Chapter eight

Alex’s hands hung at his sides, empty. For one moment, he’d been filled with her: her curves, her scent, her heat. Now he stood in the middle of the room, alone, just like he had on their wedding night. A married man with a hard-on and no relief in sight. Amazed at his ridiculous predicament, he tried to go over the events of the evening and see where he had gone wrong.

The moment he caught her with Michael, a slow, steaming anger had risen up within him. The heat started at his feet, traveled to his stomach, his chest, and finally settled like a hot band around his head. If he was a horse, he would have snorted out smoke and stamped his hooves. If he was a wolf, he would have howled at the moon.

Her hand had rested on the Michael’s arm. He must’ve been quite amusing, because she threw her head back and laughed, her cheeks flushed and rosy.

Her full lips had gleamed under the chandelier light. They’d acted like they were long-time friends instead of people who had just met.

But the