The Second Time Read Online Free PDF

Simpson’s generosity during their marriage, Dawn had an abundant wardrobe to choose from.
    After several false starts, she settled on a seersucker suit, white with thin blue stripes, and a plain silk blouse in sapphire blue. Her sandaled heels and purse were a matching shade of blue to complete the ensemble. Luckily Dawn had keptthe good pieces of costume jewelry, selling only the gold and the jewels, so she slipped a couple of rings on her fingers and a pair of earrings.
    The mirror said the finished product looked subtly elegant and slightly businesslike. The curling thickness of her rich auburn tresses lay casually about her shoulders to soften the effect. Her expression looked a little tense, a tautness to her mouth, but it was to be expected under the circumstances.
    When she left the house, she waved at her mother who anxiously wished her good luck. The moral support was gratefully received. There was no sign of Randy as she reversed her car out of the driveway, so she wasn’t forced to tell him again that she didn’t want his company.
    If it hadn’t been for the afternoon heat, the distance to the Van de Veere house could easily have been walked, but Dawn didn’t want to spoil the freshness of her appearance. The dashboard clock in her car, another gift from Simpson his estate hadn’t been able to claim, showed two minutes before the hour when she turned into the driveway.
    There was no other vehicle parked there, and no sign that anyone was around—or had been around. As she climbed out of the car, her nerves were jumping and her breath was running shallow and fast. The sidewalk to the front door was nearly impassable. Dawn had to lift encroaching branches and vines aside to reach the steps.
    A breeze stirred the palm, the spiked frondsrustling together. There was a reassuring solidness to the veranda floor as she crossed it to try the front door. It was locked, eliminating the possibility that Slater was inside waiting for her. Dawn turned, looking back to the driveway and suddenly wondering if he would come at all. Or would he thwart her by sending someone else to show her the house? A quiver of unease went through her.
    From the street, there was a loud purr of a powerful car engine approaching the house. When a low, sleek Corvette turned into the driveway, a tingle of mixed relief trailed over her nerves. It stopped behind her car and the motor was killed. The minute the driver stepped out, Dawn no longer had to wonder whether Slater would come himself. He was here.
    Long and lean, his familiar body had retained that easy flow of movement that came with being in prime physical condition. His profile was strongly cut and sun-bronzed, and his gilded brown hair was slightly rumpled by a playing wind. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew he’d seen her standing on the wide veranda.
    There was an instant’s pause before he removed them and tossed them through the opened car window onto the seat. Without another glance in her direction, Slater wound his way through the tangle of underbrush encroaching on the path to the steps.
    In those first seconds, she was struck by all thethings that were familiar about him. But as he came closer, she became aware of the changes. No more faded jeans, worn soft to hug his thighs, no more T-shirts stretched thin to mold his flatly muscled chest and shoulders, no more soiled sneakers without socks on his feet.
    The way he was dressed was a stark contrast to the past. From the fine leather of his polished shoes to the continental cut of his brown slacks and the print silk shirt tapered to fit, Slater MacBride was the model of what the successful man looked like . . . casual—the shirt unbuttoned at the throat—and confident.
    The softness of youth was gone from his features, that love of a good time which had once creased it with eagerness. Maturity had brought a hard definition to the male angles of his face, adding more emphasis to virility than to mere