What’s happened to my husband?
Shawn opens the door and stops on the threshold, his back to me, shoulders stiff with a burden I don’t understand. Or is it guilt? What has my husband done that’s so bad?
“I won’t be home tonight,” is all he says in a frightfully empty tone.
I feel a heavy weight on my heart, and air traps in my throat making it too difficult to talk. I watch as my handsome husband, who’s now a perfect stranger, walks away from me for the last time.
“Goodbye, Shawn.”
2
“Blythe, you have someone asking to see you,” Amanda, my secretary calls from the door. Her gaze travels to the pile of used tissues on my desk and then back to my blotchy face. “Okay…” she says concerned, “we’re going to address this…” she twirls her finger at me and then at the mess I’ve created, “but first, should I tell him to come back later?”
I dab more Kleenex under my eyes, fully aware I need a complete overhaul to look presentable. “Who is it? Is it Shawn?”
“No, but he says he knows Shawn.”
I frown in confusion. Why would anyone who knows Shawn come and see me at work? And more to the point, how do they even know where I work?
“I look like shit,” I mutter to myself, chiding my lack of resolve when it comes to dealing with my emotions.
“Strangely enough, you don’t,” Amanda says while walking to my desk to clear the pile of tissues—a job I consider above her calling. “You must be one of those lucky bitches who’s actually pretty when she cries. Not like me. I look like a constipated pug dog when I’m choking on tears.”
I laugh, my jolting hand accidentally sending my lip gloss up my cheek. Amanda smiles, pulling another Kleenex from the box and handing it to me. I got lucky when she came knocking on my door only a day after I’d had the sign installed. Wearing stiletto heels and a tight skirt and blouse, Amanda wasn’t taking no for an answer, even happy to work on half-pay until I got my business up and running. She kept me entertained with her hairstyles, each day something vastly different from the last. But now, I can’t live without her. She’s become my backbone and is always there for me even when I have snot dribbling down my face.
“Did he give a name?” I ask, while wiping the sticky pink lipstick from my cheek.
“No, but… he can visit any time he wants, he’s freakin’ hot.”
Again, I glance at her in confusion. “Hot? I wouldn’t say any of Shawn’s friends are hot.” My husband’s certainly the hottest of his group, by a long stretch.
“Well, you mustn’t know all his friends because this hunk is exactly that.”
“Okay,” I say, unconvinced, shoving my hand back in the bottom drawer. “Send him in.”
“On it.” Amanda strides out and, moments later, a vaguely familiar face strides in. And when I say vaguely, you never forget a face that good-looking, but it’s been years since it graced my presence.
This is a man who’d have women falling to their knees, begging him to take them however he sees fit. And I have no doubt that’s his reality. Lucky bastard.
I feel his warmth, eyes traveling the length of my body as I stand to greet him. They linger for a moment, and I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy it.
“Blythe,” he says, his voice sexier than sex itself. “It’s been… what…” he shakes his head and laughs, “too long. I can’t even remember.” He walks over, circles his hand to the small of my back and pulls me forward until his lips graze my cheek. I shiver with delight and inwardly chide myself for being a schoolgirl. “It’s good to see you,” he rumbles against my ear and Jesus… fuck… if that’s not the sexiest sound known to women, I don’t know what is.
“You, too,” I barely manage, feeling heat in my cheeks.
When he pulls away, he takes a seat on the other side of my desk where I’m guilty of drinking him in the same way he did me.
Kane freakin’ Alexander.
Amanda was not lying.
He certainly is the exception to the rule when it comes to how good-looking Shawn’s friends are. Perhaps the word friends should be used loosely. I haven’t heard Kane Alexander’s name mentioned in years. As a mere acquaintance, I can’t understand what business he could possibly have with me.
“So—” I begin until I’m cut off when the door swings open and a blushing Amanda waltzes in carrying a silver tray topped with a pitcher of iced water and two glasses. While her smile remains plastered on her face, her eyes are glued to Kane, but his stare is still firmly fixed on me. The corners of his lips tilt ever so slightly, probably taking pleasure in my apparent discomfort. We both wait patiently as Amanda does her job—albeit slower than usual—and when she finally leaves, closing the door softly behind her, I release the breath I’ve been holding. I can guarantee that Kane’s trip into my office will have had every lady turning their head to catch even the smallest glimpse of him.