“He’s worried about your money problems. He’s worried about having to move. He says he knows how important that house is to you. It’s like the idea of living anywhere else never occurred to him as a possibility. He’s not worried about you dumping Ken’s ass, I’ll tell you that.” Christian’s low, throaty chuckle brims with smug satisfaction.

“Divorce is expensive.”

“But it won’t send you to prison,” Christian says, and then, gently, “Life isn’t like the movies. Killing someone isn’t easy, Jewelann.”

Curling up next to him, my feet tucked beneath me, my head on his shoulder, I feel something I never expected to feel with him. Content. Calm.

“And you’d get caught,” he continues. “I’d get caught. Don’t you ever listen to those true crime podcasts? It’s always the boyfriend. Especially if there’s a fresh insurance policy.”

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

He hesitates. “I think you should consider all your options before you do something like that. That’s all. C’mon, Jewelann. You’re smarter than that.”

It’s still not a “no.”

I twist to look at his face. “You think I’m smart?”

“Smartest girl I’ve ever known,” Christian says.

The kiss is sweet, but with a hint of heat. He looks surprised when I pull away. He touches his mouth, briefly, with his fingertips.

“You should go,” he says. “Before my lack of morals takes over.”

“I don’t want to go.”

My knees dent the couch cushions as I straddle him. My hands find his face, cupping it the way he did mine earlier. I tip his head back. Find his mouth with mine.

His low groan sends a thrill all through me. Christian’s hands move up over my hips to cup my breasts. He pushes himself against me. He’s hard.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he says around the tangle of our tongues.

“No.”

His laugh is rough. His hands, rougher. His grip moves me, rocking our bodies together. Skin on skin, we’re naked, we’re touching, writhing, groaning, moaning, sweating, coming. It’s the same as it’s always been, but different, too. For the first time in all the times Christian and I have had sex, I don’t worry, after, what it “meant.” As I collect my scattered clothes and freshen up in the bathroom, I’m not trying to figure out how he feels, because it doesn’t matter.

I don’t trust Christian.

But I can use him.

CHAPTER
27

I’M DRUNK, BUT not on wine. High, but not from drugs. I’m boneless with satisfaction. I’m glowing with it, my cheeks hot, my neck hot, my chest burning. My coat is open to the cold November air as I cross the backyard. The soggy patch in the yard crunches with frost.

This isn’t love, it isn’t love, it’s never been love and will never be love …

It’s potential. A plan. Possibilities. My mind whirls with thoughts of the freedom within my grasp.

In my kitchen, I fill a glass with ice and then water, and I gulp it greedily. Splashing. My hands shake. More water spills. I’m no longer calm.