The Price of His Nineteen-Year-Old Mistress

Porter

nt of antiseptic. For the second time i

, his usually impeccable suit was rumpled, and a dark stubble shadowed h

ching for my hand. "You'r

my hand away as if

an, his voice low and earnest. "She's so young, so fragile. The thought of the tran

ng in the air between us. He was sti

ice a raw whisper, "in that elevator, with n

y, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. It was a simple question, but in

that he had to

lips. That single second o

stand. He glanced at the screen, and a s

e instantly softening

iver. "I had a nightmare... about the elevator. I'm s

a flicker of gu

y voice flat. "

just wo

stopher," I said, turni

ture. "Okay. I'll be back later. Get some rest." He rushed out of the room,

se, a place that now felt as cold and empty as a mausoleum. Christop

of horror had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Th

going,"

Iris will be there. She feels terrible about what happened.

sweep the wreckage of our lives under

I said

d my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "You're coming.

lesh of my arm, a lingering souvenir from the elevato

I w