The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge

"Are you tired?"

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, as if cherishing her.

Gwyneth felt herself melt at his tenderness, her heart turning to utter softness.

"I'll do all the work later, don't worry."

The words made Gwyneth bury her face in his chest, mortified. Even though she knew no one could overhear them, and even if the staff did, they'd pretend not to, she still wished she could dig a hole in the floor and disappear.

And it was broad daylight, too. Saying something like that-she'd never be able to look anyone in the eye again.

Hawthorne looked down at her, amused by her bashfulness, his laughter shaking his whole frame.

From her vantage point, Gwyneth could see the line of Hawthorne's throat, the strong curve of his jaw, the lowered lashes, his sharp nose, and those distractingly sensual lips.

She pressed her ear to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat- like a metronome. As they drew closer to the upstairs bedroom, she could feel his pulse quicken.

nerves and embarrassment

gently on the bed. Gwyneth rolled toward

Hawthorne was taking a shower. She cautiously peeked out from under the comforter-only to

eyes were dark as midnight, impossibly deep, and the

meant to ask if he wasn't going

Hawthorne simply scooped her out from under the covers. "We'll

tireless as usual. He could tell Gwyneth

her twice in three hours, he stopped, simply holding

never been in love before-not even experienced so

upheaval had left his life singularly focused on restoring the

should have been his

his brother was interested in everything except

ruthless struggle had farsoft

teenager, cleaning