"Stop being stubborn, wifey," he said, his voice resonating through her entire body like a low drumbeat against her ribs. "Let me take you home."
The heavy mahogany doors of the Savoy bar had closed out the rest of the world. Inside, the air hung thick with sudden, suffocating heat. The room stood entirely empty now. The moment Lucas Grant's long shadow crossed the threshold, a silent command passed to the staff. The bartender vanished; the patrons were subtly steered away. No one remained to witness the unraveling of Nina Hale except the man who held her pieces in his hands.
Nina's head lolled against the broad expanse of his chest. The scent of rain, bitter orange, and expensive cedarwood filled her senses until her brain felt completely clogged by him. She blinked through a heavy veil of tears and alcohol, her mind snagging on the word that had just rumbled through his vocal cords. That single word… wifey, echoed in her skull like a taunt.
