Free Defensive Heart: The Donnolleys, Book 2 by Dorothy F. Shaw

father in her day-to-day life. Sonja didn’t want to fill the time Casey did have with him with arguments.
    Thomas felt it was better for Casey to see them as the family they always were. Even though they no longer were a family, Sonja didn’t argue his point. Sadly, deep inside, she suspected Thomas was likely only trying to stay close to her and merely using their daughter as an excuse. Bottom line, in the end, giving him what he wanted was better than dealing with the bickering and his constant threats to take her back to court for custody.
    Sonja took a large gulp of her wine. She was weak. Always had been. Shame flowed through her, pooling in her limbs, making her stomach churn and bile rise in the back of her throat. Sonja successfully argued case after case in the courtroom with ease. Standing up for her clients wasn’t a problem. But it was just another false front because standing up for herself was a totally different story. She’d never been able to say “no”—it wasn’t in her programming.
    She’d give Thomas what he wanted because…it was just easier.
    Even if she hated herself for it.
    Bottle of Chardonnay and glass in hand, Sonja made her way to her bedroom suite. A bath…a bath was what she needed most. After starting the water in her large claw-foot tub, Sonja went back into her closet and stripped off her work clothes. Giving birth to Casey over fifteen years ago had changed her body, but she’d regained her figure, mostly. Many women weren’t so lucky. Sonja was built like her mother—long and slender. Feline-esque is what Thomas used to say. That was back when she’d loved him. Or at least thought she loved him. Maybe she had.
    Sonja ran her hands over her smooth stomach. It wasn’t perfectly flat, but it was toned. Working out at the gym helped. There were a few stretch marks from the last months of pregnancy, though they never really bothered her. Tilting her head forward, she pulled the pins from her hair, freeing the long blonde locks and letting them fall around her shoulders. Gliding her hands up her torso, she cupped her small breasts in her palms, felt the weight of them and ran her thumbs over her nipples. The light touch tightened her small, pink areolas and her nipples became erect.
    James had touched them earlier that night, smoothed his thumb over one of them. Her bra and blouse were no match for the rigid points and proved a weak barrier from his touch. Just like her mind and body had been no match for his drugging kisses. She wanted him. Madness. She still wanted him. Why? Why does he make me want him? Sonja took a sip of her wine. The reason eluded her.
    Stepping back into her bathroom, she set the glass down and pulled her hair up in a hair tie. She gathered a few towels and set them next to the tub, and when she turned to step into the steaming water—her phone beeped on the vanity counter.
    Sonja froze and eyed the clock on the wall. Nine p.m. It could be a client. It could be anyone. Picking it up, she saw the text message alert displaying a number she didn’t recognize. With shaking hands, she swiped the screen, unlocking it. She took a breath and read the message.
    I can’t get the scent of you out of my mind.
    And your name tastes nowhere near as sweet as your lips.
    I’ll settle for only that…for now.
    Only your name rolling from my tongue and echoing off my shower walls.
    Your name, rather than your perfect mouth.
    Your name, rather than your body.
    My fantasy of you, rather than you…for now.
    James.
    Sonja sat on the edge of the tub staring at the words he’d sent her. She read the poem again. Then once more. No one had ever written her a poem before. On second thought, that wasn’t true. Abram Meckler had written her a poem in the ninth grade, but she could hardly compare that to this.
    Only your name rolling from my tongue and echoing off my shower walls. Sonja covered her mouth with the back of her hand. He’d done it, hadn’t he? He’d been in his