Constantine was insatiable. They had sex twice more, and now Sutton—Justine—really was sore. The sun was setting when he started in for a fourth round, and she put him off. He didn’t like that, teased her a bit about being a delicate flower, literally swept her off her feet and threw her back onto the four-poster and then had her squirming under him, first in aggravation, then in delicious, illogical enjoyment of being dominated by this man she barely knew.

Anything not to think. Anything not to feel. She’d gambled and lost, knowing deep down it was going to happen, knowing she didn’t deserve anything good in her life. But this felt good, and though she knew from long experience she’d feel empty later, for the moment, she let herself ride the waves of pleasure being with a new man gave her.

Finally, he gathered up his clothes, casually wiped himself with the edge of the sheet and dropped the condom in the toilet, and claimed he needed to head out. She promised to meet him the next day. The sky was deeply pink and gray when he left.

Sutton—Justine—showered, changed the sheets, ate some cheese. She was suddenly possessed by a single thought. You idiot girl, you should have taken him to a hotel. Now he knows where you live. How could you be so stupid?

It was the champagne. She wasn’t a good drinker; the meds made it even worse. One was always her limit in social settings. They’d ended up splitting a whole bottle of champagne, followed it with some crisp, cold Sancerre and a couple of croque monsieurs, and when she’d felt the warmth of his lips on her neck, delicately asking without saying a word, she’d thrown caution to the wind, as she did, and suggested she take him home.

It had been her idea. Make no mistake. Though she’d been loose with alcohol, she’d wanted Constantine badly, wanted to feel those fingers trailing along her thighs, wanted the oblivion she knew she’d find with him.

Inside her flat, the door barely closed, when he’d kissed her on the lips, gently at first, then insistent, something inside her cracked open. She could barely see straight with the thought of it, the desire, the wanting.

It wasn’t the first time she’d bedded a stranger. Ethan was simply the one she’d married.

Constantine had been a lovely diversion, but she had work to do. The night was young and fresh, early moonlight spilling in the window, the clock pushing ten, and she was desperate to get some words down from her earlier thoughts.