Chapter 3The bustle of the hotel roused me the next morning, and I blearily opened my eyes. The hinges of my jaw ached, and my arse felt as if Charlie had been rough with me, something he never was.
Because of how my body felt, I knew I must have had a dream of making love with Charlie. I’d had such dreams before he became my lover, when I’d wake to damp pants and a sense of satisfaction. This one, though…someone had been inside me, someone I wanted, but I couldn’t recall his face. The harder I tried—the harder I attempted to hold onto the memory—the harder it was to recall.
And then it was gone, but not the sense of shame at having found pleasure with someone not my husband.
It made the daylight hours worse because Charlie hadn’t made love to me since we’d left our farm. Even in the de
