Free GHOSTS OF ST. BARTS a totally addictive romance read (St. Barts Romance Books Series Book 5) by EMME CROSS

hours. He grimaced, thinking he’d done some of his best acting tonight in Henry’s drawing room, and in Henry’s honour. There would be more acting tomorrow.
    There were a number of interviews booked with the British press and satellite interviews with journalists from other countries. He’d done two already that would air on morning television in the United States. He didn’t mind talking about Henry; it actually helped in a weird kind of way, helping to keep his memories alive and fresh.
    Sunny clutched the pillow, very pale. For a moment he flashed back to the way she’d looked lying comatose in the hospital in St. Barts after the tsunami. She had been paler and stiller then. The memory gave him a start. He noticed she’d fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on. She used to leave the light on at night after she’d been attacked by Clyde. It’d taken months for him to wean her from that habit. Perhaps, he thought as he shrugged out of his new suit, she was just tired and forgot to turn off the light.
    He slipped under the covers, wondering why she was wearing one of his T-shirts. He wanted to hold her, skin to skin. Maybe she’d caught a cold. Fatigue and grief could play havoc with the immune system. London’s grey, damp winter weather didn’t help.
    He reached over to kiss her hair, reaching up under the T-shirt to gently stroke her breasts. She moaned in her sleep. The sound triggered a flash of his disturbing dream. He shook his head. Anxious to dispel the shadows, he gently spooned his beloved wife, murmuring her name as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 7
    The last of the stragglers were finally leaving. Sunny felt raw. The past few days had been almost too much. She’d managed a moment alone with Stuart White, finally meeting his wife and thanking the chef profusely for his help with the food and drink.
    She’d dealt with Sven’s co-star in The Barbarian King, the legendary French actress Evangeline Rousseau. The woman had peppered her with questions about her and Sven and seemed surprised to find a happy, loving family. Evangeline had sobbed theatrically during the service, and she had snapped her fingers at the wait staff, clutching Sven’s arm with her sharp, red talons.
    As she found discarded scarves and retrieved lost umbrellas, Sunny thought with longing of St. Barts. They were leaving in the morning and would spend two months together — healing. The island was the perfect place to recover her — their — equilibrium. She glanced over at the baby, who was being carried away by the nanny for a long-overdue nap. Sunny wished Judith had been able to fly in for the funeral. Sunny always felt calmer when Judith was around. She made Sunny feel that everything would turn out okay.
    Snap out of it! Of course everything would turn out okay. It was better than okay now. Didn’t she have a child she adored? Wasn’t she blessed with a husband she loved more than anything in the world? She stifled the memory of the night Henry died, smiling vaguely as she shook hands with the departing guests. She and Sven hadn’t yet had time to talk.
    He looked so beautiful in his black suit, standing next to the fireplace, golden head bowed and listening intently to one of Henry’s poker-playing pals. Despite his grief, he had done his friend proud, thought Sunny, depositing an empty coffee cup on a passing tray.
    She noticed Charlie sitting by himself on a settee in front of the library fire and looking utterly miserable. He wasn’t doing well at all. His eyes weren’t just swollen, they were also haunted. He’d pulled away when she tried to talk to him at the church and again at the gravesite. He couldn’t pull away now. She sat herself down next to him on the loveseat.
    * * *
    Charlie blushed. He didn’t know what to say to Sunny — or to Sven. He didn’t know where to look. Every time she came into view he thought back to the sight of her naked and moaning. The sounds and images were seared into his