Page 12 of The Bad Husband

He slowly moves the edge of his teeth over his bottom lip, his eyes sliding slowly over my face as much as mine move over his.

He’s breathtaking.

This isn’t only about nature taking its time to come up with a set of fascinating eyes, a strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, dark eyelashes, lips that must feel like an inescapable spell against one’s skin, a smile that could get a woman naked at the drop of a hat, and thoughts that orbit around the dark pits of some unexplored remote planets of passion.

This is about overpowering power. Power that breathes through this man’s pores. Power that makes the room spin with me, and strips me of the most basic survival instincts.

The power imbalance between us is so obvious that I don’t even try to refute it.

And then… A pestering thought makes me take a better look at him.

Is this really someone’s new husband?

Knock me over with a feather.

This is the last man I would imagine as anyone’s husband.

What if he and Henrietta are in this together?

What if they’re a team and have some kind of understanding? What if they worked together to bamboozle my father?

Is that too hard to believe?

I don’t know.

Can he be her accomplice?

Hard to tell.

She never mentioned someone like him when she lived with my father.

“It’s a question like any other question,” he says, lowering his eyes, and studying me with interest.

Sweet tension grows in my body.

Somewhere below my navel, a delicious pull reminds me that this man is playing with me a little, testing my resolve.

“You know who I am.”

My direct answer makes him lift his gaze to my eyes.

“I surely do, Lila Skye Evans. You’re Henrietta’s late husband’s daughter.”

“Then you must know why I have to live with you and her during the summer.”

“I know that, too.”

He lifts a finger and wags it at me.

“You didn’t show up at my wedding.”

“And you were upset?”

“I cried for days,” he says seriously, joking of course, and I chuckle.

He studies me, entertained.

“She didn’t say you were beautiful.”