Death by Chocolate

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Rick set my cup down on my coffee table, the one I found years ago at a garage sale and he would never let me use in our house where everything had to match. The table was wrought iron with a top of colorful mosaic tiles, most of which were intact and unchipped. It had character.

"You never liked that table," I snapped, tossing the newspaper down beside his cup. "Get away from it."

He lifted his arms toward me and smiled. Given enough time, I could learn to hate that smile. But not quite yet. Against all common sense, it still had the power to tickle the edges of my heart.

"C'mere, babe."

I took a step backward.

He rose and came after me. I reminded myself that he hadn't come after me the evening I left. In fact, instead of falling to his knees and begging my forgiveness after I'd caught him in our bed with that Fluffy person, he'd pointed out that this house was between tenants, empty and available, and maybe I should move in. He and Buffy the Erection Slayer would keep the one we'd been living in since it was too expensive for me. Real magnanimous of him.

The memory of that nightmare afternoon-the pain and the anger-washed over me. I turned and headed for the door. I'd go back outside. Hide in the bushes. Crawl down the storm sewer. Take up jogging and run to Oklahoma. Whatever it took to get away from him.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and started nibbling the side of my neck.

Somebody moaned, somebody with no pride and no common sense. Me.

"We never used to have the paper delivered," he whispered. "Let's toss that one in Paula's yard, and I'll go out for another one, just like I used to do every Sunday. I'll bring back a paper and some of those chocolate doughnuts you love. We'll sit in bed and read the paper while we eat doughnuts." He nibbled the other side of my neck. "And you can read the comics out loud while I do some wicked things to your body." He ran his hands over my body and pulled it against his, reminding me of some of those wicked things he'd done as recently as last night.

Fortunately, the chocolate doughnuts also reminded me of some other wicked things he'd done.

"You chose that doughnut place across town so you'd have time to go see your girl-friend-of-the-week for a quickie before coming home," I reminded him, pulling back and facing him. "The doughnuts were to give you the energy to perform again with me."

He ducked his head and looked repentant. Well, as close to repentant as it was possible for him to look. "Lindsay, I'm sorry. I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes. I love you and I've missed you."

I'm sorry. I made a mistake, a lot of mistakes. I love you and I've missed you. I knew they were just empty words, a sales spiel. I knew he wasn't going to change. Still, I'd been waiting six weeks to hear him say that...and he did know how to press all the right buttons. I knew I needed to shove him away, check out the storm sewer, run for my life and sanity. But I remained standing there, inches away from my tormentor.

He could see I was vacillating. He moved closer and put his arms around my waist, his forehead against mine. Affectionate and familiar rather than seductive. He was a very good salesman. "Remember when we first got married and we were so broke we had to sleep on the floor? The ironing board doubled as our table. A big night for us was a picnic in the park. I'd take that old guitar I got at a pawn shop and sing to you. For our first anniversary, I climbed a tree and sang Mariah." He began to sing softly in a voice that matched his smile.

This trip down Memory Lane was much more seductive than all the caresses of the night before.

Behind us something thudded and made a hideous rowring noise.