In Another Man's Bed

237 Pages·2016·0.97 MB·English

by  Ray Francis

In Another Man’s Bed
ALSO BY FRANCIS RAY
Trouble Don’t Last Always
I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
Somebody’s Knocking at My Door
Someone to Love Me
Rockin’ Around That Christmas Tree
Like the First Time
You and No Other
Any Rich Man Will Do
Dreaming of You
ANTHOLOGIES
Rosie’s Curl and the Weave
Delia’s House of Style
Welcome to Leo’s
Going to the Chapel
Gettin’ Merry
Let’s Get It On
In Another Man’s Bed
FRANCIS RAY
ST. MARTIN’S GRIFFIN
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
IN ANOTHER MAN’S BED. Copyright © 2007 by Francis Ray. All rights reserved. Printed in the United
States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For
information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Design by Maggie Goodman
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-35613-2
ISBN-10: 0-312-35613-7
First Edition: February 2007
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
To health-care workers around the world who tirelessly care
for those entrusted to their care. I salute you.
Special Thanks
Angelique Boyd, B.S., R.N., an extraordinary nurse
with a boundless energy, ready smile, and unwavering
passion to always be the best that she can be.
Thanks for the unending support.
Prologue
Justine Crandall had seduction on her mind, and in less than ten minutes she
would be in bed with the man she adored.
The racy thought made Justine grin, then she laughed out loud at her
uncharacteristic naughtiness. Both she and Andrew, her husband of five years,
were as conservative as they came, but since they’d been apart for two weeks
she didn’t think he’d put up much resistance.
In the cocooned luxury of the Porsche Carrera, she sighed in pleasure and
anticipation as the sports car easily took the sharp turns up the Appalachian
Mountains. She’d been on the road since five that morning and couldn’t have
picked a better day for the drive.
Spring was in full force. The air was crisp and clean, the sky a startling blue,
the roadside bursting with wildflowers. She smiled and slowed as a deer
bounded gracefully across the road and disappeared over the steep incline. She’d
seen several this morning. It was a good thing DEER CROSSING signs were posted.
As owner and operator of It’s a Mystery Bookstore in Charleston, she seldom
had a chance to enjoy nature.
Last night, after Andrew had finished his last workshop at the men’s retreat in
Gatlinburg, he’d called to say he was too tired to make the four-hour drive back
to Charleston on Sunday afternoon. Justine suggested he stay at their nearby
cabin for a few days before returning. He could work on the book he wanted to
write.
As soon as she had hung up, she’d begun planning to surprise him. They were
going to have two whole days by themselves, something they hadn’t had in a
very long time. They’d built the cabin as their retreat two years ago, but it had
been almost a year since they’d been there together.
Justine patted the Gucci overnight bag on the seat beside her. Inside was a
new blue negligee. Andrew loved blue and he loved her.
She’d be the happiest woman in the world if they could begin planning a
baby. Andrew wanted to wait until he wasn’t away from home so much, but she
was hoping she could change his mind. For the past nine months Andrew had
been on a grueling schedule conducting a number of retreats for men across the
country. There hadn’t been very many occasions for “trying.” Justine didn’t
begrudge the time Andrew spent away from her because she felt his work was
important. Perhaps if someone had counseled her father, he might not have left
her mother for another woman.
Justine knew she’d never have to go through divorce. She and Andrew were
committed to each other for a lifetime. Not just because they loved each other,
but also because neither wanted to repeat the mistakes of their parents.
Shortly after nine she pulled up to their cabin, a two-story structure with a
gabled roof and a balcony that ran along the back of the house. Disappointment
hit her on seeing another car parked beside her husband’s Escalade. She’d
wanted them to have this time alone. Annoyance crept in. He should be resting
instead of counseling someone.
People sometimes took advantage of Andrew’s goodness. He didn’t know
how to say no. Usually she stayed out of his business affairs, but lately he’d been
preoccupied and easily distracted. It was time he was a bit selfish and put
himself first, she thought.
Getting out of the Porsche, a birthday gift from Andrew, she shoved the keys
into the pocket of her white slacks and started toward the hand-carved front
door. She and Andrew could unload the car later. Right now, she couldn’t wait
to see her husband after their two-week separation.
As she went up the stone steps, she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the Peace
roses that were in full bloom on either side of the house. She made a mental note
to put a bouquet of the lush pink flowers in their bedroom.
Upon entering the spacious interior that she had lovingly decorated in warm
earth tones and comfortable easy-to-care-for leather, she turned, expecting to
find Andrew and his guest in the kitchen. The big plateglass window in the
breakfast nook provided a spectacular view of the heavily wooded mountains,
which always beckoned them to begin their day there over a leisurely breakfast.
She started in that direction, then heard a sound from upstairs. She glanced at
her watch. 9:10. Andrew was an early riser. Worried, she started up the stairs.
He didn’t take care of himself when he was away from her. She wished he were
home more. He was a wonderful, loving—
Her thoughts abruptly halted as an unmistakable moan of sexual pleasure
drifted out to her from their bedroom. Stunned, she stood at the top of the stairs,
a tightness in her chest, her throat. She wasn’t aware of how long she remained
immobile before she moved down the hallway in a daze. Her tennis shoes were
soundless on the wool runner on the polished oak floor as she stopped at the
open door of the master bedroom.
Justine’s heart clenched and her breath snagged as she caught a glimpse of a
woman’s naked butt and shoulder going into the master bath. Her gaze stayed
glued to the closed door as if she were putting off looking at the bed for as long
as possible. Her hands clenched, she finally made herself look. Hot rage rolled
through her.
Her husband lay naked on the wide bed. His eyes were closed, one long leg
was drawn up, and a satisfied smile curved his soft mouth upward. Justine tried
to remember if she’d ever seen that look of complete satisfaction after they had
made love. She couldn’t.
She must have made a sound, because Andrew’s eyelids flew up. Stunned, he
stared at her with those light brown mesmerizing eyes that had swayed and
motivated thousands, then he sprang out of bed to cut her off from the bathroom.
“You lying, cheating bastard!” Justine snarled.
Andrew looked as taken aback by the harsh words spewing from his wife as
by her appearance. “Justine, please let me explain—”
The open-palmed slap across his face echoed through the silent room. He
stared at her as if she’d gone mad.
There were so many hot emotions running through her that she thought she
might just have done so. She’d always been quiet, had never raised a hand to
another person, had never given her mother or her teachers one moment of
trouble, but right then she wanted to scratch Andrew’s handsome face to shreds.
She’d given him everything and he’d left her with nothing. The only reason
she didn’t slap him again was fear of not being able to stop. He would defend
himself and that meant he’d have to touch her. She never wanted his hands on
her again.
“I trusted you. I loved you,” she said, her voice trembling with rage and pain.
“It only happened once,” Andrew told her, his hand on his cheek, his eyes
wide and uncertain.
She fought the urge to hit him again. “Do you think that makes the betrayal
any less?”
“Hon—”
“Don’t.” Justine stepped away from the hands reaching for her. “Who is she?”
“It doesn’t matter. She means nothing to me.”
Justine raised her hand to hit him again, then clenched it into a fist instead.
“That takes you even lower.” She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.
“Don’t come home. I’m filing for divorce as soon as I get back.”
Fear leaped into his eyes. “You can’t throw away all that we mean to each
other, all that we’ve shared.”
“I didn’t. You did. Now, get out of my way.”