The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

Chapter 49

McNeil stepped into the bedroom, the only light coming from a single amber bedside lamp.

The spacious bed was empty, and the curtains fluttered gently in the night breeze.

He found her outside on the balcony, perched on a tall chair, wearing nothing but a thin white shirt. Her long, pale legs dangled in the moonlight, glowing with an ethereal allure.

She was supposed to be "asleep," but instead, she sat with a glass of crimson liquid in her hand, her chin resting carelessly on the railing as she stared intently at her drink.

Every now and then, she brought the rim to her lips and took a delicate sip.

Through the sheer fabric of her shirt, McNeil could make out the soft, enticing lines of her body.

His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, he strode over and snatched the wineglass from her hand.

"Are you trying to catch your death out here? It's freezing."

It had to be close to thirty degrees outside, and she was sitting there bare-legged, drinking cold wine.

A surge of anger welled up inside him. He scooped her up from the chair and tossed her over his shoulder.

The moment his hand touched her skin-cool, smooth, impossibly soft-a strange heat crawled up his spine.

alone,"

bed. Victoria blinked up at him, her gaze heavy

his suit from the evening, jacket unbuttoned but tie and

car-do you forget

her dark hair spilling across the pillow

her eyes shining with

look at the man whose car she'd gotten

head and

her

limp and

in

feverish passion

beneath him, and dim light, the room filled

fell asleep with her head on

studied her delicate, porcelain face, a wave of tenderness

her, not really. But he couldn't let her

so much for the Langford family; she was irreplaceable. And in bed, she was always so willing, so eager-each time with her was a pleasure he could never quite

smooth skin, brushing away

wanted to leave-but he would

deep into the night

of bed and