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frustrations on his appliance wasn’t going to melt the chilly icicle running through Lauren’s spine. She’d always been a cool female. For years he tried to shake the feeling she didn’t approve of him, but he wasn’t the same person anymore—little remained of the guy who’d earned her censure.
    Truth be told, he was a cad and a pig back then. He deserved her criticism for being a slave to his over-stimulated gonads, but he never, not once, took advantage of anyone. He wasn’t a predator. The girls he slept with were all willing, experienced, and open to experimentation. Half the time they pursued him, and they knew better than to expect false promises, which worked for him because he wasn’t about to make them either.
    But Lauren was different. He’d recognized it right away. She was a nice girl, a sweet girl. She wore her virginity like a locket around her neck, and picturing Lauren in pristine white cotton bikinis used to drive him crazier than all the silky panties he was used to tugging down in a heated moment. It was probably a good thing Sherry threatened his Camaro with retribution if he pursued Lauren his senior year. As much as Lauren drew him he wasn’t ready for a nice girl. It was too soon, and he had a lot to work out of his system first—an awful lot.
    It was also pretty damn clear, had he broken his own rule about virgins back then, he wouldn’t have enjoyed a simple cup of coffee with her tonight. It was good he’d left her alone, but it didn’t mean he had to now. No, he was back for more reasons than he’d shared with anyone. He was back for Lauren, but he had to bide his time, prove himself to her, because she wasn’t ready to hear it. She was more guarded than he remembered, more serious.
    Wes flipped off the light behind him and padded on bare feet to his bedroom. He pulled his dirty clothes off the top of the bed, tossed them carelessly into the laundry basket, then whipped back the covers. Slipping out of his sweats, the only thing he’d put on after his shower, he climbed into bed.
    With his hands clasped behind his head, he stared up at the dark ceiling and pondered how to work through Lauren’s defenses. Could she ever feel comfortable around him now? That would take time and familiarity. He needed to gain her trust, her friendship, and he wasn’t making it any easier on himself by tossing sexually charged comments at her. Damn it! How difficult was it to remember he wasn’t a perverted teenager anymore? He snorted at himself in disgust. No, now he was a perverted thirty-three year old. Way to go, slick!
     

Chapter 5
     
    Sylvia Coulter waited for her husband Wayne to back out of the garage and leave for work before she went to draw herself a bath. While the water ran she dumped four pain pills into her hand and swallowed them down with a tepid water chaser. It hurt just swallowing, both inside and out. She swiped furiously at her eyes. Damned if she’d cry anymore. Tipping her chin up, Sylvia quietly studied her throat in the mirror. It was already ringed with bruises and slightly swollen. Wayne was particularly fond of choking her.
    Lowering herself to test the water temperature, she moved like an old woman, unsteady, shaky, suffering pains not readily visible and others definitely visible. Her knees quaked and nearly buckled, and she had to grab onto the toilet to steady herself and work herself back up to a stand. Hands shaking, she untied her bathrobe. She hung it on the hook inside the door and stepped hesitantly into the water. This time, when her legs gave out, she didn’t fight it. Water splashed up the tile walls and flowed over the side and onto the floor. She didn’t care. It could wait.
    It was painful to sit so Sylvia slid down, taking most of her weight on the flat of her bottom instead. She realized she was weeping again, but this time it wasn’t because of the pain—and the pain was excruciating—no, she was weeping for herself. It was always harder to