Happy Wednesday Dear Readers!
Because it is Wednesday, and I am on summer break, I've decided to give you a little "Sneak Peek" look at Saturday's post. (Which promises to be a nice long one!) Enjoy this little "teaser"...things are heating up in Dollyville!
By the time Beckett reached the hotel lobby, all he could see of Maureen was a flash of green dress and red hair disappearing through the revolving front door. He thought about going after her on foot, but quickly changed his mind. There was no damn way he was going to chase her down the street like some friggn' dog catcher after a run away puppy. He'd pick up the Mustang from the valet, and follow her in the car. In the meantime, he figured she wouldn't get very far in those spiked heels.
Standing in the afternoon heat waiting for the valet, he silently fumed. Just what the hell was her damn problem? Against the sound advice of his own attorney, he had been exceedingly generous with the arrangements. If he suddenly found himself dead, she'd be a very wealthy woman. And if they ended up becoming just another divorce statistic, Maureen O'Kenney would still live very comfortably indeed. There was no reason at all for her to carry on as she did. It was silly, childish and extremely disrespectful, and when he caught up with her, he sure as hell was going to tell her so.
Not for the first time, he questioned his sanity over the decision to marry this tiny, vanilla cupcake. He liked his women experienced. Compliant. Obedient. She was none of those things. In fact, there were times he thought she purposely did the opposite of what he asked, simply to see if she could get a rise out of him. An outright brat, who obviously didn't know the first thing about submission. He ought to have his head examined for mixing it up with her in the first place, and if he still had a half a brain in his head, he would call the whole damn thing off. Pay child support, and drag his sorry ass out of the line of fire while he still could.
Beckett looked at his watch, and began to pace. It was taking too damn long for them to bring the car around. By now, she might be several blocks away. Wandering around in those ridiculously sexy shoes. What if she turned an ankle? Tripped over a stone, and fell on her face? And was it all that sensible for someone in her condition to be hiking around in this oppressive summer humidty? Not to mention the unwanted attention she was probably garnishing in that clingy, little dress. A wrong turn here or there, and she could end up in some lousy neighborhood. And it would be his damn fault for being shitty about the car.
When they finally pulled the Mustang around, Beckett throw a $20 at the kid, and began moving slowly around the streets nearest the hotel. He eventually located her about eight blocks away, now barefoot, and carrying the Loubouton's in her hand. Maneuvering across traffic, he pulled up at a corner where she was waiting for the light to change, and rolled down the window. "Get in the car, Maureen."
She shook her head vigorously, side to side, refusing to speak.
"I'm asking nicely. If you don't comply, I will put you in it myself, and I guarantee you will not enjoy the way in which I do it."