Heartache Falls Read Online Free

and winced. The dark circles beneath her eyes complemented the Medusa thing she had going on with her hair. Black mascara streaks on her cheeks accentuated the look.
    “I wouldn’t want to sleep with you, either,” she said to her image before turning away and stepping into the shower. The fact that she’d neglected her makeup removal routine last night bothered her. As did the reality that she was overdue for a haircut, and she’d been MIA at her standing manicure appointment for weeks now. Okay, months. The last time she’d had a pedicure was the mother-daughter spaday she’d indulged in with Caitlin the week before they left for Tennessee.
    As the hot water warmed her, Ali’s spirit rebounded. It wasn’t like she’d let herself go, because she hadn’t. So what if she weighed eight whole pounds more than she had on the day they’d married? She’d given birth to three of his babies. That was only 2.67 pounds per child, and frankly, they didn’t look bad on her. And if her breasts weren’t as perky as they used to be, well, she’d nursed those three babies, too. What did he expect?
    Sure, she had a few lines on her face, but her skin wasn’t leathery from a lifetime of worshiping the sun. Maybe she’d noticed a few gray hairs creeping in. So what? Since she was blond, they weren’t all that noticeable. And she still had a darn fine butt. She wasn’t going to allow Mac Timberlake’s lack of attention make her doubt her femininity.
    If she said it often enough, maybe she’d eventually believe it.
    Nevertheless, her little pep talk had helped. At ten minutes to seven, wearing the armor of fresh makeup, styled hair, her favorite slacks, and a cashmere sweater, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen and the coffeepot, which Mac always programed to start brewing at 6:30 a.m. As she grabbed a mug from the cabinet, she glanced out the kitchen window into the backyard where the Honorable Mackenzie S. Timberlake was swimming his morning laps in the heated pool.
    At the sight of her husband, Ali’s melancholy came rolling back in. It was hard to be married to Mr. Perfect.
    That was an apt description of the man. His dedication to his exercise regimen offered a good example. How many Monday mornings had she declared a new beginning to an exercise routine of one sort or another? Too many to count. She would do fine for a week or two, sometimes even a month, but then something would happen—one of the kids would get sick or their schedules would change—and she’d miss one day, then two, and her good intentions would go right down the drain.
    Mac, on the other hand, never let illness or schedules stop him. In all the years they’d been married, he’d missed his daily workout no more than a dozen times. Even that stupid Desai case that had consumed his life from September to February hadn’t stopped him from getting his exercise. He’d get up an hour early, cut his lunch short, or even hold a meeting at the health club to fit it in. A part of Ali admired that tremendously. Another part of her thought it was a bit … well, she wouldn’t use the word anal because the term offended him, as she’d learned one time when she’d called him that to his face. The term she’d adopted to describe her husband was über-disciplined , and it fit Mac Timberlake to a T.
    These days, she found it so annoying.
    Outside, he finished his laps and stood in the shallow end, his arms resting on the side of the pool. He gave his head a shake and sent water droplets flying, then levered himself up and out of the water. Watching him as he reached for a towel, his swim trunks hanging low on his hips, Ali couldn’t deny that his exercise regimen paid off. At six foot four and 220pounds, the man could have made his living as a model had he not chosen law. He had thick, mahogany-colored hair, gray eyes, and a square jaw. His broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist, and his belly remained almost as flat as it had been the day