Page 5 of Tempt Her

Grabbing my ivory wrap sweater off the back of the antique chair in the foyer, I blanket myself. Not from any stranger on the other side of our front doors.

I cloak my heart; my emotions are raw, tears still blazing in my eyes.

Yes, my ivory yoga pants and matching sports bra leave little to the imagination. But besides my dad, yoga is the only hour of escape I have in the other twenty-three hours that my asshole husband controls.

I was supposed to have my routine this morning—take care of my dad and then do my yoga—the two things that let me survive this.

Then Gentry informed me as I dressed that I needed to stay here this morning for a meeting with the painters. Why, I don’t know. Gentry picks everything. I’m as useful as that antique chair.

So I don’t care how exposed my body may appear; just don’t let anyone see my pain. Don’t let this stranger see my pride slipping away with the tears I’m fighting back.

Turning the brass doorknob, “Hello?” I swing the front door open.

And there they stand.

Three hot men answering my prayer.

CHAPTERTWO

Weekends by Freya

Who should I stare at? I don’t know.

Standing in our living room with vaulted ceilings and a glass wall to our backyard overlooking the eighteenth hole, that isnotthe view to admire. Not one any person attracted to masculine flesh would give a shit about.

No, it’s these three men in front of me.

Sipping coffee, I have to hide my mouth that wants to hang open. I have to keep my lips busy because they want to declare, “Damn, y’all are hotter than Georgia asphalt in August.”

And who would I be admiring like a blubbering, horny idiot?

Any one of them.

And can I let my clit-numbing husband see how these men turn on the faucet to my pussy? Like a fire hose?

Hell. No.

“My wife and her designer want that white.” Gentry stabs his fat finger, pointing to the test patch I painted on the wall last week. “But I want the beige we have. It’s classic.”

I dare to speak up. “She said beige looks dirty and dated.”Like him.

His glare whips around. “Shut up. The men are talking.”

I shrug, muttering, “Oh,smalltalk.”

The look Gentry gives me? I’ll pay for that comment tonight, but I had to do it, especially in front of these men. I had to show them I’m not a complete doormat.

Did it work?

The tallest man, who shook both our hands as he introduced himself as “Ford Alexander”; he’s the boss. Nodding, he glances over his shoulder at me.

Even standing next to my powerful husband, all air surrendered when Ford entered the room.

The man doesn’t even smile. He doesn’t need to. His perfect face provides all the pleasure you need.

I’ve never seen a jaw so granite and a chin with such a sexy cleft. Even under his groomed beard, I can see it; I want to kiss it. His nose and cheekbones are strong, angling up to the bluest eyes under thick eyebrows that match his dark hair with gray peppering his temples. He lets his gorgeous waves grow casually while nothing else on his imposing frame looks easy.

It's all hard. With broad shoulders under a rugged, army green jacket, he looks like he’s about to go camping alone… and kill something.

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