His Wrong Wife, His Right Obsession
I ended up in the kitchen, looking for ice, looking for a distraction, looking for anything to stop the pounding in my head.
But the kitchen wasn't empty.
Lauren was standing there.
She was leaning against the marble counter, holding a plain white mug in her hands. She was wearing a faded gray t-shirt and loose sweatpants. She didn't have on any designer clothes, and she didn't smell like expensive perfume. She just smelled like vanilla and faint coffee. When she heard my footsteps, she just turned her head slowly, her sharp, street-smart eyes meeting mine with a steady, fearless look that instantly made my body tingle.
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