“Oh… well, let me know if you need a tour guide. I know Miami like the back of my hand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I smile sweetly.

We’re both hesitant, unsure of what else to talk about.

Tired of being stuck, Griffin turns without a word, fishing his wallet out and flipping it open once it’s retrieved.

He drops a stack of bills on the table, picks up his beer to finish it off, and then he gathers his briefcase and keys, smiling my way as I start to come towards him.

“Thanks for dinner, Griffin,” I murmur.

“No.” His head shakes and he takes a step closer. “Thank you. I had a great time. Haven’t had this much fun in months.”

We watch one another, and I feel a sizzle in my chest. It burns so tenderly. The heat—the pull—is undeniable. It’s so strong I can’t move.

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. It’s suffocating.

God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt such a thing. So long. What is this? What’s happening here?

“I’m so glad I could help with that. I’ve been told I’m always the answer when someone needs to have a good time.”

He laughs, deep and sweet. “I’m delighted to say that I can agree with that.” He nods, looking around the balcony area before flicking his wrist and checking the time on his silver watch. “Let me get going.” He walks around me and heads for the door. “Do you need a ride?”

“No.” I playfully shoo him away. “It’s okay. I’ll haul a cab. I think I’m gonna hang here for a little longer, have another glass or something.”

He looks from me to the empty wine glass on our table. Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “Are you sure, Angelina? I can always give you one.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl too.”

His lips press. I can tell he isn’t okay with this—leaving me here alone, but truthfully I need to be alone. I need air. I need to think about what in the hell just happened within the past eight hours. Surely, this feeling can’t be real. We were just chatting, sharing a few drinks. Laughing. Have a nice, casual time.

It was just business… at least, that’s what I want to think.

I don’t know. There’s something now that blazes in his eyes. It wasn’t there before, that fire, that heat exuding from his perfectly tanned skin. The way he watches me, the way his breathing changes when he’s close. There’s only one reason behind that.

I know now that I’m not the only one that wouldn’t mind a taste.

“Call me if you need help with anything or need ideas for a hotel.”

I nod. “Okay. I will.”

Clutching the door handle, he murmurs deeply, “Goodnight, Miss Clark.” Ahh, my business name. Formal. Cordial. I kinda-sorta hate it. I like how he says my first name, how it gently rolls off his tongue. Angelina.

But it can’t be that way.

So, I remain formal, too, by saying, “Goodnight, Mr. Boyd.”

FOUR

Griffin

It’s later than I thought when I pull into my garage. Nearing 9:30 PM.

When I left Angelina on the balcony of Swede’s I didn’t go straight home. I went to Pinkman’s, a quiet bar only a few blocks away from my house, and downed three scotches. I couldn’t get her out of my head.

Her sweet smile. Those supple pink lips. Those clear blue eyes that, somehow, gave nothing away. How can they be so clear, yet I see nothing?

It’s hard reading her, and I’m sure she makes it that way for a reason. She doesn’t want people to know about her. She doesn’t want anyone to get too close to unveil her secrets.

Makes sense. I can be the same way.

When I get home, it’s dark inside. Nothing but the light above the kitchen sink is on as I walk by the table and place my briefcase on the counter.

I walk up the stairs, taking the first right turn and looking in Colette’s study.

I expect her to be there but she’s not. Her supplies are scattered and disarrayed, a canvas with an unfinished painting of a cat or something on the easel. It’s set up like she’s been here and decided to take a break.

I sigh, walking down the hallway to get to the master bedroom. When I walk in, Colette is sitting in front of the vanity¸ brushing her shoulder-length gold locks.

She spots me through the mirror and slowly stops brushing. “Your home,” she says dryly. She’s not happy about it. Was she expecting me not to show up? Is that what she wants?

“Yeah,” I breathe, walking to my side of the bed. I undo my tie as she spins on the bench. She’s wearing her silky gold robe, her face clear of makeup. I can smell her body spray. A fruity scent.

Colette is beautiful with or without make-up, but by the stress that wears on her hunched shoulders, her creased forehead, I can tell something is bothering her.

I debate on whether I should ask, until she speaks for me.

“I called you earlier. Did you get it?” She stands from the stool, going to the side of the bed and pulling down the comforter. She sits down, back facing me, eyes focused on her lap.

“Yeah—sorry, babe. It was crazy today. The deal with Quarter almost didn’t go through.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t look too enthused.

I blink, studying her back. “Colette?”

She barely looks over her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.” She’s lying. “I’m just really tired.”

“Your study isn’t as tidy as usual,” I note.

“Yeah, well, I started but I got exhausted. I’m sure Arianna will take care of it in the morning.”

I drop my tie on the bed, unbuttoning my dress shirt.

Colette lies down, blowing a breath and staring up at the patterned vaulted ceiling. Her nipples are protruding through the silk. I’m sure she’s not aroused, maybe just cold.

She pulls the comforter over her body as I walk around the bed, sitting by her side.

I stroke the edges of her hair and she sighs, trying to catch my eyes. I can’t look at her, not after what I was about to do to Angelina.

But I can touch. I’m a drunk, horny son of a bitch and I need pleasing.

“God, Griffin… why didn’t you call?” she whispers.

I blink rapidly. Honestly, I was too caught up with Angelina, letting her learn little things about me for God knows what reason.

It’s rare for me to speak of myself—my personal life—so openly to someone I hardly even knew and, yet, it happened anyway, like I’d reunited with a long lost friend.

I finally look up and Colette is looking me dead in the eyes with a full frown on her face.

Pushing up on her elbows, she leans in and takes a deep whiff of me, and then her frown deepens.

“Why do you smell like scotch?” she practically spits.

I watch her frown turn into a scowl before leaning back and swallowing thickly. The taste of the scotch is still on my tongue, strong and tart.

“I caught some drinks with Neil to celebrate the deal.” Liar.

“Neil?” she questions.

“A business associate. Remember I told you he works with Stratford and Clark. He helped with Quarter a lot. Tough deal.”

“Yeah, you said that,” she mutters. “So you can go for drinks but you can’t even call your own wife back?”

I push off the bed. By her defensive state, I know she’s ready to pick a fight. I’m not up for arguing. Not tonight.

I walk towards the bathroom, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “Just run off and take your shower. Ignore the conversation. God, no wonder this marriage is failing.”

Her last sentence catches and hooks me and it pisses me the fuck off.

I spin around before I can make it to the bathroom, narrowing my eyes as I focus on her. “Is that what you think? That our marriage is failing? If that idea is in your head then why the fuck are you still in my house?”