By Linda Howard
Religion DEVLIN: A bad, outcast baby in Prescott, Louisiana, she'd continuously loved the town's golden boy from afar. yet he known as her white trash that sultry Southern evening whilst his wealthy, revered father disappeared, together with her lovely mother. Now religion desired to hate grey Rouillard...not to consider a robust surge of hope. yet she could not quench her ardour, from now on than she may possibly conceal the reality concerning the prior she had waited see you later to resolve. grey ROUILLARD: even if he raised hell, he did it with type. Reckless, captivating, and subsidized through Rouillard funds, grey managed town of Prescott -- and Devlin was once a reputation he by no means desired to listen back. but if he gazed at religion Devlin, all he observed used to be a swirl of tangled sheets and her silken flesh underneath him. To deal with her used to be most unlikely, unthinkable...because grey Rouillard deliberate to take advantage of all his strength to wreck her.
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Monica gave a thin cry, and pressed both hands to her mouth to cutoff the sound. Noelle’s face lost its color, but her movements were precise as she placed her teacup in the center of the saucer. "I’m sure you’re mistaken, dear. " Gray snapped, his tenuous control on his patience snapping like a thread. "Dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his social position. " He ground his teeth together. It was typical of her to ignore something she found unpleasant and focus on the trivial. "Dad’s gone," he said, deliberately emphasizing the words.
Monica had decorated her bedroom and bath herself, in delicate pinks and pearly whites that looked absurdly little-girlish. Normally Gray was reminded of cotton candy, but now the pink ceramic tile on the bathroom floor was covered with dark red splotches. Monica sat calmly on the fuzzy pink toilet lid, her big, dark eyes empty as she stared out the window. Her hands were neatly folded on her lap. Blood pulsed from the deep gashes she had made in both wrists, soaking her lap, running down her legs to pool on the floor.
Bogarde the central fact, the only one that mattered. "Dad and Mother have separated. Monica…" He hesitated. Dr. Bogarde sighed. " Everyone in the parish knew how Monica doted on Guy. Gray concentrated on his driving. The Chrysler’s suspension evened out the bumpy roads, and the tires sang on the pavement. The sense of unreality he’d experienced earlier returned. The sun poured hotly through the window, burning his jean-clad leg, and the tall pines flashed by. The sky overhead was a deep, pure blue.
After The Night by Linda Howard