6

I don't even think. I just snatch my oversized t-shirt off the cold marble floor, yank it over my dripping wet head, and bolt.

I sprint out of the bathroom, my bare feet slipping wildly on the hardwood floor of the guest suite, my face burning with a humiliation so absolute I feel like I might actually spontaneously combust.

I need air. I need to not be in this room.

I dive into my overnight bag, my shaking fingers digging past my silk blouses until I find the emergency pack of Marlboro Golds I keep hidden from the paparazzi.

I bypass the antique bed, yank open the doors, and step out onto the private balcony.

The storm has reduced to a freezing drizzle, but the wind off the coast bites right through my thin cotton shirt.

I don't care. I lean against the heavy stone balustrade, my chest heaving, desperately trying to get my heart rate under control.

I shove a cigarette between my lips and fumble with my gold lighter, my hands trembling too badly to strike the flint.

"There's no need to jump off and kill yourself over something so silly."

The deep, calm voice comes from the absolute dark right behind me.

I scream, my entire body violently jolting. I spin around, but my wet heel catches on the slick, rain-soaked marble. I slip but I don't hit the stone.

Steve moves with speed. Before I can even register the fall, his large hand clamps around my waist and with one effortless yank, he pulls me away from the edge and crushes me flush against his chest.

All the air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush. I instinctively grip his bare shoulders to steady myself, but he doesn't just steady me, he holds me there.

He is entirely warm, made of hard muscle, and we are pressed together so tightly the damp, freezing cotton of my oversized t-shirt does absolutely nothing to separate us.

My wet hair clings to his collarbone. I can feel the steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat drumming violently against my own ribs.

I forget how to breathe. I am staring up at his shadowed face, the rain slicking his dark hair, his jaw clenched tight.

"Geez, you scared me," I gasp out, "I wasn't going to jump, I was just standing there."

He doesn't let go. If anything, the arm around my waist tightens, anchoring my hips flush against his. He steps forward, backing me up until my spine hits the cold stone, caging me between the railing and his body.

His eyes slowly drop to my mouth. He is breathing heavy, his chest expanding against mine.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and plucks the gold lighter from my frozen fingers.

He flicks it open. Instead of just handing it back, he leans in. He uses his massive body to shield us from the coastal wind, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my damp cheek as he guides the flame to the cigarette trapped between my trembling lips.

"I didn't peg you as the type to smoke," he murmurs, his voice no longer cold, but rough.

Gravelly. The kind of voice meant for dark bedrooms, not polite dinner parties.

I take a long drag, my hands still gripping his bare waist because if I let go, my knees will completely give out.

I blow the smoke out into the narrow space between our mouths.

"You don't know much about me anyway," I whisper.

"I know enough," Steve says softly. He lowers his head, his lips hovering an inch from my ear. "About what I saw in the bathroom..."

The humiliation comes rushing back.

"No." I cut him off instantly. I wedge my hands flat against his chest and push him away from me.

I wrap my arms tight across my chest, shivering wildly now that his body heat is gone. "We are absolutely not talking about it. Ever."

Steve stares at me in the dark. I expect him to pull me right back. I kind of want him to.

Instead, he gives a single, sharp nod. "Fine."

He turns his back on me, slides the glass door open, and walks back into the dark bedroom, leaving me completely wrecked in the rain.

The next morning, we survive breakfast with Eleanor, endure the hour-long drive back to the city without exchanging a single word, and step into the private elevator of the Carter Building like two perfectly poised strangers.

The second the elevator doors open to our penthouse, my Serena phone buzzes in my trench coat pocket.

I step toward my wing, pulling the phone out. A text from Dax.

DAX: The suit from last night just called the club line. He rescheduled the missed session for tonight. 10 PM. Do not be late.

I close my eyes, letting out a slow, ragged breath.

He isn't letting it go. Steve is still actively hunting Blue down to finish the lesson his wife refused to give him.

I shove the phone back into my pocket and push open the double doors to my private bedroom.

The space is exactly as I left it, except for the object sitting dead center on my pristine mattress.

I frown, locking the door behind me. Maria never leaves things on the bed.

I walk over slowly. It's a sleek, matte black box with a thick cream-colored envelope resting on top.

I pick up the heavy envelope, slide my thumb under the wax seal, and pull out the crisp cardstock inside.

I pull the black lid off and nestled perfectly in black velvet is a heavy, high-end silicone vibrator.

There is one small, handwritten note tucked underneath it, written in Steve's sharp handwriting.

~For the next time you wake up in the middle of the night. my wife shouldn't have to resort to using her own hands in the dark.~