Truth or Dare by Janis Reams Hudson

white, gold and lavender irises blooming in the carefully tended flower beds along the sidewalks and parking lot.  The clumps of love grass in the field beyond.  The sumac, in full leaf now.  The blackjack trees, the last to release winter, still a new spring green.  The giant transmitting towers of Channel 3 and the other stations, with their alternating red and white sections reaching up to tickle the bellies of fluffy white clouds.  The tail lights of Jared's car as it rounded the last bend in the drive, then pulled out onto Britton Road.
    Rachel let the mini – blinds flop back in place and returned to her desk with a feeling of relief.  Three o'clock.  Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Freedom.  Those were the times she was free of Jared Morgan.  At least, physically.
    He never volunteered where he went three afternoons each week, and she didn't dare ask.
    These days, she barely dared to breathe around him.  She was walking on egg shells, and he was stomping around, growling like a bear with a sore paw.  Every time he looked at her wig or her clothes, disapproval showed in his heavy frown.
    And every time it happened, Rachel stuck her chin in the air and glared right back — without the concealing safety of her glasses, which he had kept.
    But when he looked in her eyes . . . oh, God.  His eyes could make her bones melt.  And it scared the hell out of her.
    She'd been waiting ever since their return from Las Vegas.  Over two weeks now.  Waiting for she wasn't sure what.  A confrontation.  More questions maybe, or demands.  Something.  Anything!  Anything but his quiet looks.  Contemplating looks that said, I remember that kiss . . . do you?
    Hot looks, that said, I want to feel your body next to mine again.
    Intense looks, that said, Please don't be afraid of me.
    Soft looks.  Talk to me.  Trust me.
    Daring looks.  Forget what happened in your past.  Remember how much you liked kissing me. I dare you.
    Challenging looks.  Try to forget that my hands have touched you, my lips have kissed you.  And you touched and kissed me back.  Go ahead.  Try to forget.
    She shivered at the memory of that look.  She couldn't possibly forget the way his hands felt, the taste of him.
    Neither could she forget her fears.  So many fears.  If all she had to deal with was the panic she'd felt, she honestly thought she could cope.
    But she didn't know how to cope with the rest.  Being attacked by a maniac wasn't the worst that had happened to her five years ago.  She closed her eyes and saw his face, imagined she could feel the gun in her hand.
    No.  She would not think of it.  It was over. 
    But Sutton's attack was nothing compared to Hank's betrayal.  Hank, her loving husband, father of her children, hadn't believed Sutton had attacked her.  "He wouldn't have bothered," Hank had said.  "I'd already told him the truth about you."
    Confused, devastated, Rachel had asked what he'd meant.
    "I told him that in bed, you were   .   .   .   disappointing, at best."
    A cold shudder ripped through her.  Just the memory of those words, of the disgust in Hank's eyes, was enough to destroy what peace of mind she'd managed to gain during the past five years.
    Never, never would she open herself up to that kind of pain and humiliation again.  Of all the secrets from her past, that one was the most devastating.
    No, there would never be anything between her and Jared.  Never.
    "Rachel?  You okay?"
    Rachel blinked.  Gratefully, the memories dissolved.  Bobby Johnson, the page, stood in her doorway.  She smiled.  "I'm fine.  Just thinking, that's all."
    "Well quit thinking so hard," Bobby said with a laugh.  "It's Friday, it's five o'clock, and it's springtime.  Time to get outa this place."
    Rachel pulled open her bottom drawer and grabbed her purse.  "Right you are, Mr. Johnson.  And I've got someplace I'm supposed to be.  See you Monday."
    The "someplace" was Caroline's softball game.  It was the