glance at the twin mascara tracks running down her delicate face, the swollen bottom lip, and he knew.
Chloe was in trouble. Big trouble.
CHLOE PERCHED ON the edge of an overstuffed leather couch and took another sip of her whiskey—her second glass—wincing as it hit the sore spot on her lip.
Sitting on the matching ottoman across from her, Brad’s eyes glittered with the same dangerous undertones they’d held fifteen minutes ago in the hallway when he’d gently touched the corner of her mouth and asked, “Where is the bastard?”
It had taken her a moment to realize he thought Travis had hit her.
He had. Just not with his fists.
There was no way she could explain the bitter humiliation that clogged her throat, that made her want to crawl away and hide from the world. Not to a man like Brad, who’d gone through girlfriends in droves back in high school. Girls who had been drawn to the same rough-edged smile she’d once been, only hers had been a childish infatuation that had eventually faded away, like a temporary tattoo.
Until the night of her wedding. When a single touch had brought it all roaring back. She’d been mortified at her reaction. Terrified that he’d see the truth in her eyes. Travis had rescued her just in time.
Rescued. That was one way to put it. Especially since her Prince Charming had turned out to be the villain of the story.
She continued to sip her drink, welcoming the fiery warmth that bloomed in her stomach.
“Let me take your coat, at least.” Brad’s low voice broke through her inner turmoil.
“No!” Her hand went to the tie, fiddling with it. “I—I’m still cold.”
What was she going to do? If she stayed the night, he was going to figure out she didn’t have much on under the coat. She could crash on Brad’s couch, huddled under a blanket—but the image of herself in the hotel bedroom doing much the same thing caused something between a laugh and a cry to exit her throat.
“Okay.” He sat straight up, elbows coming off his knees. “Ready to tell me what happened?”
Her glance flickered to Brad’s onyx-tiled fireplace. “I already explained. My hotel was overbooked. There were...people staying in the room.”
And she could only imagine what those “people” were now doing.
Unless Travis had already passed out, as he tended to do on the nights he’d had too much to drink. Her wedding night had been a disaster. As had the nights that had followed. When her girlfriends had giggled about how many times in a row they’d done you-know-what on their honeymoons, she’d laughed right along with them, all the while wondering if there really was something wrong with her.
Travis’s frustration had grown as her response to him had become more and more mechanical—as she’d forced herself to participate. As a result, he’d started working longer hours. To save for their future, he’d said. She’d had no idea her parents had been one of his biggest clients until she’d found some paperwork on his desk—along with some hefty fees they’d paid Travis for managing their investment accounts.
Despite the warning signs, she’d never suspected anything was off until she came home sick from her night shift at the hospital to hear terrible shrieking noises coming from the bedroom. She’d raced back to find him naked—flat on his back—another woman straddling his hips. He’d pleaded for forgiveness, promised it was a mistake, said it would never happen again.
Stay? Or leave?
She’d decided to fight for her marriage. For eight long months. Tonight had been the pièce de résistance in her campaign to rekindle the spark he’d once felt toward her. She’d seduce him.
Only Travis hadn’t needed seducing.
He just needed someone other than her.
Her eyes closed, and she took a longer pull on her drink. So much for her two weeks’ worth of vacation.
“Hey.” The murmured word dragged her back to the surface, even though she just wanted to keep sinking into the mire, never to resurface. “Do you want me to call Jason?”
Her lids parted, and she struggled to focus on the handsome face across from her. “Please don’t. He’ll just worry.”
“He should worry.” He nodded toward her feet. “Where are your shoes, Chloe?”
She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she come up with a plausible explanation for that?
Because there wasn’t one. Other than the truth, which she wasn’t ready to voice.
Why had she ever thought she could “vamp” anyone? Especially her husband, whose rough-and-tumble approach to lovemaking did nothing but leave her feeling sore and inadequate. She was pretty sure the woman in her bed hadn’t been crying out in pain, so the problem wasn’t with her husband, evidently.
Frigid. The word echoed in her head, the mean nastiness of it making the hair rise on the nape of her neck.
She lifted the glass and found it empty. Held it out.
“I don’t think...” Brad began.
Only to stop when she whispered, “Please.”
Getting up, he went over to the bar, retrieved a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid and poured some in her glass, the lug-lug from the bottle strangely satisfying.
She noticed he didn’t refill his own tumbler, just took up his post again and watched her. Her shoulder hitched in an awkward shrug. “If you were in the middle of doing something, don’t let me stop you.”
She giggled as she said the last word, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. It’s been a while.” And she’d never been much of a drinker. It was amazing how it dulled the pain, though.
Something she could get used to.
He ignored her comment and said, “Shoes?”
Oh, that’s right. He wanted to know what she’d done with her stupid shoes.
“I left them behind, along with all my other little shackles.” That rock in her ring hadn’t been so little. But then again, her daddy’s investment money had probably paid for it, too. Something about that thought made her laugh again.
Brad’s hand covered hers, his fingers as warm as fire. Just like the alcohol sloshing around inside her. But when she tried to lift the glass to her lips, it wouldn’t move. Because Brad was physically holding her arm in place.
“Hey.” She tried to tug free of his grip.
“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”
“Oh, no. Not nearly enough.” Her head felt like some kind of weird flower that when deprived of drink began to wilt...wilt...wilt...until
