Chapter Two
Belle poured herself a glass of chardonnay and sat at the kitchen table, sipping slowly as she tried to stop the fluttering in her stomach when she replayed her time with Banger. When she’d bumped into the tall man, her heart had leapt to her throat when his eyes had met hers. They were the most incredible shade of aquamarine, like the clear, tropical seas of the Pacific, and they’d pulled her in. Breaking away from them, she’d let her gaze run over his rugged, lightly tanned face. His long, honey butter-blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his beard had flecks of white through it and was close to his face. His skin was slightly weathered, as if he’d spent time outdoors in the wind. The small wrinkles around his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and his deep, resonant voice melted over her like liquid chocolate. His six-foot-one frame was rugged and built, and his presence exuded strength and raw sex. Banger’s chiseled cheekbones and jawline made her want to reach out and stroke them. He was definitely all male. Her pulse had raced when his eyes bored into hers, as if trying to read her soul.
When she’d gone back into the kitchen, the sound of his deep, sexy voice had echoed in her ears, and he already had her fantasizing. Then she’d seen him at the table with Cara, her daughter’s attorney. She couldn’t believe how nervous she’d felt when his smoldering gaze ran over her body. Banger did things with his voice and eyes that made her heart shudder. And when he’d held her while they danced, her squishy body pressed against his hard, strong one, funny sensations had tugged between her legs. When he’d kissed her, her panties dampened and her breasts ached for his touch, but she’d had to stop it. She couldn’t begin to think about becoming involved with Banger because she knew she’d fall hopelessly in love with him, and a man that good-looking would surely cheat on her.
Since Harold had died, her life had been a series of upheavals. When her husband had passed away, it was the first time she’d been alone. She’d become pregnant her last year of high school with her daughter, Emily. Her boyfriend had denied any responsibility and dumped her before Emily was even born. She’d struggled to provide the basics for her daughter since her mom and dad didn’t help her out, too angry at her for “ruining” herself. Not being able to afford rent and food, she’d been forced to stay at home, enduring endless lectures on how she had sinned and how she was damned.
When she’d landed a job at a tourist resort on the lake, she’d been twenty-one years old, broke, and worn down by her parents. When Harold, twenty-five years her senior, took an interest in her, she’d jumped at the opportunity to give her daughter a better life and to break away from her parents. He was a widower who’d lost his wife the year before. He had a son and daughter who were older than she, but Belle didn’t care; she just wanted out of her shitty life. In six months, she and Harold were married, even though her parents threatened to disown her and his daughter, Jessica, accused her of being a “gold-digging slut.”
Five years later, she’d given birth to Ethan, and Harold had been thrilled. They’d had a nice life. Harold had a successful textile company, and Belle didn’t have to work. He was a good provider, and a good father. He’d adopted Emily, and their life together had run smoothly for years.
Belle loved Harold, but she was never in love with him. Love was overrated; she’d been in love with Emily’s father, and it had left her pregnant, broke, and alone. Harold was a sickly man, who’d suffered from diabetes and hadn’t taken good care of his health. He ate and drank too much, so, at the age of fifty-four, he’d been put on insulin injections to control his disease.
Belle had always made sure to be the best wife and mother she could be. She’d joined all the charity boards Harold had told her to, attended all her children’s school activities, hosted wonderful dinner parties for investors interested in Harold’s company, and made sure to be available sexually for her husband, even though she didn’t enjoy sex very much.
She’d given Harold a good home and taken care of him, and when she’d found out he’d been cheating on her with his clichéd twenty-three-year-old secretary, her world had crumbled. He’d broken her heart. How could he have done that? After all she’d given him. She’d even put up with his bitch of a daughter, who’d consistently hated her throughout the years.
Of course, he’d admitted the affair when she’d confronted him, and he’d sworn it was nothing more than sex and freaking out about becoming old. He’d begged Belle to forgive him, to not leave him, so she said she’d stay. She didn’t have a better gig, and he’d been the financial rock of the family. Then he’d died, and Belle had thought the saying that “karma is a bitch” was really true. She’d donned the obligatory black for the funeral, but her heart had been freed from the anger and disappointment she’d felt at his betrayal. His death had set her free.