Excerpt: Copyrighted Material
CHAPTER ONE
Sarah stepped back from the partly-open door as smoothly and as silently as she could.
It wasn't easy. The thought of disturbing the occupants of the room, of making them realise that she was here, and that she had seen them, made her heart race and her head swim.
Beneath the bright red-gold hair, her face had lost colour, the brilliant emerald green of her eyes standing out dramatically against the pallor of her cheeks.
She felt sick—sick with anger and betrayal—and she needed a minute or two to pull herself together before she faced the inevitable. She had to get downstairs again. Had to get away from the scene that had met her shocked eyes as she had first opened the door, taking with it the degree of peace of mind that just lately she had thought that she had finally reached.
Peace of mind. Huh!
That was a laugh! she told herself as she reached the top of the stairs. Peace was something she hadn't known in a long, long time. Not true peace. Not the wonderful soul-rooted peace that came from knowing you were truly happy, deep, deep down.
Truly happy and contented with your world. As she had been once, she'd thought, in a time that now seemed so long ago.
No, she wouldn't think of the past now. Couldn't think of it. She had to concentrate on the here and now. The past was what would destroy here ability to handle this.
'Sarah?'
Jason's voice; thick and rough with shock.
Sounds of the bed creaking. Of the thud of heavy, masculine feet on the carpeted floor. He had heard her and was coming after her.
The man in the hallway heard the sounds too. Heard the voice—a very male voice that made his heart kick sharply and something like disgust twist painfully in his gut.
She had a man. Here. In this house they once had shared. Clearly she hadn't believed his threat to come back—and soon.
But not soon enough it seemed. His sweet Sarah had been busy during his absence. She had found herself another man. Found him and lost him too, if the haste with which the slim auburn haired figure in the smart pale green shirt and darker pencil skirt was coming down the curving staircase was anything to go by.
Sarah was not happy. So unhappy that she didn't see him standing well back, where his black hair and dark leather jacket blended with the deep shadow, of the door And that being so, it told its own story of just what she had discovered up in that first floor bedroom.
The bedroom that had once been theirs.
It was a thought of dark rage, one that brought a red mist rising before his eyes, cutting off his vision completely, and destroying his ability to think rationally. To think at all.
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The Married Mistress by Kate Walker
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