarded with a smile, she decided not to ask for her change.
    It was no surprise to her that the house was still the same even though she’d been gone for three months. It was always the same. Only she changed; each time she returned she was different in one little way or another. It took some effort, but she straightened her back as she climbed the