"Get out!"
Simon's eyes widened as soon as he heard that. "Sir?"
"You heard me the first time," growled Rochester.
"But—"
"I am not in the mood to keep talking to you." Rochester was already nipping over to his bed.
"But what I came to say is."
"I don't bloody care about that," he slapped his feet together where he sat on his bed. "Right now, I don't want to talk. So leave."
"Uh," Simon's hand was placed on his lips as he pondered still.
Perhaps it wasn't all that important. Simon thought.
Rochester let his naked tanned- back skin drop into his bed.
There were a ton of things he could picture now that his gaze had momentarily shifted up to the ceiling. His heart was suffering and neither Simon nor the girl in the black woollen dress was the cause of it. He knew who the real culprit was. Samantha Geoffrey.
