Page 22 of Seeking Vengeance

“You didn’t scare me.” She reaches for her wine with casual confidence, and I’m sure it’s to prove her point.

“Well, whatever I did to make you run, I apologize.”

She sips from her glass, eying me over the rim. There are no words between us for long moments, only a heated stare that bubbles my blood.

I don’t know who the fuck this woman is but she’s beyond temptation.

“Do you have a new lover since Remy or Salvatore? Is that why you took off?” I want the truth. Every last detail. If there’s another man in the picture, I need to know who to get rid of.

“No.” She takes another sip, her gaze still linked to mine. On the surface she appears unfazed and calm. It’s her thumb rubbing over her wedding finger that’s a tell.

I focus on her hand. On the lone digit.

There was no ring weeks ago. I made sure of it. I don’t usually waste time on taken women. Yet for her, I’d make all the exceptions in the world. I’ll break every one of my rules just for a taste.

She places the glass on the table and lowers her hands to her lap, deliberately out of sight.

“I have a husband.” Her murmured admission packs a punch.

Fuck.I don’t ruin marriages. Yet here I am, already planning the downfall of the relationship this woman has with her spouse.

“I thought you were a scorned lover?” I keep my disappointment in check. “So is it safe to assume you cheated on your husband with Remy? Or is Salvatore more your type?”

The heat building in my veins demands I find out who she was with—the younger, more emotional prick or the older, more conniving asshole. But I can’t push her either. My impatience won’t withstand another one of her disappearing acts.

The slightest narrowing of her eyes is her only response.

“Does he know you don’t wear your wedding ring? Or is that integral to your disguise?”

Her lips part, only to have the waitress return with my scotch. We’re silent through the interruption. Neither of us move or speak until Denver reaches for her wine to take another sip.

I don’t glance at her hand this time. I don’t dare to take my gaze from hers. I want to read every hint she gives. To see all the facets she doesn’t know are on display.

Once we’re left alone she tilts her chin as if preparing to announce war, but instead, she says, “My husband died two years ago.”

I straighten.

That explains a few things. Especially the subtle glimpses of pain I’ve witnessed a time or two.

I palm my glass. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not.” She gives a derisive laugh. “You’ve been trying to sleep with me from the moment we met. I bet the death of my husband is welcomed news.”

I frown and clutch dramatically at my chest, pretending she’s not entirely on the mark. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“I haven’t thought enough about you to bother making an assessment.”

“Now who’s lying?” I smirk and clasp my scotch. “At least I’m honest enough to admit my infatuation. When you did the Cinderella routine weeks ago, I went crazy trying to find you. There wasn’t even a ruby slipper left behind for me to trace back to you. Not even a name.”

Her lips twitch. “First of all, the ruby slipper was inTheWizard of Oz, and second, I vaguely recall you mentioning you didn’t need my name.”

Touché.

“I assure you I paid a hefty price for that mistake. I almost lost my mind not knowing how to find you.”

Her lips kick even farther. Not quite a smile, yet enough to raise her cheeks and brighten her eyes.

“Well, don’t hold out on me,amore mio. Tell me your name.”

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