Page 28 of Dirty Love

Or was. For tonight.

Reality slams back into me and I roll off his lap, holding his shirt closed around me.

“You look good in my shirt,” he whispers once he catches me in the bedroom. He gently pushes me onto my back.

I grin up at him. “You look good without it.”

“Perfect.”

We fall asleep at some point, after making out and using another condom in the shower. When I wake up, I pull his shirt back on and pad out to the kitchen to get a smoothie. No clue what Wilson’s going to have for breakfast, but maybe he likes kale.

If not, I can make him toast.

It’s as close as I’ll ever get to a domestic scene, so I’m going to cling to it as long as possible.

“Took you long enough to wake up,” Grant drawls from the couch and I scream, dropping my smoothie as I whirl around.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Good morning.” He gives me a cold look that says he knows I spent the night with someone.

There’s no point pretending that’s not an exceptional event.

“You need to leave.”

I’d opened my mouth to say it, but it wasn’t my voice. From behind me, Wilson’s voice vibrates with authority and he steps forward, blocking me from Grant’s view.

Oh, shit.

I can’t see Grant anymore, but I don’t need to. He probably gives Wilson an amused look here. “I do?”

“Tabitha will call you when she’s not busy.” I wince at the heroics. That’s not going to land well. Not that Wilson can’t take Grant—I had a repeated tour of his body last night. I know just how muscled he his, the power he hides on that apparently lean frame.

Nothing lean about him once you strip off the clothes.

And since I’m still wearing his shirt…

Grant would be an idiot to mess with Wilson.

That’s the problem. He’s always been an idiot, ever since he flashed a smile and a business card at me and got more than he ever bargained in return.

Or maybe he’s not an idiot. Maybe this is his revenge, a decade in the making. Because the first time I allow myself to feel happiness since the night I lost Keegan, Grant’s here to take it away.

I know what he’s going to say. I lift my hand to touch Wilson’s back, to somehow hold on to the connection that Grant’s about to blow to smithereens.

“You think I’m the one who’s going to leave here?” Grant snorts and I try to say something, but my voice doesn’t work. I’m already retreating inside the broken shell I call Tabitha Leyton.

“Look man, I don’t know who you think you are, but there’s a thing called common human decency, and right now you’re not really exhibiting it.”

“You don’t know who I am?”

Wilson sighs.

My heart breaks.

Grant wins the day with the hollowest of victories. “I’m her husband.”

—fifteen—

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