Chapter One
Three years later
Rachel Metcalf let herself into Christian’s penthouse apartment. He’d sold the house he’d been living in with Claire and Talia, and now he lived the single life. She was surprised when he’d given her a key and told her she was welcome to stay with him whenever he was in town. He still worked as a doctor at the local hospital where Talia was born. Blowing out a breath she stopped when she heard the masculine moan and the feminine cry.
Great, he was fucking a woman again. Slamming the door, she stormed to the kitchen and began unloading his shopping. If she was staying the weekend, the anniversary of losing his family, then he’d better keep the skanks away from her. She wasn’t interested in making nice with his fucks.
She heard some shuffling, and seconds later Chris came out to greet her. He was wearing a pair of jeans, still unbuttoned at the waist with nothing else on.
“You came?” he said.
Giving him a nod, she ignored him and turned her back to him. She was putting some milk in the fridge along with a few bottled sauces when the woman came through. Rachel turned to see it was another nurse from where he worked. He’d taken to screwing the women he worked with. She shouldn’t be surprised. Claire did tell her he’d been a hound dog and an asshole when she’d met him.
Why do I keep coming back to him?
Knowing the answer, Rachel cursed her stupidity and kept unloading the food.
“Is she your wife?” the nurse asked.
Turning to give the woman her scorn, she waited for him to say something.
“She’s not my wife.”
No, that was the problem. Claire was dead while she was alive.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Three years she’d watched him self-destruct his life, refusing to be part of it and yet not leaving him alone to deal with it. She’d promised her sister that no matter what happened, she’d be there for him.
“No, I’m not his wife. I’m his dead wife’s sister. He’s a widower.” She glared at him as the nurse gasped.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
Rachel nodded and stormed away. She gathered the screwed up bed sheets. Seconds later she heard the door slam closed. He came through to the bedroom within moments.
“Well, I don’t think she’ll be coming back.”
“I’m sure nurse three hundred is not worried.” She dumped the sheets into the wash basket, continuing to curse him.
“I didn’t know you were coming today,” he said.
She spun on him. “You were the one who told me to come.” With a hand on her hip, she glared at him. “You know what? I’m not getting into this. You want to screw everything that walks, fine. This is my last visit to your apartment.” Picking up the basket, she grabbed the key out of her jeans pocket and slammed it against his naked chest as she passed. “I’m done after tonight. You want to meet to talk then by all means, call me.”
Walking toward the kitchen, she started to load the washing machine. When he’d first moved in, she would get the clothing dry cleaned because he hated her being domesticated. Over the months he’d gotten her a washing machine. She began to think he was getting over the death of his wife. But Chris was never going to get over the death of her sister or his kid. She couldn’t blame him. There were times she held the phone wanting to call her sister and then realized Claire wasn’t alive.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” he said, following her. She fed the washing into the machine not giving him the time of day.
“No, it’ll happen again and again and again.” She shook her head. “You don’t need me here.”
“I want you here.”
Slamming the door closed she turned on him. “I don’t want to be here with you fucking every slut who will take you. Claire warned me about this, but I never knew you could be this big of a prick.”
Shoving him in the chest, she moved toward where she dropped her bag near the door. Bending down, she picked it up and put her hand on the door handle, ready to leave his life for good.
Opening the door, she yelped as his hand went beside her head and closed the door hard. She tried to open it again, but he was too strong. Rachel should have known she wouldn’t be able to best him. He was the strongest person she knew, and she had watched him work out more than enough times at the gym. She’d joined the gym to keep him company and hoped to get fit. But running, while staring at him or other slim blonde women, was not her idea of fun, and she quit.
The jealousy had gotten to her, and then she’d felt guilty at her feelings. Chris was her dead sister’s husband, and she shouldn’t be having any feelings for him.