Future Perfect by Suzanne Brockmann

weeks on St. Thomas, visiting an old friend. She likes to travel. She lived in Africa for years. She took me there once. We went on a safari.”
    “You mean … 
hunting
?”
    “No guns, only cameras,” Juliana said. “It was wonderful. Alicia is an amazing woman.”
    Webster pulled one of the pillows out behind him, lying flat on his back. Maybe that would help. “So why did you live with her when you were a teenager? Were you going to college in Boston?”
    He turned on his side to look at her, grimacing as his back twinged.
    “Do you want me to rub your back?” Juliana asked suddenly.
    Webster smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I’d love it. But do you really want to, or are you just trying to avoid answering my questions?”
    She rose gracefully from the chair and crossed to the bed. Nudging his hips with the back of her hand, she said, “Roll over.”
    Webster rolled onto his stomach, shrugging out of his loose shirt. He pulled a pillow up under his arms and rested his chin on his hands, then closed his eyes as her strong, cool fingers began to massage the tight muscles in his shoulders. This was the stuff fantasies were made of.
    Juliana moved her hands down his broad, strong back. His skin was sleek and warm and so smooth beneath her fingers. She liked touching him. She had wanted to touch him from the moment she woke up this morning. But that was nothing new. She’d wanted to touch him from the first moment she set eyes on him.
    The big surprise was realizing that she liked Webster Donovan. She really liked him. Maybe
too
much.
    But he was rich. He’d grown up the rich son of rich parents, just like Dennis. And just like Dennis, he would condemn her when he found out.
    She might as well tell Webster the whole story, she thought. She
had
to tell him in order to stop wondering what he would think if he knew. She
should
tell him now before she really, truly cared what he thought.
    “You asked me why I went to live with Alicia,” she said, her voice low. “It wasn’t because of college. I didn’t go to college. I didn’t even finish high school.”
    Webster heard her pause and realized that she wanted him to say something. “This feels really great,” he murmured. “Please don’t stop.”
    It wasn’t what she expected him to say. There was another long pause. Then she asked, “Aren’t you shocked?”
    Webster didn’t answer right away, and when he did, he spoke carefully, as if he were considering each word he said. “I don’t shock easily,” he said. “So what if you didn’t finish high school? It’s a shame, but only because you didn’t get a chance to experience college life. You certainly seem well-educated. In fact, you’re probably better read than most college grads.”
    Juliana was silent, her hands traveling back up toward his neck. She slipped her fingers under his soft, dark curls, feeling him relax underneath her, wishing that she could get rid of her own tension as easily. She had to tell him the rest.
    She spoke again, her voice still low, but clear. “I lived with Alicia because … she was my only relative who wanted custody of me after I got out of reform school.”
    It was said so matter-of-factly that Webster had to replay her words in his mind at least twice before he understood what she had said.
    Reform school. After she got out of … reform school!
    He rolled over, looking up at her. “Congratulations,” he said, pulling himself into a sitting position. “You’ve shocked me. Why were you in reform school? For how long? When? How old were you?”
    She folded her hands carefully in her lap. “I was sixteen. When I was charged with breaking and entering and grand theft, larceny, I came really close to being tried as an adult. But I was a first-time offender. I’d run away so many times the judge didn’t want to send me back home, so …” She shrugged. “If Alicia hadn’t petitioned for custody, I would’ve ended up inside until myeighteenth birthday. As it