He did.

"Something wrong?"

"You tell me. Is there a problem with you and Dr. Patel?"

Mathew frowned. "Patel?"

At first clueless, he soon recalled the last time he saw Patel. "What have you heard?"

"There was an altercation. I got wagging tongues on every floor of this hospital."

"And?"

"Dr. Donnelly, don't be coy. I asked Dr. Patel and he refused to comment. So I'm asking you. Is there a problem?"

"We had words. That's all."

"I sincerely hope that's all. Let's not forget the tenure you seek."

"How can I when you are here to constantly remind me?"

She rose from behind the cramped little desk stacked with file folders. The lenses on her frames seemed to fog over by the heated glare she shot him. "The board took a risk bringing you to Mercy. We did so because you happen to be a good doctor. But let's be clear. This isn't Charleston. We won't put up with violence against our patients or doctors. Not on my watch."

Mathew's jaw clenched. He seethed silently at the patronizing tone directed to him. Nope, this wasn't Charleston. n.o.body knew that better than him. The s.h.i.t he's seen in this hospital that went unchallenged made her little speech a joke. Patel was a slug and one she encouraged. Who the f.u.c.k did she think she was fooling?

"I suggest you investigate the behaviors of all your doctors so everyone is clear on your expectations." He spat the words contemptuously.

"I run this hospital. I know which doctors have ethics issues. Trust me."

He swallowed hard. What was to come next would have him walking out on his new life and going into private practice. But he didn't. He lost his cool, something he vowed never to do again. It nearly cost him his medical license down in Charleston. He would have to do better.

"That's all, doctor. Thank you."

Stepping back, he then turned and walked out. He hated f.u.c.king Mondays.

Chapter Twelve.

Costco Simone Simone tried to wrench free. It didn't matter. Keith pressed on with his kiss. Like a conqueror, he wielded such force that she had no choice but to grant him his husbandly needs. Her body betrayed her mind and yielded to the masterful sensory a.s.sault. Keith knew her, at least the part of her that over the past six years found this acceptable and in some cases even pleasurable.

It was hopeless. She lay covered under the expanse of his broad chest. His necktie grazed lightly between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as the sheet and the front of her gown slipped down from his tugging. He used one hand to pin her wrist above her head and the other to ravage her. His lips were rough and his touch abrasive. With his free hand, he gripped her breast and squeezed hard, then pinching her right nipple. Was it her imagination or had she really lost all desire for her man?

Again, she felt hopeless. Her mind and heart dueled over her mixed emotions. She tried to deny more of the kiss, despite the push of his tongue. He won. He always did. She weakened and relaxed. The tongue lashing lingered bitterly on her palate mixing with the sour after-taste of her own morning breath.

When the kiss ended, he grinned down at her. She frowned up at him. "Morning," she said, not sure what else would be appropriate after such ravishment. Did he really think that was something she wanted? She resisted the urge to wipe off his saliva from the corners of her wet mouth.

Keith held her in place, his eyes beseeching. For what, she wondered? Why wake her like this when he went to bed with a pout? Did she talk in her sleep? Kim complained constantly when they were kids that she would. G.o.d, she hoped not. There was no telling what she would say.

He smiled down at her adoringly. He prided himself on being her Prince Charming. The kiss he granted to be one of every little girl's dreams. Somebody please buy my husband a clue!

The tips of his fingers grazed her cheek, tracing, ending at the point of her chin. There he pinched between his thumb and index finger to tilt her head a little back into the pillow. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

Her cheeks burned hot. He hadn't told her she was beautiful in-she didn't remember the last time he said such things. Then he ruined it. "What's wrong with your hair? Lately, it's always messy. It was always so nice and groomed when you had the salon. I don't like when you let it air dry all bushy like this."

She rolled her eyes.

He smiled and continued, "I had some time to think in the shower. I've been insensitive, an a.s.s. No wonder you've been giving me att.i.tude." He took hold of her chin again. "Hey, look at me. I'm trying to talk to you here. We made it, babe. This is our start over. Right now we have everything at our fingertips: a new home, new life, new us. I've barely been there to help you enjoy it."

"You have a lot of pressure on you," she answered. "Keith, can you move? I'm uncomfortable."

"Shhh," He pressed his pointer finger to her lips to silence her. "You were pretty cold to me last night. I hate when you push me away."

"I was tired."

"Tired of me?"

"Tired period. Just tired, okay? What's this about?"

"I'm thinking we need to call Dr. Nichols and get you a referral. You can start seeing someone down here. Mother said there's a good therapist right outside of Castle Rock. An old college chum of hers."

"What? I don't need to see another therapist!"

"Calm down, Simone," Keith said in a threatening tone.

"You are unbelievable!" She sat up, which forced him to lift. "I refuse s.e.x one night, and now I need a therapist?"

"Of course not. It's more than that. I've been sensing att.i.tude. You've been a little s.p.a.cey."

"And you've been a jerk! How about that?" Simone shot back.

"Enough of this!" He leveled his finger at her.

"Or what? Keith, back off! I'm telling you, back off!"

His jaw clenched and he forced his tone to remain even and in control, but his glare was purposeful. "I just want us to stay on track. That is what you want, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"You still want that baby, don't you?" His hand flat to her thigh gave a slow caress. Her eyes dropped away. Suddenly, being stuffed with his kid wasn't all that appealing. "You have to give me p.u.s.s.y if you do," he said, lifting her chin. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her chin away and crossed her arms.

"Simone, talk to me. What do you need?"

"Right now I'd settle for you dropping the therapist talk. We did the marriage counseling. This time it's on us, Keith. We don't need another person in our marriage to make that clear." That familiar wave of doubt swept through her, gnawing at her confidence. "No therapist. Especially not one of your mother's friends!"

"Okay, that's fair," he sighed. He had the nerve to be disappointed. She narrowed her eyes on him. Therapy was his way to make her feel like her feelings weren't rational. A scam! She remembered the days of him just sitting there and barely speaking unless it was to point out something she did. Keith could go on and on about anything and everything that drove a wedge between them, except for him. She knew this game. She was done with second guessing herself. As far as she was concerned, he was the one with 'issues'. A narcissistic control freak with that 'special negro' syndrome that Dennis used to laugh about. Yep! That was his issue, not hers.

His eyes softened on her and so did his tone, if not somewhat mockingly. "Don't get upset, babe. Come on... work with me here."

Resentment and anger coiled into a tight knot at the center of her chest. For several long minutes the silence built brick by brick, that familiar wall of distrust she had for him. Sure, she was challenging him out of reflex, but he was patronizing her from the same bad habit. How were they ever going to get back to the place where she felt safe and loved with him? How?

Keith leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss between her brows. He then rubbed the side of his freshly shaven jaw against hers while he whispered in her ear. "Tonight, I'm taking you to dinner. I'll deliver on it this time. I promise. So be s.e.xy for me. No more fighting, okay? I need you, girl. I'm sorry."

How little an apology meant nowadays. No longer confirmation that he saw her, respected her, could treat her with love, it was just words. His face drew away then came in once more for a sweeter kiss, one that brought forth a surge of affection she carried for him. She smiled despite herself, bit down on her bottom lip, hopeful once again.

Keith rose, adjusting his tie. From the bed she watched him slip on his sports coat and his gla.s.ses. "Oh, and make sure you take in my cleaning. I want my grey suit for this week. Have an important meeting on Friday," he said and walked out.

Simone fell back on her stacked pillows. She pulled the covers up and closed her eyes, listened as he trotted down the steps, picked up his keys on the table near the door and then slammed out. She rolled over and curled up under the warmth. "I hate Mondays."

"Morning!"

Was it morning already?

Cain groaned. He pressed his fingers to his lids and expelled a deep breath then dropped his head back, forcing his lashes, sticky with sleep, to open. Maryanne breezed in. Disoriented for a moment, he struggled to focus his blurred vision on his wife. She was radiant and happy. Her long sheer pink robe uncovered a satin gown with high raised splits on either side. Her tresses bounced along her shoulders with a golden sheen as the folds of her robe parted to reveal her perfect figure. In her hands she carried a breakfast tray. Maryanne rarely cooked. It wasn't her thing. That was a blessing, because daddy's princess could burn water. Cain pushed up on his elbows a.s.sailed by the pungent perfume of charred toast and scorched eggs.

"What's this?"

"Breakfast, silly!" she giggled. "I did it all by myself! After last night, you deserve it." She gave him a s.e.xy wink.

He rubbed his eyes. "Last night?"

"Cain? You were there. You nearly blew my back out. It's been so long since we... well you know."

"Yeah, yeah, last night, right." He remembered. h.e.l.l, he had a cramp in his d.i.c.k from it. What had him reeling was his morning headache. He'd barely gotten two or three hours of sleep. Suddenly, clarity cleared out the fog from his mind. He f.u.c.ked her alright, managing the worse offense of their marital bed. He spent every minute of it thinking of Simone. He was losing it.

"I need to shower."

"Cain, Eat first."

"No. Keith Livingston gets in early. I need to be there." He rose and stepped around her when she didn't move. "Excuse me."

Maryanne reluctantly stepped back with the tray in hand. "How about we do lunch today, you and me... I could fix something and bring it to the office."

"Can't. I got meetings," he rasped. The door closed on her objection, though he heard the m.u.f.fled sounds of her whiney complaints from behind the wood. "d.a.m.n." He groaned, dropping his head back. He gave his neck a roll to release the tension that ran down tightly from his jaw. It didn't work. Sleep would help, but what he really needed was a f.u.c.king break to get the h.e.l.l out of Castle Rock and clear his head, decide on what he could and couldn't live with and make a stand. He needed to be honest with Joseph about their mother. That would be the start.

"s.h.i.t," he groaned. He pushed away from the door, the b.a.l.l.s of his feet chilled by the icy-cold squared tiles along the bathroom floor. Cain stopped at the sink, leaned forward. He gripped the basin's edge. Soon his gaze lifted to the mirror. And his thoughts scampered vaguely around the events of the past few days along with his growing restlessness in his marriage. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing man? Do you even know anymore?"

His reflection remained mute, but in his eyes he was aware. He made a f.u.c.king choice. He had to live with it. Dropping his head, he shook it in defeat. "I f.u.c.king hate Mondays."

If her hair wasn't already a tangled bush, she would have stepped under the soothing spray and allowed her self to drown in it. Instead, she dropped her head back. With her hands resting flat against the wall, she let the water run streams between the valley of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and down her flat tummy into the downy trimmed forest of her s.e.x.

How good it was.

Like a lover's touch, it covered her sensitive skin and soaked through her thirsty pores to relax away the tension and weariness she carried deep inside. She stayed like that forever. In fact, she stayed in the shower so long she was only forced out when those gentle waters turned to ice. Nonetheless refreshed, Simone became hopeful about her adventure in town. What would Cain do or say this time? Cain Gatlin was the most intriguing man she'd ever met. He was charming, funny, s.e.xy, smart, and willing to be goofy. Her connection with him was instant. She wanted more of it.

She could see him walking down the shopping aisles in his business suit making her smile, focusing those magnificent pair of baby-blues on her when he spoke. What a crazy, s.e.xy mix of adventure and the forbidden he was! She laughed to herself, but hesitated to define what her meaning of s.e.xy really was.

Simone blotted the towel over her drying skin with a broadening smile. The day definitely had promise. That was until her eyes flipped to the mirror and she got a good look at herself. Keith was right. Her hair was a rat's nest. Unruly and kinky, it had a dull dishwater brown shade to it that she constantly muted with dark rinses. It was drawn up into a fuzzy mess. Oh how she longed to take a pair of scissors to cut it down to a more stylish look. Her monstrosity took her four long years to grow. Before she forced herself to look the part of an executive's wife, she'd rock short trendy cuts and even braids at times. Now this. All this maintenance was one thing when she could have one of her girls tend to it, but the daily maintenance would bore her to tears. The myth of stylists loving to do their own hair was bulls.h.i.t. She never had that great of an appreciation for herself.

"I give up!"

Simone plugged in a pair of ceramic flat irons and her electric straightening comb. Then she hurried through her ritual grooming. The electric toothbrush buzzed over each tooth, polishing, while her special blend of creams and cleansers scrubbed away and exfoliated the dead cells from her face. That was until she heard the phone ringing in the bedroom.

"It's about time." She threw the rag into the hollow of the sink. She'd been waiting on her sister's call since yesterday. Slipping on Keith's robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door, she padded out into the bedroom, stopping to retrieve the ringing cordless.

"Girl, what the h.e.l.l took you so long?" she answered.

"Simone?"

"Mama Livingston?" Simone frowned.

"Yes, dear, it's me. Were you expecting someone else?"

Simone sat on the corner edge of the bed and bit down hard on the inside of her jaw in disappointment. "No, yes, Kim. How are you?"

"Things are well. George is recovering from a cold. He was caught in the rain while sailing. I honestly can't say that I feel sorry for him. I've told him over and over about these wild hair ideas. The man is nearing seventy. He gave thirty years to the bench and now he needs to retire."

"Well, everyone needs a little adventure."

"No dear, what he needs is grandbabies to occupy his days, not sailboats."

"Right, so... you just missed Keith."

"Oh, I know."

"Okay?"

The pause between them had her searching for something more to say. She cleared the awkwardness with her throat. "So, why are you calling?"

"Excuse me?" her mother in-law replied.