Love Me by Cheryl Holt Page A

slurred. 
    “You certainly are.”
    “I’m marrying Andrew in July.”
    The alcohol finally worked its magic, and she slumped into slumber.
    “We’ll see, honey,” he murmured to her sleeping form.  “We’ll see if you marry your precious Andrew.”
    Gradually, he dozed too, and when he woke, she was gone, and there wasn’t the slightest hint anywhere in the room that she’d ever been there at all.
    *          *          *          *
    “I’m sorry about this.”
    “Don’t be sorry.  I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.  Matt and I are old friends.  I’m aware of how difficult he can be.”
    Brittney pressed the phone to her ear, feeling stupidly close to tears.  Brandon Talbot, the owner of Talbot Security, was being just as understanding as she’d hoped he would be.
    “I don’t want to get him in trouble or cost him his job,” she said.
    “You haven’t.”
    “He wasn’t right for my situation, but he’d be terrific somewhere else.”
    “I have plenty of other spots where I can send Matt.  Don’t worry about him; he always lands on his feet.”
    “How do you know him so well?”  She could have kicked herself for her curiosity.  She did not care about Matt, did not care about his relationships outside the weird bubble where he’d existed for her.
    It was just that—in her usual self-centered, egocentric way—she’d spent several days with him and hadn’t learned a single, relevant personal detail.  He’d claimed to have been a soldier, but she had no idea if the story was true.
    “He and I served together in Iraq,” Mr. Talbot said. 
    “He really was in the army?”
    “Yes, and he’s an extremely brave and tough individual.”
    “I could tell that he is.”  She was absurdly proud of the information, as if Matt was hers, as if he was her kid and his teacher had offered effusive praise.
    “I think,” Talbot continued, “he comes across a bit strong.  He hasn’t been back in the U.S. all that long, and with his being in the hospital all those months—“
    “Months!”
    “He was gravely wounded; it was a lengthy recovery.”
    “I didn’t realize the extent of his injuries.”
    “He’s still adjusting.  So again, if he upset or distressed you, let me apologize.”
    “He didn’t upset me,” she lied.  “I’d simply be better off with a guy who’s less…conspicuous.”
    “I totally agree.  I’ll send someone over right away.”
    “Thank you.”  Brittney stared at the floor, feeling awful, feeling like a traitor.  “And would you please make sure he knows he shouldn’t come back?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Tell him that I specifically requested he be reassigned.”
    “I will.”
    “I’m just worried that he might not take kindly to my decision.  I wouldn’t want him storming over here.”
    “He won’t.  You have my word on it.”
    She hung up the phone, but she glared at it, as if it might ring and she’d give Talbot different instructions.
    She was in Denver—at the mansion.  The sun was low in the western sky, the afternoon waning.  Colors seemed too bright, noises too loud, and she was wearing her sunglasses, needing to block out her surroundings, the world, the universe. 
    She hadn’t thought she’d had that much to drink at her brother’s reception, but apparently, she’d overindulged to the point of recklessness. 
    She was terribly hung over, and the state was rare for her.  Her head was throbbing, her bones aching, and she felt so sad, as if she could crumple to the rug and weep for a week.
    She went to the window and gazed out, half expecting to find Matt sitting in his red Mustang.  But he wasn’t there, and she was so relieved.
    He was a dangerous man.  Dangerous to her well-being.  Dangerous to her future. 
    He sensed her insecurities, her isolation, her desire to belong and be loved.  Because he was sympathetic, because he was perceptive and supportive, she’d grown attached to