Bed of Love

In this suspenseful New York Times bestseller, a chance encounter between a successful lawyer and a rebellious bad boy will change life as they know it forever, as their pasts catch up with them . . .
She strolls into my life legs initial, a long beverage of water in the desert of my thirties. Her shoes are red; her eyes are green. She's an Italian banner in involved region, and I succumb to her like Paris. She blends my analogies like a martini and presents my heart tartare. They all do. Without fail. They need to. It's that sort of story.
The woman being referred to remains toward the side of my office, lighting the cigarette directed by custom with shaking hands.
"You have to help me, sir," she says.
I'm a miss, however that doesn't make any difference. In circumstances like this, you need to adhere to the recipe. She's the lady in trouble, I see that immediately. I'm her knight in sparkling covering, regardless of whether that shield is a size eight slingback in Antique Pearl.
"Let me know every one of your difficulties," I say in my best baritone, and pour her a bourbon, straight. She drinks it, leaves a chilly red lip-print on the glass.
Also she takes a full breath that makes her dark dress shift just so. She lets me know a man is after her since he needs her heart. He pursues her through the dim, through the neon backwoods of blustery roads. Or then again she has this sibling, see, with a wilted arm he conveys in a sling, warped like a bird's wing. She should shield him from their dad yet she simply wasn't sufficient. Or on the other hand her stepmother can't stand seeing her and beats her consistently for twelve sins she's won't ever consider. Or then again she's sat tight and sat tight for a kid however no way. Or then again she pricked her finger on a needle when she was sixteen and gracious, greatness, the things she's done to continue to prick. Or then again she woke up and every one of her bank accounts were gone, the cash turned useless short-term. Perhaps it's a straightforward one: the mirror said she wasn't pretty any longer. Perhaps it's muddled, she got stuck between a rock and a hard place, and presently she has three evenings to hack up a name or a monstrous little man will take her child.