He finally meets my eyes again. “I’m still in love with you.”

I jump out of the chair. I don’t want to hear this. “Don’t.”

I put several yards between us, pretending to examine the fountain. My fingers graze the water-slicked stone of the angel’s face.

“Maggie. Is there something more I could have done? To keep you?” His voice is close, and I’m not surprised when I feel his hands on my shoulders, turning me. “It’s over between me and Krystal. It will be over. Tonight.”

My heart trips. Stumbles. Aches.

“You were right. I had no right to kiss you before I ended it, and I have no right to do it now.”

I open my mouth to respond, to tell him he can do better than me and my lies.

But then his lips are on mine and he’s kissing me.

It’s not the hungry, demanding kiss from the gallery. It’s nice. Soft. Gentle. If Will is anything, it’s gentle. Maybe I need someone tough, someone hardened like me.

His lips brush mine once, twice, then he retreats. His fingertips trace down the side of my jaw. And I should be angry, but I’m not—not when his kiss makes me feel so safe.

When I pull back, Asher’s standing five yards behind Will, his gaze locked on me.

“I thought I’d find you out here.” His expression is guarded. “I’ll be inside when you decide this is a bad idea.”

My heart sinks and my stomach lurches. They collide inside me, my lungs a casualty, torn apart by the wreckage.

Why couldn’t he look hurt? Crushed by my indiscretion? Anything but that guarded, you-can’t-hurt-me look I understand so well.

He walks away and I ball my fists to resist running after him, resist the instinct to explain what can’t be explained.

“He’s no good for you, Maggie,” Will says softly.

“That’s not fair.”

Will puts his finger to my lips and studies me. “I’m sorry.” Does he mean for the kiss? For what he said about Asher? But he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed. So sorry. You’ll never know.” And then he walks away.

And I’m alone with nothing but the taste of my regret and the weight of my lies for company.

***

Asher

I want to put a hole in the wall of William Bailey’s fancy-ass house. I want to break his porcelain serving platters and shatter his crystal.

I want to drink.

It’s the last that has me so damn unsteady, licking parched lips and watching the door as I wait for her to return. I’m not leaving without her. I’m not running from here with my tail tucked between my legs like he wants me to. He saw me coming and he kissed her to prove he could.

And she let him.

His lips were on Maggie, and I wanted to throw him across the yard, wanted the satisfaction of feeling my knuckles connect with his skull.

God. Damn. It.

Will approaches, his hands tucked into his pressed black dress pants. I hate him so much in this moment I have to ball my hands into fists to keep from decking him.

He runs a hand through his blond hair as he looks distractedly around the party.

Jesus. This guy is class and style and reeks of old money.

I follow his gaze. Maggie has returned. She’s twisted that flaming red hair off her neck, revealing the tender spot I know makes her crazy.

Will stares at her, na**d longing in his eyes.

Maggie spots me and freezes, deer-in-the-headlights terror on her face. “I need a minute,” she says, backing up a step. She looks to Will. “May I use your restroom?”

Will casts a glance over his shoulder. “I think Aunt Shirley’s in that one. You can use the one off the master down the hall.”

Will and I watch her leave. The tension between us angry enough to bruise.

“Stay away from Maggie,” Will warns softly, his gaze on Maggie’s retreating form. “She deserves better. Does she even know about Juliana?”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. My skin across my knuckles burns from my fists being balled so tightly. I force my hands to relax and walk away, going after Maggie without a word to this man who thinks he has some sort of hold over her.

I find her in the master bath. She’s standing at the counter, hands pressed against its edge, head hanging. She doesn’t look up. “Go away.”

I flip the lock on the door before putting my hands to her waist. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

Her eyes blaze. “I’m f**ked up, Asher. Don’t you see that? I’m a f**king home-wrecking slut.”

I watch her in the mirror as I trace the edge of her jaw with my thumb, leaning in to brush my lips against the smooth, exposed column of her neck.

Electricity.

It’s there every time I touch her, and it whips through my veins in a violent, hungry rush. She feels it too. I can see it in her eyes. I can feel it in the way her body instinctively presses closer to mine.

She reaches back and threads her fingers through my hair. “Why are you even still here?”

Our eyes meet in the mirror again. I dip my fingers into the top of her strapless dress and feather them across her breasts. I want to peel it off her, spin her around and graze my teeth over her nipples, set her on the vanity, and open her legs to my mouth. “I care about you, Maggie.”

She flinches, as if the words offend her. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not. But I understand you.” I let my mouth hover over her ear. “Are you calling yourself a slut because you kissed him or because you know you’re going to let me touch you in here?” I pause a beat to let that settle in. Blood pulses hot and thick into my dick at the catch in her breath. “I think you want me to. You want me to make you come in the house of the man you were going to marry.”

I am insane with wanting her. I don’t care where we are. I don’t care that she’s just kissed another man. I need this woman despite that.

Fuck all reason, I need her because of it.

I slide my hand up her dress, tracing the edge of her panties with my fingers.

Her h*ps buck and her back arches as she rocks toward me.

“Tell me you don’t want me to take you here,” I whisper. “Tell me you don’t want me to bend you over this vanity. Tell me you don’t want to watch in the mirror as I take you in his bathroom.” I slide my fingers down the seam of her ass and cup her from behind.

She gasps and licks her lips. She’s struggling to maintain control. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

I press my lips to her ear. “Tell me that you care about me.”

In the mirror, I watch her eyes flutter open. “What if I don’t care about anyone?”

I move my hand, rub her, and I’m rewarded with a throaty moan. I could touch this woman for hours if she’d let me. I want to make her lose hold of that control she holds so close. I want to break down her walls.

I slide my fingers into her panties from behind. “You’re so damn wet,” I murmur, touching her clit.

She moans softly.

A knock sounds at the bathroom door.

“Maggie, are you okay in there?”

Maggie pushes my hand from between her legs and spins around. She grabs my shirt, holding me still.

“My mother,” she whispers.

“Yes, Maggie, we’re worried about you,” another voice calls.

“And Granny,” Maggie whispers.

I groan softly. Nothing could kill my hard-on right now, but the word Granny certainly kills the mood.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just needed a minute alone.”

“Maggie, are you sure that this isn’t all just a reaction to seeing Will marry someone else?”

Good question, Granny.

Maggie shakes her head.

“Or maybe you’re feeling bad about yourself because you see Krystal starting this great life and yours is in shambles.”

“What about that nice man she’s here with tonight?”

“Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the other voice protests. “I can hardly see that working out.”

“Maggie, even if it doesn’t work out, I’m glad you’re getting yourself some tail.”

“Granny!” Maggie screeches, breaking her silence.

I chuckle silently and Maggie thumps me in the chest.

“I’m sorry, but a girl that young shouldn’t keep herself cloistered.”

Maggie rubs her hand over her eyes in obvious distress.

“So, what? You want her to tramp all over town?”

“Gretchen, sex is natural. God gave your daughter those parts for a reason.”

“Yes, so she could get married to a good Catholic man and make good Catholic babies.”

“But until she finds that man—”

“Mom! Granny! Please!” Maggie begs.

She shoots me a death glare when I have to bite back laughter.

Maggie turns on the sink and calls over the running water, “Give me a minute to wash my face, and I’ll be out.”

“Okay, dear.”

“If there isn’t anything we can get you.”

The women’s voices fade as one asks the other, “Where did her delicious-looking date run off to?”

As the sound of their steps fades, I let myself laugh. “They’re quite a pair.”

Maggie splashes water on her face. “They mean well. We should get back.”

With a sigh, I nod toward the door. “Go ahead. I’ll meet up with you in a few.”

“Rumors are already probably flying that I ran in here in despair and I’m desperate to get Will back to fix my broken life.”

A fist tightens in my chest at her words. “Are you?”

She closes her eyes. “No one can fix me, Asher. That includes you.”

I let her leave. I let her shut me out. For now.

A few minutes later, I return to the party, but when I survey the room, I don’t see Maggie anywhere.

“She left.”

I turn to see Maggie’s sister Krystal. “Left?”

She shakes her head. “Leave it to Maggie to leave a party without telling her date.”

“It’s kind of a kick in the balls,” I admit.

Her face relaxes a little. “I’m a big fan, by the way, and that’s kind of an awkward thing to admit to my little sister’s boyfriend.”

“Thanks.” I arch a brow. “Did she call me her boyfriend?”

Krystal snorts. “Are you kidding? She’s hardly talking to me. I stole her man, remember?”

“Hmm. That’s not exactly how she explained it to me.”

Silence stretches between us for a few beats before Krystal says, “I am sorry, you know. Everything’s just so screwed up.” She swallows and tears well up in her eyes. When she speaks again, I can hardly hear her. “Will’s always been in love with Maggie, and I’ve always been in love with Will.”

“And what about Maggie?”

Krystal frowns. “Maggie? Maggie’s too busy hating herself to love anyone.”

Chapter Twelve

William

“You should have told me that you didn’t want to marry me,” I tell Krystal.

She freezes in the middle of sliding a diamond stud from her ear. “What?”

Her lips part. For a minute I think she might feign ignorance, but instead, she sinks into the chair at her vanity and looks at her hands. “I do want to marry you.”

Everyone’s left for the night, and I can’t put this conversation off anymore.

I study her in the mirror and feel hollow. She looks beautiful tonight. Her hair is pulled off her neck in some sort of twist, and she’s wearing a long black dress that makes her look jaw-droppingly elegant. Under the dress, the bra and panties I bought her for Valentine’s Day.

On paper, we are so good for each other. We’re well-educated, like-minded, and we want the same things out of life. We love each other.

Why isn’t that enough?

“If you want to marry me,” I say slowly, “why did you sabotage our wedding?”

A teary streak of mascara runs down her face. Her lashes are damp with tears when she looks up at me. “Because you still love her.” The words are matter of fact, not thrown like an insult or accusation, simply delivered like an unfortunate truth.

“But I love you too.” My voice breaks on the words.

“I know you do.”

“Then why?” I sink to my knees and take her hands in mine.

She threads her fingers through my hair. “I didn’t want to live my life wondering if the man sleeping next to me would rather be sleeping next to someone else.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, guilty of the crime. “I needed you to believe in me. In us. The wedding…it made me question everything. It made me question us.”

“I needed time.”

“Time for what?”

“To prove to myself that things were over between you and Maggie.” She gives a sad smile. “But that’s not what happened, and I realized I wasn’t even living my own life. I was living the life you and Maggie had planned.”

“Why didn’t you just ask to postpone the wedding?”

“I was afraid you would think I was running away. Like she did.”

Her hands are so soft. I kiss each knuckle, then I open her hand and press her palm to my lips.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” she asks.

“I never thought it would end like this.”

She squeezes my hand. “We can’t pretend that this is enough anymore.”

The silence cracks with a ragged sob. Hers? Mine? I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my head in her lap. She combs her fingers through my hair as she cries.