joy of being together. Eventually, his distress began to wane.
He rolled her and spooned himself behind her, an arm draped across her stomach.
"I was going to have sex with you," he said, "but I'm too exhausted."
She chuckled. "I like being with you like this. I don't need anything else to happen."
"Good, because I can't do anything but this. I feel a thousand years old."
His respiration was slowing, and she warned, "Don't fall asleep."
"I won't."
"I mean it." She propped herself on an elbow and glanced back at him. "I can't have the kids find you here in the morning. I couldn't explain it to them."
"I'll leave in awhile. I just have to catch my breath."
He settled her down, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her thigh.
"Did my grandfather love you?" he asked.
"As a daughter. As a granddaughter." She could feel him nod, and she smiled. "Have I finally shed the title of gold digger?"
"For now." He smiled too. "Unless I stumble on some new scandal."
"You won't. With me, what you see is what you get."
"He was smart to pick you."
"Not smart. Brilliant."
He laughed, the sound soft and low. He was big and warm and comforting, and she was thrilled to have him in her bed. How long would she be able to keep him there?
Ultimately, he'd tire of her, and she'd be crushed, but she'd learn to deal with it. She'd steel herself against despair.
She had more than he had. She had a family, one that had been cobbled together from nothing. She had people who loved her, people who would sustain her after he left.
Who and what did he have? Who would sustain him as he meandered through the troubled times ahead?
She was lucky. Luckier than he was.
Her eyes drifted shut and she slumbered. When she woke, he was gone and there was not the slightest hint that he'd ever been there at all.
* * *
Angela sat in the dingy bar, smoking a cigarette and furtively studying the other patrons. The place was a dive, and she hated it. She should have been rubbing elbows with a better clientele, but the owner's prices were all she could afford.
She was broke, so she shouldn't have been drinking, and if Gracie found out, Angela would never hear the end of it. But sheesh, it was Friday night, and she wasn't about to mope in her apartment.
Someone put money in the jukebox and selected a boring country song, exactly the kind of tune she'd expect from such a bunch of losers.
She shifted on her barstool and gazed into the mirror behind the bar, surreptitiously checking out every male. Most were with girlfriends or wives, and those who were alone looked like criminals.
There were a couple of prospects in the backroom shooting pool, and she'd probably have to wedge herself into a game. Pool players could usually be counted on to buy her a drink.
The door opened, and a customer entered. As she downed the last of her whiskey sour, he slid onto the adjacent barstool.
She peeked over at him and was stunned to discover that a black-haired, blue-eyed Adonis had arrived. What was such a luscious guy doing in such a crappy spot?
"Hey, don't I know you?" he said.
If was a pathetic come-on, but she wasn't about to complain.
"No."
"Are you sure? I could have sworn you were friends with Faith Benjamin."
"Ah…yeah I am. She's sort of my sister."
"I thought so. I'm Dustin Merriweather."
"Angela Turner."
He extended his hand, and she shook it, tamping down her spurt of excitement.
Dustin Merriweather!
Was she dreaming?
For the past two weeks, she'd been gagging over Faith's fling with his brother. When he'd sent her those diamond earrings, Angela could have dropped dead with envy and resentment. Maybe her luck was changing, maybe she was about to get what she deserved.
"Could I buy you a drink?" he asked.
"I wouldn't say no."
He peered around, assessing the busted tables, the dilapidated chairs, the litter on the floor. It was a dump, and he knew it.
"This place doesn't suit you," he realized. "Do you come here very often?"
"It's close to my
He rolled her and spooned himself behind her, an arm draped across her stomach.
"I was going to have sex with you," he said, "but I'm too exhausted."
She chuckled. "I like being with you like this. I don't need anything else to happen."
"Good, because I can't do anything but this. I feel a thousand years old."
His respiration was slowing, and she warned, "Don't fall asleep."
"I won't."
"I mean it." She propped herself on an elbow and glanced back at him. "I can't have the kids find you here in the morning. I couldn't explain it to them."
"I'll leave in awhile. I just have to catch my breath."
He settled her down, his fingers stroking lazy circles on her thigh.
"Did my grandfather love you?" he asked.
"As a daughter. As a granddaughter." She could feel him nod, and she smiled. "Have I finally shed the title of gold digger?"
"For now." He smiled too. "Unless I stumble on some new scandal."
"You won't. With me, what you see is what you get."
"He was smart to pick you."
"Not smart. Brilliant."
He laughed, the sound soft and low. He was big and warm and comforting, and she was thrilled to have him in her bed. How long would she be able to keep him there?
Ultimately, he'd tire of her, and she'd be crushed, but she'd learn to deal with it. She'd steel herself against despair.
She had more than he had. She had a family, one that had been cobbled together from nothing. She had people who loved her, people who would sustain her after he left.
Who and what did he have? Who would sustain him as he meandered through the troubled times ahead?
She was lucky. Luckier than he was.
Her eyes drifted shut and she slumbered. When she woke, he was gone and there was not the slightest hint that he'd ever been there at all.
* * *
Angela sat in the dingy bar, smoking a cigarette and furtively studying the other patrons. The place was a dive, and she hated it. She should have been rubbing elbows with a better clientele, but the owner's prices were all she could afford.
She was broke, so she shouldn't have been drinking, and if Gracie found out, Angela would never hear the end of it. But sheesh, it was Friday night, and she wasn't about to mope in her apartment.
Someone put money in the jukebox and selected a boring country song, exactly the kind of tune she'd expect from such a bunch of losers.
She shifted on her barstool and gazed into the mirror behind the bar, surreptitiously checking out every male. Most were with girlfriends or wives, and those who were alone looked like criminals.
There were a couple of prospects in the backroom shooting pool, and she'd probably have to wedge herself into a game. Pool players could usually be counted on to buy her a drink.
The door opened, and a customer entered. As she downed the last of her whiskey sour, he slid onto the adjacent barstool.
She peeked over at him and was stunned to discover that a black-haired, blue-eyed Adonis had arrived. What was such a luscious guy doing in such a crappy spot?
"Hey, don't I know you?" he said.
If was a pathetic come-on, but she wasn't about to complain.
"No."
"Are you sure? I could have sworn you were friends with Faith Benjamin."
"Ah…yeah I am. She's sort of my sister."
"I thought so. I'm Dustin Merriweather."
"Angela Turner."
He extended his hand, and she shook it, tamping down her spurt of excitement.
Dustin Merriweather!
Was she dreaming?
For the past two weeks, she'd been gagging over Faith's fling with his brother. When he'd sent her those diamond earrings, Angela could have dropped dead with envy and resentment. Maybe her luck was changing, maybe she was about to get what she deserved.
"Could I buy you a drink?" he asked.
"I wouldn't say no."
He peered around, assessing the busted tables, the dilapidated chairs, the litter on the floor. It was a dump, and he knew it.
"This place doesn't suit you," he realized. "Do you come here very often?"
"It's close to my
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