Her excitement grew, the pleasure inside her morphing into a need more necessary than breath. She loved this man. So much it hurt and healed, all at once. But it was his hands, the relaxation of his grip against her hips, his surrender to the affection, that washed away the desire and filled her with nauseating clarity.

She was kissing her husband. Reuniting passion. Yet he was kissing a stranger. Extinguishing the memory of their marriage and moving on.

The truth filled her with agony. Their connection becoming bittersweet.

With every brush of his tongue, he was leaving her. And she’d been the one to help him take the first step.

Chapter Eight

T.J. closed his eyes at the taste of her lips. It was like coming home, her mouth achingly familiar and yet punishingly different. This woman kissed like Cassie, with slow sweeps of her tongue and tiny whimpers of yearning.

He sank into the well-known sensation. Devouring it. Savoring her taste, her essence. Even breathing deep of the perfume he remembered she loved so much. It was his wife. He was kissing Cassie. At least that’s what he imagined he was doing.

His tongue tangled with hers, unable to get enough. No longer willing to hold back. He gave her everything he had. He showed his devotion with the trail of his hands over her back. He displayed his attraction by the grinding of his erection against her abdomen.

He was delirious with the need to have her again. Just one more night. One more kiss before the divorce was final.

“T.J.,” she murmured into his mouth.

“Cassie.”

She stiffened at the name. Hell. This wasn’t his wife—his love. This was no one. A stranger. Some stray woman who’d dissolved his commitment to his marriage with barely a blink of her fake lashes. He stumbled back, his lips burning, his chest hollow.

What the fuck had happened? One minute he’d been at the bar drowning his sorrows, the next he was betraying everything he held dear. It didn’t make sense. This woman, although not his type, could have any man. Yet she’d come to him.

“Why did they tell you my name?” His voice was accusatory. “Why would anyone tell you who I was?”

Leo had admitted earlier they weren’t sure he was going to show up tonight. They thought he was fragile. Incapable of working. So why would they point him out to new members? Why would they try penetrating his grief bubble unless they were attempting to burst it?

She stepped into him, her palm landing on his clothed chest, scorching the skin underneath. “You intrigued me. From the moment I walked in, I wanted to get to know you.”

Liar. He’d acted like a drunken bum all night—sitting at the bar, sulking into a glass of scotch. Unless she was a glutton for rejection, she was hiding something. And he was certain he knew what it was.

They’d set him up—Leo, Brute, Shay. There was no other reason for her to know who he was. His business partners—his friends—had gone against his wishes and calculated a plan to get his mind off the divorce and his body craving the addictive release of sex.

They had no right to do this to him. He hadn’t consciously made the choice to find another lover. Moving on had turned into a mess of indecision that had been taken out of his hands. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Cassie. But he just had. Even if she never found out.

He grazed a rough hand over his lips, wiping away the woman’s taste. The guilt of betrayal weighed on his shoulders as anger built in his chest. Tonight was a mistake. He couldn’t move on. At least not now. Not until the divorce was final. Maybe longer—weeks, months. Hell, if he didn’t kiss another woman in the years to come, it’d be too soon.

“You don’t think I know what you’re up to?” he seethed. Somewhere, deep down, he knew it wasn’t her fault. He’d succumbed on his own. Had become too entangled in delusions and the need for comfort that he’d strayed. “I know exactly why you’re here. And let me tell you, honey, it ain’t gonna work. You need to leave.”

This wasn’t Cassie. She was nothing like the woman he loved with her cheap nails and tawdry red lips. Jesus. He rubbed the back of his neck and struggled for calm. He wanted to vomit. To fall to his knees and never get up. At least not until the bitterness washed away.

The woman’s cheeks paled, her eyes widening in horror. “But…T.J.”

There she went with his name again.

“You don’t think I worked it out?” His voice grew louder, the anger seeping through his words. “That I don’t know who you are?” He still wasn’t sure if she was a paid escort or an interested clubber with the desire for a challenge, but she was playing him nonetheless. That was enough for him. “Leave before I get security to kick you out.”

She stepped away from him, as if finally realizing she’d been caught in her little game of lies. “But…I…” Her focus flew to the door, to the crowd of people gathering.

“Tanya?” Zoe pushed through the bodies crowding the entrance to the room, followed close behind by Shay. “What’s going on?”

Tanya. He’d never forget that name, or the rage it solicited. “Get her out of here.” Their hovering presence only cemented the betrayal. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been watching, waiting for the deed to be done.

He shot the woman a glare, letting his disgust become evident before turning to Shay. “I don’t want to see her down here again.” The crowd parted as he stormed forward, coming face-to-face with Brute.

“You causing trouble?” His friend’s voice was a threat.

T.J. shouldered past him, seething as he headed for the bathroom. He was in mourning. Senseless from stupidity. If he didn’t find space to be alone, he’d lose himself.

His footsteps echoed in his ears as he bypassed the small crowd of underwear-clad patrons and made his way into the next private room. Zoe’s companions were on the bed, both their faces filled with concern as T.J. continued forward, shoving past the bathroom door and into the calm, cool silence.

He had a few seconds, barely even time to take a deep breath or utter a greeting to the two men at the sink, before Brute stormed into the small space, followed by Leo.

“Out.” Brute jerked a thumb over his shoulder, not sparing their paying customers any pleasantries in his request for privacy. “If you stand watch at the door, I’ll comp your next entrance fee.”

The men nodded, wordlessly leaving the room, the door swinging shut behind them.

The bathroom became quiet, allowing the pounding in T.J.’s head to grow louder. Deafening. His business was meant to be where his future lay. It was meant to be the distraction from the agony. The solace from the guilt.

“Care to explain?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest.

T.J. gave a derisive laugh and strode for the basin counter. He clutched the cold marble in his hands, letting his head fall. Breath after breath soaked his lungs, as he tried to wipe the memory of the kiss from his mind and the burn still marring his lips.

“You’d want to start talking.” Brute’s tone was lethal. “You fucked up in front of paying clients. You better have a good reason.”

T.J. closed his eyes. Was this the end? Not only of his marriage, but his friendship with Leo and Brute? They’d crossed the line. He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that. There was no trust. No understanding. Fuck. He was losing his mind.

“I was already getting sick to death of your moping,” Brute continued. “But I won’t stand for outbursts in the club. And I sure as hell won’t allow you to upset patrons.”

T.J.’s vision darkened and his knuckles pulsed to the point of pain, his grip tightening against the counter. “I don’t care how sick of my moping you are—” he swung around, his chest heaving, “—you don’t pay a fucking hooker in the hopes I’ll miraculously get over my wife.”