Page 50 of Dangerous Lover

Karla-Kara worked at an advertising agency, and talked about music he’d never heard of, films he’d never seen and bars he’d never been to. It was tedious.

He wanted her gone, so he could enjoy the big jar of contraband Crimean caviar and the bottle of $300 Dom Perignon in the fridge. They would be totally wasted on Karla-Kara, whatever the fuck her name was. At the bar where he’d picked her up, she was drinking some sugary drink and eating a club sandwich.

Maybe if he took enough time in the shower, she’d get the hint, get dressed and leave.

Fat chance. She looked settled, there in his bed, as if she didn’t want to ever leave. It was really annoying. He wished there were just a button he could press and hey presto!

No more Kara. Or Karla.

He was wishing that more and more often lately after sex.

She was okay in bed, but boring and vulgar outside of it. Sanders had had just about as much sex with her as he was willing to have. He looked down at himself, checking with his dick, seeing what happened at the thought of another round.

His dick stayed firmly down. So that was that.

The thought of more sex with her was actually just a little depressing.

Nope, Karla or Kara or whatever the fuck her name was, was shit out of luck.

He’d chosen the wrong woman to spend Christmas day with.

He knew the right woman, though he’d have to wait until after Christmas to get her into his bed.Backinto his bed. Back into his life.

Caroline Lake.

Their time had come, Sanders could feel it. He and Caroline had been dancing around each other since they were teenagers and the time had come to make it permanent. They’d broken up a few times, the first time in their teens. Well, he was going off to college back East, wasn’t he? And he couldn’t have a small town girlfriend dragging him down, no matter how rich her family, no matter how pretty she was.

And then Caroline came out East too, to Boston, an hour’s train ride away. And she’d become even more beautiful. They’d had a tumble in the sheets and he was seriously thinking of an engagement ring when her parents died in a car crash.

It was impossible after that.

Robert Lake had been making some bad investments when he died and what with the medical bills and her father’s debts, Caroline had skated bankruptcy, surviving by a hair with that bookshop of hers. With that and her grotesque brother, there’d been no time for him.

When Sanders had moved back to Summerville, he’d often thought about getting back together with Caroline, even though she didn’t have any money.

There were a lot of advantages to Caroline. She was beautiful, cultivated, and you could take her anywhere. As Sanders’ law practice grew, he often wished Caroline were by his side when talking with big clients. She had a magic touch with people that rubbed off on him by association. The few times he’d managed to convince her to accompany him to an important event, his stock went way up.

But she made it clear that her first, second and third loyalty was to Toby and that Sanders came in a miserable fourth.

Unacceptable.

It never failed to appall him—that she’d prefer a writhing pathetic cripple tohim,and to the life he could offer her.

He knew she was struggling, but that was her own damned fault. She insisted on holding on to that ancient pile of bricks that was falling down around her head and simply wouldn’t listen to reason, no matter how many times he told her to sell.

Sanders had quietly had Greenbriar appraised, and to his astonishment, though it was falling to pieces, it was worth over four million dollars. Something about the design or the architect. But still. Even more reason to sell it. It was at least seventy years old. She was sliding into genteel poverty, heading straight for ruin and he could save her ass, give her the life she’d been used to, but she turned her pretty nose up at him and chose to stay with her crippled brother.

It still baffled him.

All she had to do was sell that damned house, put Toby in a home where he belonged, and where other people didn’t have to see him. Then get together with him—getbacktogether with him, he never let her forget that she lost her virginity to him—and all her troubles would be over. He’d made that clear every way he could.

Well, Toby was dead now, thank God. This huge drain onher finances was over, not to mention the ick factor. Even now, the memory of Toby—crumpled in his wheelchair, face so scarred he looked like Freddie, hands slowly retracting into claws—was enough to make him sick.

Sanders had a very clear memory of the last date he and Caroline had had. He’d taken her to Chez Max, over in Bedford. Two hundred bucks a head, worth every penny.

Caroline had been particularly beautiful that evening, dressed in a black Versace. Sanders had no idea how she’d been able to afford a Versace, but there it was. And it looked terrific on her. She turned heads.

They were getting on just fine, too. Sanders could tell that she enjoyed the elegant surroundings and the superb food. He ordered a hundred dollar bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and they polished it off. Caroline was relaxed, so stunning he was finding it hard to keep his eyes off her.

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