Blake carried on like nothing had happened, reaching over to ruffle my hair the way he always did.
But the words that left his mouth were laced with poison.
"You know how girls are these days. Stubborn as hell. Wouldn't let me touch her without a ring on her finger."
"Chased her for almost six months. Finally got her into bed last night."
I stared at him, throat seized, hands and feet turning to ice.
He just smiled, slow and deep. "Right where you're sitting. Like a little wildcat. Scratched me up a bit, then went completely soft."
My gaze followed his, tracing the lingering satisfaction in his eyes.
I looked at the windshield.
Two handprints, one large and one small, overlapping. Not yet faded.
A wave of nausea surged up my throat so violently I nearly choked.
I gripped the seatbelt until my knuckles went white, my eyes burning red.
He cupped my bloodless face in his hands, a crease of confusion forming between his brows. "Why are you crying? You're still Mrs. Vance."
Those deep-set eyes of his still brimmed with devotion so thick it looked real.