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“Oh no, I knew he was being an asshole to me.” She blows out a breath. “It wasn’t that I didn’t realize what was happening. It’s that I never thought I deserved anything better.”

That admission stops me cold. Maeve is so confident at work, so quick to call us out when we’re being unreasonable, so capable of holding her own against three alpha males who intimidate most people. It’s impossible to reconcile that woman with someone who would accept being treated like garbage.

“I was starving for affection, I guess,” she continues in a whisper. “Eating scraps and convincing myself it was a feast. I told myself it was enough—that Liam was handsome, charming, wealthy. Far better than someone like me could ever hope to land. I was lucky he was with me at all. That’s what I convinced myself. That his cruelty was just the price I had to pay for the privilege of being with him.”

The emotion that rises in me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s not just anger. It’s an instinctive, protective fury that makes me want to tear Liam apart with my bare hands. I’ve never liked the guy, but dismissing him as a lazy, spoiled party boy is very different from knowing he systematically destroyed the self-worth of the woman I⁠—

“That’s bullshit,” I growl, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “You don’t deserve scraps, Keller. You deserve someone who looks forward to seeing you every goddamn day. Someone who knows you light up every room you walk into. Someone who appreciates how kind you are, how you don’t take shit from anyone, how smart and hardworking and resilient you are.”

Maeve stares at me with those pretty lips parted in shock, like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing.

“As for those model types he was obsessing over? Fuck them.” The words pour out of me like I’ve been holding them back for years. “Any man who gets to be with you should know exactly how lucky he is to have access to your gorgeous body. He should worship every single one of your curves like they’re works of art. He shouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you. He should spend hours figuring out exactly how to make you fall apart for him.”

I’m stepping into dangerous territory again, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She needs to hear this. She needs to understand what she’s worth.

I move closer, close enough that I can see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “He should get you kicked out of restaurants because he can’t wait to get you home and make you scream his name.”

Maeve’s breath catches audibly, and I watch her body respond to my words—the way her pupils dilate, the way her chest rises and falls more rapidly, the way her robe shifts just enough to give me a glimpse of the creamy skin beneath.

“You should wake up with his mouth between your legs every morning,” I murmur.

Maeve sucks in a sharp breath, her whole body shuddering in response. The movement makes her robe gape open slightly, and I catch a glimpse of the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her pajamas. The sight hits me like a physical blow, and I have to finish off the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp just to maintain what’s left of my sanity.

This is dangerous. Being this close to her, seeing her skin, knowing how unappreciated she’s been—it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to show her exactly what she deserves.

“You need to go back to your room,” I say quietly, my voice rough.

For a moment, I think she might actually lean toward me instead. There’s something in her eyes, something that looks almost like an invitation, and it takes everything I have not to close the distance between us.

I force myself to take a step back. “I said go back to your room, Keller.”

The use of her last name seems to break whatever spell we were under. Maeve bites her lip one more time—nearly destroying my resolve—then turns and heads back upstairs without another word.

I watch her go, admiring the sway of her hips beneath that damn robe, then exhale a long breath that doesn’t feel like relief at all.

It feels like I just let something precious slip through my fingers.

20

MAEVE

I eventually manage to fall back asleep after my midnight encounter with Hayden, but calling myself “well-rested” would be a total lie. I wake up feeling like I’ve been put through an emotional blender, jittery and flustered, with errant butterflies still flapping around in my stomach.

Ford’s phone alarm goes off before seven, and he rolls over to silence it with the practiced efficiency of a man who’s been waking up early for business calls since he was probably twelve. He’s technically working even on vacation, and even if he weren’t, I know Elaine has crafted an itinerary that would make a travel agent weep with envy. So here I am, awake at an hour that should be illegal on vacation.

He glances over as I sit up, blinking a bit blearily. “Sleep well?”

“I did, yes,” I answer. “This mattress is incredible.”

It’s not entirely a lie. The mattress probably costs more than all of the furniture in my apartment combined and feels like sleeping on a cloud. But I’m definitely lying about sleeping well, and from the way his blue eyes narrow, I think he can tell.

I can’t help wondering if he somehow knows about my X-rated dream featuring him and his business partners, or about my middle-of-the-night wandering. Or if he knows about whatever that charged moment with Hayden was—not that anything actually happened.

But even if Ford did know, what would it matter? We’re not really together. This whole engagement is an elaborate performance piece designed to impress a conservative business partner. Just because Hayden’s words made me feel things I probably shouldn’t have felt doesn’t make me a cheater. It just makes me pathetic for getting turned on by a man who was clearly just being kind in his own gruff way.

“You sure about that?” Ford asks. “I could’ve sworn you were a bit restless last night.”

“Nope. I’m positive.” I scramble out of bed with less grace than I’d like, but I need to put some distance between us before he can read any more of my thoughts on my face.