Yesterday Conor went to Charisse’s room in the middle of the night. I won’t be posting the scene because of the sexy sex. You can read it at:
I will start at the end of the chapter you missed. Enjoy!
Charisse woke up sore and frustrated. When she slipped the sheet aside, she saw small bruises where Conor’s fingers had dug into her thighs. Worth it, except that he wasn’t with her.
She sat up and glanced around the room, hoping for a sign of him. On the nightstand were two envelopes addressed to her: one in Raul’s handwriting and one in Conor’s. She grabbed the one from Conor first.
I’ve wanted to bring you here since I first saw you, but it was a mistake. I have too much past here. I need to sort out my thoughts. The house and cars are yours while I’m gone. Raul will get you whatever you need. On Monday a therapist will arrive to talk to you as well as a personal trainer. You said you took yoga, and I didn’t want you to miss too many classes. Becca’s party is Saturday. I’m having Raul give you an invitation. I need you there with me. And then Puerto Rico.
Conor kicked up sand as he walked along the beach from his resort in San Juan to a small tourist shopping strip. He stared at his phone screen. No angry calls from Charisse. No texts calling him a rat bastard. It was freaking Wednesday, and the first week of the contract would be over tomorrow. She was probably having a party, at least a Charisse style party. He pictured her having one or two friends over to the mansion for a couple nights. Nothing wild. Just a lot of talk and probably chick-flicks in the theatre. He loved her sweetness.
He curled his empty hand as if trying to hold hers. He should’ve brought her with him.
He slipped the phone back into the pocket of his casual tan pants, stopped walking and turned to stare out towards the ocean. A breeze blew the scent of salt water to him. The afternoon sun flashed off of shallow blues that blended in to a deeper azure further out. There were people swimming and a few sailboards but not too many. Just the way he liked it. If Charisse were here, he’d kiss her and convince her to go back to the resort for more love making, delaying his errand. An errand he was doing for her.
But he was a big wuss.
He’d received a call Sunday from the private investigator he’d hired to find Charisse’s mom. He’d found her in San Juan under the name Gianna Torres. This was a great excuse to avoid talking about Elise and try to help Charisse reconnect with her mom.
Charisse might not believe him about Elise. The police had investigated and were satisfied it was a tragic accident, but what if it wasn’t enough for Charisse? He needed to do something that showed her he cared about her. Getting here was easy; approaching Gianna was a whole other story.
He turned and crossed the beach toward the back of a yellow building with white trim that faced the street. As he got closer he tried to see through the window if Gianna was working. According to the investigator, she owned the cafe, but, like Charisse, she tended her own business. He walked around to the front and onto the sidewalk. A blended iced coffee drink with whipped cream on top was painted on the glass door. He’d made the mistake of coming early in the afternoon the first day when it seemed like every tourist in San Juan had been in the cafe for one of those.
Yesterday he’d fared better and actually had her as his waitress when he came in during a late afternoon lull, but he hadn’t said anything besides his order. He opened the door and entered. It was barely cooler than the outside.
He caught his breath for a second when he saw her curly hair drawn together in a ponytail just like Charisse. Except for a few grey streaks, Gianna’s hair looked exactly like Charisse’s. She was fixing a new pot of coffee, but she turned around.
“You’re back,” Gianna said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have a seat wherever you like. I’ll be right with you.”