Chapter 11
The fire in the villa’s hearth flickered, casting restless shadows across Victoria’s flawless profile. The shifting light danced over her features, highlighting a beauty that seemed almost otherworldly.
Her long, dark hair tumbled over one side of her face, half-veiling her expression as she lingered over a single line in the book resting in her lap.
*”A man’s childhood sweetheart is the ultimate threat to his wife. He’ll never forget that first love, and after six years of marriage, I realize I wasn’t even a stand-in. I was nothing at all.”*
Victoria couldn’t help slipping into the story, recalling every bittersweet memory with McNeil. She was utterly absorbed, the romance on the page blurring with the pain in her own heart.
“What are you reading?”
The fresh scent of cedar drifted over her, unmistakably McNeil’s. His arms slid gently around her waist. She startled at the sudden touch, her body tensing, but she didn’t bother to look back at him.
She kept her eyes on the fire, listening to the logs crackle-a sound that blended with the snowstorm outside, making the midnight silence even deeper.
McNeil reached for her book. Without thinking, Victoria tossed it into the flames. It arced in the air, landing with a soft thud before the fire eagerly consumed it, leaving no trace.
“I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
She tried to shrug him off. The embrace that once thrilled her now made her skin crawl.
Night after night, ever since McNeil started spending more time away, she’d wake from dreams of him tangled up with Violet. The images made her sick—literally. She’d rush to the bathroom, heaving, the nausea clinging to her long after she’d woken.
McNeil, oblivious to her revulsion, held her tighter. He assumed she was still sulking about the wedding dress, or maybe upset that he’d defended Violet.
But he knew Victoria loved him. Otherwise, she never would’ve agreed to save Violet.
Grateful, he felt the scales tip-just a little-back in her favor.
He’d made up his mind: he wasn’t going to leave her alone in this house anymore.
Truth was, Violet’s condition was stable most of the time. McNeil decided it was time to treat Victoria better.
He missed the signals in her voice, the ones that said, *stay away*. Instead, he pressed closer, lowering his chin to her shoulder and breathing in the clean scent of her freshly washed hair. His thoughts began to wander.
It had been more than two weeks since they’d last been together-Violet’s needs, their daughter’s worries, everything had kept them apart. The last time they’d tried, Gwyneth had interrupted them; now, desire was burning in him again.
“Gwyn’s not home tonight. Let me carry you to bed, all right?”
He’d wanted to bring Gwyneth back, but their daughter refused to leave Violet’s side after the surgery. Violet was recovering well, with a team of nurses looking after her at the house on Winding Peak Lane. McNeil finally felt at ease.
Tonight, he wanted to give Victoria his time-to thank her, to comfort her, in every way she needed.
Body and soul.
“McNeil, what do you take me for?” Victoria’s voice was sharp, almost icy. “Some toy you can call for whenever it suits you? Even if I were just a toy, don’t you think you should ask whether I want you?”
Her face flickered behind the firelight, half-hidden by her hair, her lips a vivid slash of red. The glow made her look both dangerous and heartbreakingly beautiful, but her words were cold as winter.
McNeil’s desire, stoked by the warmth of her body and the intimacy of the moment, was doused in an instant. Her contempt washed over him like a bucket of ice water.
He’d left Violet-barely out of surgery-just to be with Victoria, and this was how she greeted him.
Victoria rose from the sofa, her blanket slipping to the floor. The firelight revealed the delicate lines of her figure, but her face was set, hostile and hurt.
McNeil’s passion faded visibly. His temples throbbed, anger pulsing beneath the surface as he struggled to keep it in check.