Chapter 2 The Wronged Husband

My thumb hovered over the message for several seconds after I sent it.

Mr. Blackwood. Your wife is at my home with my husband. I thought you should know. — Sullivan.

I stared at the photograph beneath it, and the certainty I'd felt when I pressed send began to disappear. A few seconds ago, exposing them had felt like the only thing I could do. Now the consequences were suddenly real. Once Vance saw the photograph, there would be no taking any of it back. Their marriage could fall apart, Jovi would know I had exposed her, and whether I wanted to admit it or not, I would have played a part in whatever happened next.

Before I could change my mind, I opened the message options and retracted it. The photograph disappeared first, followed by the words I had just sent.

I stared at the empty space on my screen. I'd finally had the chance to hurt them, and I'd backed away before I could follow through. After everything I'd seen, some part of me was still hesitating, and that realization frustrated me more than I wanted to admit.

I locked my phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat before starting the car. I drove until the familiar streets disappeared behind me, turning whenever I felt like it and paying little attention to where I was going. By the time I stopped in front of a bar I'd never noticed before, I no longer cared where I was. I only knew I didn't want to go home.

Inside, the bartender looked at me when I took a seat.

“Gin. Straight.”

He didn't ask anything else, and I appreciated that.

The first glass burned my throat, but I welcomed the sensation. It was easier to concentrate on the heat spreading through my body than the emptiness that had settled somewhere beneath my ribs. I ordered another, then another, letting the alcohol blur the edges of everything I had spent the evening trying not to remember.

By the time I finished the second glass, my phone began vibrating against the table. I already knew who it was, but I turned the screen over anyway.

Jovi: Neri, please. It was a MISTAKE. A moment of weakness. We can talk.

Another message appeared almost immediately.

Zane: Baby please. Where are you? I'm freaking out. Let me explain.

My eyes lingered on the word Baby. Zane had called me that for five years, sometimes absentmindedly in the morning, sometimes with his lips against my forehead before he left for work, sometimes when we were lying beside each other in the dark. Now the same word made something bitter rise in my throat.

I turned the phone face down and ordered another drink. I didn't want to hear their explanations. Not tonight.

The room had begun to feel warmer, and my head grew heavier as the alcohol took hold. I was staring blankly at the bottles behind the bar when a man approached from the side.

“Hey, lonely girl. Come have some fun with us.”

His hand settled around my waist. I immediately tried to move away, but my body reacted slower than I wanted.

“Go away.”

The man laughed, his breath heavy with beer and cheap cologne. “Feisty. I like it.”

Another man moved closer from the other side, leaving me with nowhere to step. I pushed at the hand around my waist, but my arm felt strangely heavy, and my movements had become sluggish from the alcohol.

“Stop,” I muttered, trying again to pull away.

“She said stop.”

The voice came from behind me. I barely had time to turn before both men released me and stepped back, one of them muttering something under his breath.

I looked over my shoulder and found Vance Blackwood standing a few feet away.

He was still wearing the expensive suit I'd seen him in earlier that morning, although his tie had been loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone. His grey eyes settled on me, and something about the way he looked at me made the drunken haze in my head recede for a moment.

He had been looking for his wife when I'd told him I hadn't seen her. Now, somehow, he'd found me drunk in a bar with two strangers crowding around me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze held mine, and something about it pulled an old memory to the surface—the way he had looked at me seven years ago at his wedding to Jovi. I had been standing beside her in a bridesmaid dress, watching her walk toward the man she had chosen instead of Zane, when Vance's grey eyes had found mine across the ceremony and lingered there for a moment before he looked away. I hadn't thought about that moment in years, yet standing there now, with his eyes fixed on me again, I remembered it with unsettling clarity.

“Can you stand?” he asked, and his voice pulled me back to the present.

“I think so.”

I pushed myself off the stool, but the moment I put my weight on my legs, they gave way. Vance caught me before I could fall, one arm coming around my waist to steady me. His grip was firm, and for a moment I simply leaned against him, trying to convince the room to stop spinning.

When I looked up, his eyes were still on me. “You're drunk.”

“I noticed.”

He didn't respond to that. He tightened his hold enough to keep me upright and guided me toward the exit. The cold air outside hit my face, making me shiver, but it did little to clear my head. I stumbled beside him as we crossed the pavement, depending more and more on his arm until he eventually had to half-carry me the rest of the way to his car.

I barely remembered the drive. By the time we reached the hotel, I was too exhausted to care where we were, and Vance had to guide me through the room before helping me sit on the edge of the bed.

He straightened and turned toward the door.

The sight of him leaving made something inside me tighten. I'd spent the entire evening trying not to think about what waited for me when I was alone, and suddenly the thought of that empty room closing in around me felt unbearable. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and caught the back of his jacket.

“Don't go.”

He stopped and looked down at my hand.

I could feel my fingers trembling against the fabric, but I couldn't make myself let go. “Please. Just…” My voice cracked, and I swallowed before forcing the words out. “Don't leave me alone.”

Vance remained where he was, his gaze moving from my hand to my face. “Let go.”

I tightened my fingers instead.

“Why does everyone pick her?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Why am I never enough?”

He said nothing, but his jaw tightened as I looked at him through the haze of alcohol and tears.

“Why my bed?” The words came faster now, spilling out before I could stop them. “Wasn't taking him enough? She had to take my bed too?”

I hated how much it hurt. I hated that after everything I'd given Zane, after five years of trying to make our marriage work, I was still the one standing there wondering why I hadn't been enough.

Then I looked at Vance, and the bitterness inside me twisted into something reckless.

“She slept with my husband,” I whispered, my fingers curling tighter around his jacket. “So why can't I kiss her husband?”

I didn't give myself time to reconsider. I pulled him down and pressed my mouth against his.

Vance went completely still. The hesitation lasted only a moment before his hand came to my face, his fingers settling against my jaw, and he kissed me back.

The kiss was nothing like I had expected. Whatever hesitation had been there disappeared, replaced by an intensity that made me forget, for a few seconds, why I'd kissed him in the first place. His thumb pressed against my jaw as he pulled me closer, and the control he carried so naturally seemed to slip just enough for me to feel something different beneath it.

Then Vance suddenly pulled away, breathing harder than before, while his eyes stayed on mine. His hand remained against my cheek for another second, his thumb resting lightly along my jaw, before he slowly lowered it.

“Are you kissing me because you want me,” he asked, his voice rougher than before, “or because your husband betrayed you?”

I stared at him, caught completely off guard by the question. For a moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. The alcohol had blurred almost everything around me, but somehow those words came through clearly.

Vance looked away first. He straightened his jacket, smoothing the lapel with one hand before stepping back from the bed. When he looked at me again, his face was composed. “Forget I asked.”

I remained silent.

He turned toward the door, then glanced back at me once. “Get some sleep.”

He left before I could answer. The door closed behind him, leaving me sitting on the edge of the bed with his question still hanging somewhere in my mind.

---

Morning came with a headache that made me regret every glass I'd drunk. I woke beneath an unfamiliar ceiling, and the sight of my wrinkled clothes brought the previous night back all at once.

I had kissed Vance Blackwood.

I looked down at myself, checking my clothes even though I already remembered falling asleep in them. They were still on, and relief came when I realized nothing else had happened. It was quickly followed by embarrassment. What had I been thinking?

Then his question returned to me.

Are you kissing me because you want me, or because your husband betrayed you?

With a clear head, I already knew the answer. I hadn't kissed him because I wanted him. I'd kissed him because Jovi had slept with my husband, and some bitter, reckless part of me had wanted to take something from her in return.

The realization made my stomach turn.

The bathroom door opened, and I looked up to find Vance stepping out, his hair still damp from the shower. He walked toward the table, picked up his watch, and fastened it around his wrist without saying anything.

I wasn't sure what surprised me more—the fact that he was still here or the fact that he was acting as though we were getting ready for an ordinary morning.

Vance glanced at me.

“You reek of a bar floor,” he said flatly. “Shower. You have a nine-thirty meeting. Lydia said you have the final numbers for the Harrington project.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“Take a shower.” He adjusted the cuff of his shirt and returned his attention to his watch.

“I... understand.”

I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, keeping my eyes away from him because I still didn't know how to look at him after what had happened.

Once the door closed behind me, I turned on the shower and stepped beneath the warm water. I rubbed my lips with my fingers, then shook my head at myself and reached for the soap.

Fifteen minutes later, we left the hotel. The hallway was quiet as we walked toward the elevators, and neither of us spoke. I kept my eyes forward, grateful that he wasn't looking at me because I had no idea how I could meet those grey eyes after what I'd done.

When we turned the corner, I saw Zane and Jovi standing near the ice machine, his arm wrapped around her while she leaned against him as though nothing had happened. Jovi noticed us first, and her eyes moved from me to Vance before dropping to my wrinkled clothes and then lifting back to his face.

Zane followed her gaze a second later. His eyes traveled over my clothes, paused briefly on Vance's still-damp hair, and then settled on the space between us. I watched the realization register on his face, and beside him, Jovi's hand rose slowly to her mouth.

Her expression changed almost immediately. She looked at me, then at Vance again, and the accusation in her eyes was almost absurd.

For once, I didn't rush to explain myself. I could have told them that nothing had happened between Vance and me, that I'd only spent the night in the same hotel room because I'd been drunk, but after everything they'd done, I didn't feel responsible for making either of them comfortable.

Vance's attention remained on his wife. “Jovienne.”

Jovi's shoulders stiffened, and she lowered her hand from her mouth. Vance took a step toward her, his eyes never leaving her face.

“There you are.”