Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 607

Clara stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds before she finally made herself follow him.

She wasn’t imagining it—Dylan was in a seriously bad mood tonight.

She trailed him upstairs to the second floor, watching as he slipped into his study and sat right in the middle of the room. He didn’t look like he was about to get any work done; if anything, he looked lost in his own head.

Clara hovered at the doorway, debating with herself, then finally couldn’t resist anymore.

“Did your family come down on you again?”

The marks from last time still hadn’t faded. If they hurt him again, would his back ever heal?

Dylan glanced at her silhouette in the doorway, his lips quirking up just a little.

“Are you worried about me?”

Sometimes Clara wondered if she’d been fitted with a Dylan mood detector or something. How else could she always tell when he was upset?

She didn’t answer, just stood there for a few more minutes before slowly walking over and bracing her hands on his desk.

“I just don’t get it. If this is all so hard for you, why not just divorce me? Wouldn’t that make both our lives easier?”

He looked up right away, eyes sharp. “Easier for who?”

Clara frowned. Was she not making sense?

“For me. For you. Mrs. Ferguson said it herself—marrying me would just make your life miserable.”

His face stayed unreadable, but suddenly he reached out and gently gripped her chin, tipping her head side to side.

“Maybe it would be better for you, Clara. But not for me.”

It hit her, suddenly, that ever since she’d woken up here, Dylan had always called her “Clara”—her first name, the way only people who were close ever did.

She dropped her gaze, searching his face for any hint of what they might have been to each other before.

But she remembered someone saying they never really got along. She’d even slapped him once, in front of a room full of people.

So what was Dylan to her, really?

She was so lost in thought, she didn’t even notice when he leaned in.

His lips brushed hers—soft, barely there. His voice gentled. “Go get some sleep.”

Clara’s hands were still planted on the desk, her mind blank for a few long seconds before she finally shuffled out, moving like a wind-up doll.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard him say, “Next time you want a kiss, you could just ask.”

As far as she knew, Dylan never gave gifts to women. Who was this for?

She picked it up, curiosity winning out, and opened it. Inside was a neatly folded note.

She unfolded it, and the words jumped out at her:

—Dylan will marry Tara.

She blinked, thinking she’d misread. But no, she checked again. That’s exactly what it said.

Dylan. Tara?

She’d already suspected something—she’d seen little things about Tara that reminded her of Dylan. Had something happened between them?

The note looked old, at least ten years or more.

But hadn’t Dylan been obsessed with Shelly back then?

She didn’t want to think about it too hard. If Dylan had always wanted Tara, then why marry her? Why keep her trapped here in Palm Bay?

Clara hated being anyone’s stand-in—hated being tied to a man whose heart was somewhere else.

She tucked the note back where she found it and closed the compartment, pretending she’d never seen a thing.