After the Sun Sets (18+)

Three men accused of murdering journalist were warned at least three weeks ahead of time that one of them was to be arrested in connection with the assassination.

Three men. Three weeks. Three.

That's how many times Jesus prayed before he was arrested. That's how many times Peter denied Jesus before the rooster crowed that morning.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Jona growled from his armchair.

The paper fluttered between Lora's fingers. She had been staring at the same line of the same article for five minutes straight. She looked in her husband's direction and scowled at the smug expression on his face.

"It's time to get back up in bed. It's been thirty minutes since you went down."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at her menacingly. "Twenty-eight. You're just as corrupt as your bloody government."

Lora slapped the newspaper onto the bedside cabinet before standing up and pushing his armchair close to the bed.

"I'm not in the mood, Jonathan," she replied locking his knees between hers.

"I know," he muttered as he threw his arms around her shoulders and focused his strength on his lower limbs. "You've snapped at me three times already."

Lora pursed her lips and heaved, pivoting Jonathan from the armchair to the bed. This was getting easier, which meant he was losing weight. She helped him lay back on the mattress and covered his legs with the blanket.

Three times.

He was right. That was how many times she shut him down. It was also how many times she collapsed under Owen's touch the night before. Her ears burned at the memory of the cold tiles against her back. Her cheeks grew hot at the thought of their bodies moving together. She had gone from frigid to insatiable in three seconds.

"Are you okay?" Jonathan demanded, drawing her attention back to him. "Don't take this bullshit to heart. They'll catch whoever it was and if government officials really were involved they'll chuck them out."

"No government officials were involved, Jonathan. Stop being ridiculous! And I'm not worried. I'm tired, that's all."

"Tired?" he questioned cocking an eyebrow at her. "Is that why you're wearing makeup today?"

Lora's hands flew up to her cheeks as though he told her they were smeared with blood.

"Leave it. You look nice. Come here," he ordered. She obeyed. He reached for a lock of her brown hair and twisted it between his fingers. "Your hair is getting longer. I like it."

Despite his compliments, Lora felt uncomfortable. She rarely wore her hair down. She thought it impractical and unnecessary. But this morning she felt bold. She felt different and curious. She blow-dried her hair. She put on bronzer and mascara and lip gloss. But now that her husband noticed it, she feared she'd been reckless.

As soon as Jonathan let go of her hair she tied it back, worried that Owen's fingerprints, his scent might still be on it. She could certainly still feel him all over her. He was in the gleam of her eyes and the shine of her skin.

'Open your eyes, Lora,' Owen whispered in her ear last night as they stood in front of the tall, framed mirror. 'See how beautiful you are.'

Her eyes drifted over her reflection. Her face, her tinged cheeks, her plump lips, mouth slightly open, eyes hooded with desire. She didn't recognise the woman staring back at her. She was magnificent. She was poised and vulnerable and formidable all at the same time. Her milky legs shifted beneath her flowery, red dress, not because she was restless or awkward but because she knew what to do with her body to make it look attractive.