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Prologue
Willow
“What the fuck have I done?”
I’ve never had a one-night stand, but I’m positive those aren’t the first words you want to hear the morningafter.
I twist in the warm yet unfamiliar sheets and can taste last night’s whiskey in mymouth.
I lick my lips—wrong move—and regret it when the flavor of him hits mytongue.
Him.
The man pacing in front of me with his head tipped down while wearing only boxer briefs that show off hisbulge.
I’ve lost count of the number of times the wordfuckhas fallen from hismouth.
I don’t know what tosay.
Don’t know what todo.
“How the fuck could I have done this?” hecontinues.
My heart rams into my rib cage, just as hell-bent on escaping this situation as Iam.
I’mstupid.
So damnstupid.
I drag the sheet up until it hits my chin, and he runs a hand through his thick bedhead hair, tugging at the roots the same way I did last night when he went down on me. He doesn’t know I am awake and can hear him, but that doesn’t make the wound any lesssevere.
His head rises when I jump out of bed and start scrambling for my clothes. The sheet drops from my body at the same time I frantically pull my dress over myhead.
I have to get out ofhere.
Our eyes meet as I yank my panties up my legs. Apology and torture spill across his clenching jaw. The tears are coming, warning me to look away so that he won’t see my humiliation, but I can’t. I stare and silently beg him to change the outcome of this morning. The string to our stare down is cut by the sound of my name, a mere whisper falling from his looselips.
I dart out of the bedroom, snag my purse I drunkenly threw over the arm of the couch, and rush toward the front door, not even bothering to search for myheels.
I refuse to glance back, but I hear him. No, Ifeelhim behindme.
“Willow, please,” he pleads to my back with a strained voice while I fight with thelock.
I slam my fist against it.When did they start making these things so damndifficult?
“Don’t cry.” He blows out a stressed breath. “Just give me a fucking minute,okay?”
Relief hits me when the lock finally cooperates, and I slam the glass door in his face at the same time he repeats my name. I nearly trip on my feet when I jump down the porchsteps.
I pause when I make it to the lastone.
Onemore.
Against my will, I turn around for one lastglance.
He’s staring at me in agony with the door handle gripped in his hand. For a split second, I’m stupid enough to think he’ll fix this. Stupid enough to believe he’ll say something, do something to make thisright.
But hedoesn’t.
