NYC Angels Flirting with Danger - By Tina Beckett Page 0,3

anything was off until she came home sick from her night shift at the hospital to hear terrible shrieking noises coming from the bedroom. She’d raced back to find him naked—flat on his back—another woman straddling his hips. He’d pleaded for forgiveness, promised it was a mistake, said it would never happen again.

Stay? Or leave?

She’d decided to fight for her marriage. For eight long months. Tonight had been the pièce de résistance in her campaign to rekindle the spark he’d once felt toward her. She’d seduce him.

Only Travis hadn’t needed seducing.

He just needed someone other than her.

Her eyes closed, and she took a longer pull on her drink. So much for her two weeks’ worth of vacation.

“Hey.” The murmured word dragged her back to the surface, even though she just wanted to keep sinking into the mire, never to resurface. “Do you want me to call Jason?”

Her lids parted, and she struggled to focus on the handsome face across from her. “Please don’t. He’ll just worry.”

“He should worry.” He nodded toward her feet. “Where are your shoes, Chloe?”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she come up with a plausible explanation for that?

Because there wasn’t one. Other than the truth, which she wasn’t ready to voice.

Why had she ever thought she could “vamp” anyone? Especially her husband, whose rough-and-tumble approach to lovemaking did nothing but leave her feeling sore and inadequate. She was pretty sure the woman in her bed hadn’t been crying out in pain, so the problem wasn’t with her husband, evidently.

Frigid. The word echoed in her head, the mean nastiness of it making the hair rise on the nape of her neck.

She lifted the glass and found it empty. Held it out.

“I don’t think …” Brad began.

Only to stop when she whispered, “Please.”

Getting up, he went over to the bar, retrieved a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid and poured some in her glass, the lug-lug from the bottle strangely satisfying.

She noticed he didn’t refill his own tumbler, just took up his post again and watched her. Her shoulder hitched in an awkward shrug. “If you were in the middle of doing something, don’t let me stop you.”

She giggled as she said the last word, and her eyes widened. “Sorry. It’s been a while.” And she’d never been much of a drinker. It was amazing how it dulled the pain, though.

Something she could get used to.

He ignored her comment and said, “Shoes?”

Oh, that’s right. He wanted to know what she’d done with her stupid shoes.

“I left them behind, along with all my other little shackles.” That rock in her ring hadn’t been so little. But then again, her daddy’s investment money had probably paid for it, too. Something about that thought made her laugh again.

Brad’s hand covered hers, his fingers as warm as fire. Just like the alcohol sloshing around inside her. But when she tried to lift the glass to her lips, it wouldn’t move. Because Brad was physically holding her arm in place.

“Hey.” She tried to tug free of his grip.

“I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Oh, no. Not nearly enough.” Her head felt like some kind of weird flower that when deprived of drink began to wilt … wilt … wilt … until someone watered it again. She snapped it back upright when her forehead touched Brad’s muscular arm and tried to burrow into it, a strange lethargy taking hold of her.

Gentle fingers prised hers loose from the glass and set the drink on the wooden floor beside the ottoman. Just as she started to wilt again she felt arms at her back, beneath her knees, and she levitated just like she’d seen in those horror movies when a demon possessed someone’s body. But when she tried to hold her arms out to float higher, she found them trapped against her sides.

And while this demon growled in a low, deep voice just like the ones in the films, the tone didn’t sound angry. Instead, the soft words circled the air above her face. She pulled them into her lungs, knowing somehow this being was powerful enough to keep all the other demons at bay. Including Travis. Her breath exited again on a sigh, along with the will to do anything but snuggle close and slip away into oblivion.

Brad pushed open the door to his bedroom, thankful he and Katrina had not spent time on the king-sized mattress like he’d planned. Instead, he set Chloe on top of the brown silk coverlet, not quite