Page 33 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

So I moved to a small town on the outskirts of the city, only going in to watch the plays that starred my designs and visit my dad in prison.

And, now that I was successful, suddenly Grayson was back and acting like he was sorry.

I didn’t want to think about it. I wanted him out of here, because the stern frown on his face was way too familiar. Grayson had almost always been remote, cool, and in control. I had only seen a flash of emotion from him a few times. Once we had gone to a museum and I had been in raptures over one of the dresses that had been in one of the original silent films. The curator had been thrilled to have such an appreciative customer, touching my elbow gently as he directed me to look at the pearl-lined hem.

Grayson’s frown and the warning he bit out at the poor curator for touching me had startled and thrilled me.

I did not want to feel that same thrill again.

“Why don’t you cook burgers for us?” I asked Liam, heading outside to the backyard grill, Grayson following behind.

“Oh really? Wow! You never want me to cook!” Liam said enthusiastically.

No tasty meals for Grayson tonight.

With a roguish grin, Liam chucked the burgers on the grill.

I saw Grayson wince.

Mr. Perfect was always incredibly anal and psychotically neat and tidy about everything, including grilling.

“Feel free to go eat elsewhere,” I said. “Or, really, go anywhere else that ends with me never seeing your face again.”

“Ah, it’s OK if he stays,” Liam said cheerfully, closing the grill at a temperature I knew would make those burgers overdone as shit.

“Thank you,” Grayson said. “How could I refuse such a kind invitation, Clementine?”

I gritted my teeth and tossed my head, turning deliberately away.

But not before I saw him begin to take off his tie out of the corner of my eye.

Fuck.

I looked away, but I didn’t want to look TOO far away, like I was affected by him or something.

But I had always loved watching him get undressed.

Grayson did everything deliberately. He’d undo his tie with those strong fingers, then wrap it carefully in a neat coil, or hang it from his tie rack. The top one or two buttons of his collared shirt would be undone, giving me a peek of his strong throat.

Then he’d move to his cufflinks, taking them out one by one with strong, tanned fingers, making my pussy clench and my thighs get wet, because I knew he’d be the same in bed. Slow, deliberate, building me up with unhurried strokes.

I did not want to remember that. Or how I had always felt this euphoric, stomach-churning mix of heady pleasure in his arms and fear.

Fear that I loved him too much.

Fear that he didn’t love me enough.

Fear that I wasn’t enough for him.

I resolutely shoved all those feelings aside and smiled at Liam.

“Can’t wait for those burgers,” I said, setting condiments and paper plates at the outdoor table.

After the very well-done and squeaky burgers, which Grayson ate with such a perfectly polite neutral expression on his face that I wanted to scream, Liam asked what my plans were for the night.

“Early bedtime,” I said, holding Grayson’s eyes, daring him to object.

“Let’s watch a movie,” he countered. “I’ll make popcorn.”

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