A glance at my phone tells me Astor is expecting my call in two minutes. I have no fucking idea what to say.

  One last time, I try Sloan. Not only doesn’t she answer but the call won’t connect at all. Has she blocked my number?

  Shit. I can’t lose her. I fucking can’t. But I can’t not bring this deal home for Evan, either. Once I have, I’ll do whatever it takes to make Sloan understand that I wasn’t lying to her on our wedding day. I’ll convince her that I love her. Something will work, right?

  But as I make the dreaded call to Michael Astor to explain how and why Sloan doesn’t have all the facts in this situation right, I’m terrifyingly worried I’ll never win her back.

  April 24

  After my humiliating call to Michael Astor, everything rolls down hill and straight into a pile of shit.

  The rest of my Monday is a scramble to do damage control around Reservoir’s office, but I’m too late. Sloan has already found her army and circled the wagons. I can’t find a single person in that company who isn’t one-hundred-percent committed to following their rebellion’s new leader.

  On the one hand, it’s frustrating as hell. Whatever she’s said and done to rally her troops, it worked. On the other hand, her ability to turn a situation around, inspire others’ confidence about her leadership, and get shit done is epic. Yes, she has the advantage because this is her home turf, but she outmaneuvered me. I admit it.

  I just can’t let that stand.

  That evening, I drive to Sloan’s place, Fleetwood Mac’s haunting relationship Hail Mary song, “The Chain,” surging over the radio. Lindsey Buckingham wails that if his woman doesn’t love him now, she’ll never love him again…

  Those words hit me square in the chest.

  I saw the way Sloan looked at me on our wedding day. I felt the way she responded to my lovemaking on our wedding night. Somewhere in that stubborn, bruised heart of hers, I think Sloan cares about me, maybe even a lot. I just need her to admit it.

  Trying to shake off my nerves, I reach her townhouse well after dark, park, and knock on her door.

  No answer.

  I know she’s in there. Before I left my car, I watched until I saw lights flip on and off inside her unit.

  Sighing, I knock again. “Baby, we need to talk. Silence isn’t solving anything. I know you’re angry and upset. Probably confused, too. If you’ll open up and talk to me, I can explain Becca.”

  Still nothing, not even an acknowledgment that I’m outside her door.

  Dread twists me up. I need to salvage the Wynam situation for Evan…but I need my wife back for me. “Baby, don’t do this.”

  Still no response. I sigh. Pleading is generally useless and puts me in a position of weakness. Sloan isn’t a woman who respects sniveling. Oh, she’d have all appropriate empathy for someone truly in need, but she doesn’t see me that way. She expects me to have more game.

  If I’m going to make any headway, I have to get crafty.

  With a quick phone call, I order her favorite pizza. My guess? She’ll answer the door for the delivery guy bringing her a free dinner. Or she’ll at least be curious enough to find out what’s going on.

  Forty long minutes later, a teenager in a collared shirt screeches up to her curb, whistling as he balances a squatty oblong box in his palm and rings the bell. I trail him silently, tucking myself behind a tall juniper bush planted on one side of her door.

  It’s not long before Sloan answers. “I didn’t order a pizza.”

  “Are you Sloan Shaw?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “This is your favorite pie. It’s from your husband—all paid for.” The kid thrusts the box into her hands. “Have a good night.”

  Sighing, Sloan shakes her head and moves to close the door. I seize the moment and lunge forward, squeezing my way inside and shutting the door behind me. Despite the fact she’s changed into a pink sweater that hangs over one bare shoulder and faded gray yoga pants, she looks fucking gorgeous.

  Glowering, she tosses the pizza on the nearby table. “What are you doing? I didn’t invite you in. Get out.”

  “We need to talk. I—”

  “So you can lie to me some more? No thanks.” She yanks the door open and raises an expectant brow.

  I kick the door shut, refusing to budge. “I didn’t lie.”

  “Well, you sure as hell didn’t tell me the whole truth. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to hear whatever explanation you’ve concocted. I just want you gone.”

  “This is too important for you to stubbornly refuse to listen—”

  “Important to you and your scheme to take over Reservoir, not to me.”

  “You are the most stubborn woman!”

  “Because I won’t fall for your BS? So sorry…” Her voice drips sarcasm.

  I love Sloan’s backbone. But right now, it’s frustrating the hell out of me. “We need to talk about this for us.”

  “Us? You married me for a business deal. You fooled me, I admit. For a whole night, I really believed you might not be like every other man in my life, twisting me up and sweet-talking until you got what you wanted, then inevitably proving that I never meant a damn thing to you.”

  I wince. “I’m nothing like Darren your ex or Bruce Rawson. And I wasn’t lying. Corporate games aside, I love you.”

  “We can’t put the corporate games aside. You schemed and plotted, telling me exactly what you thought I wanted to hear. You married me to get your hands on Reservoir for your boy, Evan. And you had sex with me to keep my brains scrambled. You’re good; I’ll give you that. It almost worked.”

  “That isn’t the only reason I married you. And it damn sure isn’t why I took you to bed.”

  Sloan rolls her eyes. “Stop. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

  “Baby, I can’t fake this.” I take a huge fucking gamble and wrap my fingers around her wrist, tugging her closer and settling her palm over the steely erection that sprang to life as she opened the door.

  She gasps, her fingers slowly curling around my length, almost as if she can’t bring herself to let me go. Her startled gaze bounces up to me. Electricity arcs between us.

  Now is my moment.

  Tangling my free hand in her fiery hair, I tilt her head exactly where I want her. “And I sure as fuck can’t fake this, either.”

  A heartbeat later, I cover her lips with mine, licking at her pouty bottom curve before nudging them apart. She opens to me, and the instant her honey-cinnamon flavor hits my senses, something feral unfurls inside me.

  Groaning, I tug on her hair and release her wrist to palm her ass in the skintight yoga pants, then press myself against her, greedily grabbing a handful of her backside while consuming every delectable inch of her mouth. But my wife is stiff, not moving, not breathing, not touching me in return.

  Fuck. I need to downshift. She’s saying no without saying anything. Even if it kills me to let go now, I need to respect her boundaries. Then I need to find another way to prove how I feel.

  Why the fuck didn’t I anticipate the Becca question causing a problem between us?

  I wrench away from Sloan, breathing hard, my heart like a battering ram inside my chest. I stare into her eyes, which have gone a dark, seductive blue.

  My hope sparks. “Baby?”

  She scowls. “Don’t tell me you love me. Just take off your fucking clothes.”

  Her words have barely registered when she fuses her lips to mine and attacks the buttons of my dress shirt.

  I should insist we talk first…but thrill spikes through my bloodstream, searing my veins. I grab the pert curves of her ass with both hands again and haul her against my cock with a groan, grinding into my wife with an insistence that soon has her tossing back her head with a throaty curse of need.

  I drop my lips to her exposed shoulder—undisturbed by a bra strap—nipping and tonguing it before working my way up her neck to bite at her lobe. She may not want to hear that I love her, but she didn’t say anything about desire. “For days, I’ve thought of nothing but how good you feel when I’m inside you. Give me your nipples, baby. I want my mouth on them.”

  She whimpers, finally freeing the last buttons of my shirt, then dropping her hands to my fly. “Shut up and get naked faster.”

  “You, too.” I tear the sweater over her head.

  Sloan grunts in frustration that I force her hands to leave my zipper as she starts to work it down, but the second her sweater hits the floor, she reaches for me again, yanking my fly wide open as I lift one of her breasts to my waiting mouth.

  With a groan, I take my first pull on the bullet-hard nipple. My groan deepens when she wraps her hot hand around my erection and squeezes. We both shudder, breaths hard and melding in the scant space between us.

  If I don’t get inside her in the next two minutes, I’m going to lose my mind.

  A voice in the back of my head screams that we need to talk more than we need to fuck…but with Sloan stroking me and the scent of both strawberries and her feminine arousal filling my head, I can’t remember why.

  Instead, I push her pants down her hips at the same time she shoves my shirt off my shoulders. I press my bare chest to hers, hissing at the sizzle of skin on skin. She gives me a throaty little whine at the contact before sinking her teeth into my shoulder and brushing her thumb across the head of my cock.

  Holy shit. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Then shut up.” She licks her way across my skin. “And do it.”

  Where the hell should I take her? The bedroom, across the unit, seems miles too far away.

  Sofa it is.

  Lifting Sloan against my body, I meld our mouths together. Automatically, she wraps her legs around me, wriggling dangerously as I walk the ten agonizing feet to her couch.

  Once I’m there, I settle in the middle of the beige sectional. My wife braces her knees on either side of my hips. I’m thrilled as fuck the gesture spreads her legs because I’m dying to touch her.

  Sucking her other nipple into my mouth, I drag my thumb across her clit a few times in swipes that demand her response. She doesn’t disappoint, both gasping and stiffening at the sensation.

  “Are you wet, baby?” I can already tell the answer. But I’m dying to hear her admit that she’s soaking for me.

  “Yes,” she pants out. “Damn you.”

  I laugh. Sloan doesn’t cede anything easily, but knowing I get her hot makes me both fucking euphoric and frenzied.

  She cuts me off with a kiss, rubbing herself against me and making me lose what little is left of my mind. With the two brain cells I can still rub together, I circle my thumb over her hard nub once more and insert a pair of fingers. She sucks in a startled breath, her pussy clamping around my digits. When I scrape that sensitive spot high inside her with my fingertips, she lets loose a low, ragged moan.

  “Hurry up and get inside me.”

  “I want you to come for me first.” I need her surrender. “Fuck my fingers, baby.”

  “Don’t do this,” she all but cries like she’s trying to resist the pleasure…and can’t. Because she might be protesting, but that’s not stopping her from gyrating on my hand.

  “Do what? Make you feel good?” I kiss my way up her neck and whisper in her ear. “It turns me on to get you off.”

  “You just like wielding power over me.”

  She’s right; I do. Not because I’m looking to squash her but because I know she’d never respond to me if she didn’t truly want me, too. The fact she hadn’t had sex with anyone in a decade tells me she’s a woman who doesn’t climb into just anyone’s bed to scratch an itch. Her heart has to be invested. So for the sway of her hips to be picking up speed as her cheeks get rosier while the spice of her arousal hangs more pungent in the air…yeah. I know that, as much as my wife wants to hate me, she can’t.

  Yee-fucking-haw.

  “Bas…” she breathes my name as her hips pick up speed. “Bas!”

  “Here, baby. Always here for you,” I murmur against her neck. “You going to come?”

  I ask the question, but I know the answer. I feel it in the way she struggles for each breath, her pulse pounds at her neck, and her pussy swelters as she grips my fingers.

  Then her nails are in my shoulders, and she tosses her head back with a throaty groan, her pussy spasming as if trying to milk maximum pleasure from my touch.

  Watching her come… Fuck, she’s the hottest, most amazing woman I’ve ever had. Sloan doesn’t merely flip my switch; she lights up everything inside me.

  Because she’s the only one I’ve ever actually loved?

  That’s my guess, but I’m not unpacking that while my wife is letting out a long, sated exhalation, her eyes a heavy-lidded, stunningly sexual blue.

  “It’s your turn.”

  Her husky voice zips straight to my weeping cock. She’s alluring. Tempting. Determined to see me lose myself to her.

  Somehow, she hasn’t realized I already have.

  It’s no surprise Sloan doesn’t wait for my reply, just shoves my clothing aside, takes me in hand, and raises herself over my cock, aligning my crest with her slick opening. Then she slams down my length, taking me completely inside her in one savage thrust.

  Electricity lights up my body. My spine melts.

  I’m in deep trouble.

  Automatically, my hands find her hips, but I don’t need to guide her or urge her on. Sloan sets a blistering pace. The friction of each thrust and withdrawal has my eyes crossing. Her grip on me has my balls broiling.

  Jesus, I’m not going to last.

  “Sloan…baby. Slow down.”

  “Why? So you can catch your breath and try to take back control?” She gives me a throaty laugh. “No.”

  Impossibly, she picks up the pace again. Her nails dig into me, leaving a delicious sting in their wake. Her breathing turns almost as erratic as mine. Her cheeks flush hotter. A damp sheen of perspiration clings to her forehead and the tendrils curling at her temples and neck. It matches the coat of sweat springing up across my chest as I finally give in and grab her hips in a grip sure to leave bruises on her so-pale skin, plowing my way up inside her with a harsh bellowing exhalation as I shove her down deeper, teeth bared.

  The way we fuck is fierce, unrestrained, and primal. It’s not like anything I’ve ever felt. It’s devastating to my senses. It’s catastrophic for my restraint.

  I don’t want this to end—I want to stay inside her forever—but there’s no fucking way I can hold out. Need gathers low in my belly, searing, churning. I’m dizzy. Dying. Inside me, she’s brewing up the kind of orgasm that will flatten me and—I worry—change me forever. It’s seconds away, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  I don’t want to.

  With a snarl, I use all my will to topple Sloan onto her back without breaking rhythm or stroke. Then she’s satisfyingly beneath me, legs spread for me, clawing at me, ready to give in to me as I bang my way into her again and again and again. This doesn’t feel remotely sweet or romantic, but there’s no denying that with every crash inside her, I fall in love a little bit more.

  “Come with me,” I demand.

  Her breaths are choppy and frantic as she nods, hips rising to meet my every thrust. “Make me.”

  “Do it. Now!” I growl out, balancing on the edge of ecstasy I know fucking well will shatter me.

  “Yes!” she screams as she shudders and pulses around me.

  That’s it. I’m gone.

  I grip the arm of the sofa and surge into her over and over like a man possessed, reveling in the feel of her spasming around me as I unload—body, heart, and soul—deep inside her with a shout that doesn’t even sound human.

  Pleasure pulls me under. My vision turns black, but I keep thrusting, only aware of her, the molten hot ecstasy coursing through my body, and the fact I feel transformed.

  Long, unsteady moments later, I drag in an uneven breath. My head clears. My vision returns and focuses. Judging from Sloan’s dazed expression, she’s reeling, too.

  Every time I think what’s between us can’t get better, it does. I don’t think that’s strictly because we’re learning one another’s bodies better. I’m convinced it’s because we’re falling deeper in love.

  “Baby…” I nuzzle her neck. “That was so fucking beyond. We’re amazing together. You see that, right? Let’s talk this out. We have to—”

  “No.” She shoves at me wildly until I pull free and sit back, then she jumps to her feet. “We don’t have anything to talk about. Sex doesn’t change the fact we’re on opposite—” She stops and looks down at the mix of our fluids running down her leg. “Shit.”

  Immediately, I understand. I didn’t glove up, and she’s not on the pill. It was irresponsible and stupid. I would never try to get her pregnant on purpose…but if she conceived, would it be the worst thing?

  “It’s okay, baby.” I hop up to grab her a paper towel from the kitchen counter. “We’re married. I’m here for you.”

  “Bullshit.” She takes the scrap from my grasp and frantically wipes herself clean. “You’re here to close a deal. You’re here to stop me from persuading Michael Astor to say yes to Reservoir. You’re here to hoodwink me into being docile. And you’re in love with someone else. I’m just the idiot who didn’t stop you from using me again. Get out.”

  “Don’t do this. I’m not in love with her anymore.”

  “Isn’t that’s super convenient?”

  Damn, Sloan’s sarcasm game is strong.

  “No, it’s a fucking relief, actually. I love you. I didn’t see it coming, but I’m damn thrilled that I finally realize what I need and who makes me happy. You.”

  “Bas, you’re a player. Guys like you never give up and concede defeat; they just step up their A game. I’m done. It’s over. You don’t put me first.” She grabs her clothes, now littered around the room, then shakes her head at me. But I see the tears gleaming in her eyes. “You’re incapable of putting me first. That will never change.”

  The crack in her voice is breaking my heart. “No. Baby—”