Chapter 183: Looking For Charle's

Andrew keeps the horse at a slow walk to avoid jostling Avery's pregnant belly. It takes them almost twenty minutes to get to the stables. When they arrive, Andrew dismounts and offers her his hand. Avery accepts it reluctantly.

Instead of spotting her, he lets her fall into his arms and catches her bridal style. He spins her around and sets her lightly on the ground. Avery pointedly steps away from him and smiles at Michelle, "Michelle, I remember that you're a great baker, could you please cook something for me for the afternoon tea?"

"Sure, what do you want?" Michelle asks.

"Crème pudding," Avery suggests. 

Michelle nods and casts an anxious look at Andrew. She asks, "What about Mr. Clifford?"

"Whatever," Andrew mumbles without looking away from Avery, "A tiramisu or something."

Avery takes the Arabian horse by the reins and begins to walk him toward his stall. "Don't wait for me," she says to Andrew, "I'm going to feed him and brush him down."

"You don't have to do that," Andrew says, "That's what the stable hands are for."

"He almost hurt me earlier," Avery says. "I want to build a relationship with him and earn his trust. You have to treat a horse with care if you want it to take care of you when you're in the saddle. "

"I didn't know you were such a caring person," Andrew says. "How about you take the time to develop a relationship with me instead?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, "If you like, I can hurt you a little too."

"I suspect the horse is more sensitive than you," Avery says.

The stable hand comes out from the stable, and Avery passes him the reins. He leads the horse, and she follows. She's aware of the risk of riding while pregnant, but she wants to have a backup plan. The horse knows its way through the woods, and she's hoping it can lead her to safety. She wants to befriend it and gain its trust.

Honestly, the horse is probably more trustworthy than Michelle, Avery thinks. She's a conniving snake, and that hasn't changed just because we've made a deal. If she can find a way to screw me, she will. I have to get out of here as quickly as I can.

So far, Andrew is giving me free access to the mansion and its grounds because he doesn't think I'll try to escape. She remembers the handcuffs and shudders. If Michelle turns on me, I may become a literal prisoner.

Avery offers the horse some hay with a flattened palm. His velvety lips delicately take the food from her hand. Then she brushes him down, working tirelessly until his goat is gleaming. By the time she leaves the stable, it's almost teatime.

The rich, coffee, and brandy smell of tiramisu fills the lower level of the mansion. It grows stronger and sweeter in the kitchen. Avery watches Michelle rush around in an apron, carefully arranging china plates on a silver tray. "Wait a minute," Avery stops her, "Let me take it to him." She's terrified of leaving Andrew alone with Michelle.

"Why should I?" Michelle asks.

"Andrew already knows you made it," Avery says. "You can bring it to him, but then what? You're not going to seduce him with one dessert."

Michelle purses her lips and looks at Avery with mistrust.

"They say you have to conquer a man's stomach before you can conquer his heart," Avery says, "But you can't rush it. I'll put in a good word for you, and we'll let your food speak for itself."

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Michelle hesitates, but she gives Avery the pastry tray. A linen doily covers the tray, and Michelle has garnished the plates with strawberries cut into hearts, marshmallows, and a single pink rose.

Andrew unbuttons the top buttons on his shit and leans back in his desk chair. His tanned skin peeks out from the white fabric. He can't stand dirtiness and typically showers multiple times a day. He still hasn't showered after the ride, and he feels grimy and irritable. He touches the mole underneath his eye and then rubs his temple.

"What do you mean you haven't found a body?" he whispers into the phone.

"We've been searching the hospital, and so have Evan's guys," the voice on the other end informs him. "We've checked security cameras in the clinic that was responsible for the operation, and we've thoroughly investigated all of the doctors. But we can't find anything. Our best guess is that the body was disposed of immediately after the surgery."

"I want to see a body," Andrew hisses. "Do you think it's normal for a body to vanish without a single trace? Find it! I don't care if they've buried it—I want you to find the grave and dig it up again. As for the Meyers—"

Andrew rubs his temple with agitation. The sun from the French window glares into his eyes, and he turns around to avoid it. He freezes when he sees the figure at the door. "When did you come in?" Andrew asks Avery, calmly pretending to end the phone call.

He doesn't notice Avery's hands tightly clenching the tray; though her face is calm, her knuckles are white with tension. She places the tray on the desk and looks around the room. He studies her face, but he can't tell how much she's heard.

"I've brought you your afternoon tea," she says brightly. "Miss Michelle prepared it for you."

Still holding the phone, Andrew stands and leans lazily against the French window. "You're acting a lot friendlier than normal," he says. "Did you put something in my tea?"

Avery glances at the tray, "If you're worried, then don't eat it."

Andrew crosses the room and reaches for a small piece of tiramisu. He pinches it between his thumb and middle finger and takes a big bite. He slowly licks the chocolate powder from his lips and winks at Avery. "If she put something in it, the antidote is right in front of me," Andrew flirts. "I'm convinced you could bring a man back from the grave."

Avery flinches when he says the word "grave," and Andrew curses himself for being so careless. He wonders if she really did hear his conversation. Desperate to distract her, he turns to one of his oldest tricks, "It's a bit hot in here, don't you think?"

He slowly unbuttons his shirt, allowing his tanned chest to show. He's wearing the red amber on a black leather string around his neck. Avery carefully steps backward—she looks like she's about to make a run for it.

"What are you afraid of? I only said it's hot," Andrew laughs, and there's a vulgar edge to the sound. "If I really wanted to do something for you, do you think you could get away?"

"Don't make me regret not poisoning you," Avery snaps.

"If you can bear to hurt this heart, I'll eat anything no matter whatever you put in it," Andrew says.

"Do you know it's truly off-putting the way you use your heart as an excuse?" she asks.

"It's because it's the only thing you care about," Andrew says, smiling sadly.

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