Free Intimate Betrayal by Linda Barlow Page A

shriveled further. Shit! It was really over.
    No, dammit, it
couldn’t
be.
    Sam was perfect for her! She’d run his birth chart over and over, thoroughly analyzing all his angles against her own. They
     were well matched. Their charts combined into one of the most harmonious unions of planets she’d ever encountered. She didn’t
     just enjoy him as a lover, she was
serious
about Sam Brody. And she’d been hopeful, at least, that she could gradually lead this confirmed bachelor into taking her
     seriously, too.
    Goddammit!
    Darcy knew she wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings, but she also knew instantly that she had to try. There was nothing
     more disconcerting to a man than an overly emotional woman. She had to work with Sam, see him every day. She couldn’t afford
     to let him know that he’d just knocked her planets out of orbit.
    Besides, if she stayed in control, she still had a chance. There was no reason yet to believe that his decision was irrevocable.
    From somewhere deep within her, she summoned a smile. “Okay, Sam,” she said lightly. “I’m disappointed, of course. But if
     it’s not working for you”—she shrugged—” there isn’t really much more to say.”
    He looked relieved, and she knew her strategy had been the right one. Most men hated to deal with disappointed women who made
     a big production over the ending of a love affair.
    A cool, calm, independent woman, though—that was something else again. That was the type of woman they often ended up missing.
    And wanting back.

Chapter Nine
    Standing outside the room where the monthly meeting of the United Path Church building committee was in progress, Annie heard
     a burst of applause. She found it surprising, because things at the cathedral site weren’t going
that
well.
    The door opened and a smiling Barbara Rae appeared. Her face was unusually animated as she said, “Come in, Annie. We have
     some exciting news.”
    She sensed that something dramatic was going on. Mystified, she looked around at the six members of the building committee—all
     pillars of the community and dedicated members of the UPC congregation. As always, the office was badly lit, and everyone’s
     face was shadowed. Annie was vaguely aware that seven, not six, faces were looking at her. And that one of them was set slightly
     apart from the others.…
    “After months of floundering in the wake of Francesca Carlyle’s death,” said Barbara Rae, “we’re delighted to announce that
     we once again have a dynamic leader to takecharge of this committee. You’ve met before, I believe, Annie,” she added as the seventh and newest member of the committee
     stood and extended his hand. “This is Matthew Carlyle.”
    Somehow Annie managed to maintain her composure as his firm hand briefly enveloped hers.
A murderer’s hand.
    How many other people here thought the same thing when introduced to him?
she wondered.
    She had last seen him in person on the night of Francesca’s death. Since then she had seen him a thousand times on television.
     Then, he had been a businessman, well known in the computer industry. Now, he was infamous all over the country.
    He was not conventionally handsome—his features were too strong and craggy for that—but he could still be called a good-looking
     man. He was tall and slender, with high cheekbones and wavy black hair. Most men at his age were either balding or going gray,
     but Carlyle had only a slight feathering of gray around his temples, and his hair was still plentiful and thick. His face
     was lined a bit, especially around his mouth and his eyes, but his flesh was firm and he moved gracefully, indicating that
     he exercised and was fit.
    Probably lifted weights in prison,
Annie thought wryly.
    His green eyes were a lot more piercing in person than they’d looked on television.
    It struck her that there was something different about his looks now that’d he had been through the hell of the murder trial.
     He was