Jess felt raw, exposed. He’d shattered her, claimed her passion and left her powerless. And she’d let him. Begged him. Now that the haze of desire had faded to reveal harsh reality, she couldn’t accept or understand the depth of her capitulation.

      He wasn’t supposed to be the man who made her yearn!

      It felt as though she’d given up her dream in that bed…given up Damon. Every time she’d felt pleasure, every time she’d screamed, she’d betrayed the love that had lived in her heart for a lifetime. And she didn’t understand how that could have happened. Gabe wasn’t the kind of man she could ever love. She wasn’t even sure she liked him.

      Sliding quietly out of bed, she pulled on the first thing that came to hand. Unfortunately, it was Gabe’s shirt. The scent of him was in the fibers, on her skin, in the air. It mocked her with echoes of what he’d taken…what she’d relinquished. As she searched for her dress so she could get rid of the shirt, she heard the sheets rustle.

      “Where are you going, Jess?”

      A bedside lamp came on.

      Blinking against the glare, she tucked her hair behind her ears and buttoned up the shirt. “To my own bedroom.”

      His eyes were cold, focused. “I was under the impression you were already there.”

      “Look,” she said, finding courage from the ragged tatters of her pride. “We’ve consummated the marriage. There’s no need for us to be in the same bed anymore. I’d rather sleep on my own.” She hugged her arms around herself. “I’ll…I’ll let you know if we were successful.”

      He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that arrogant—it’s probably going to take more than one try.”

      She bit her lower lip, trying not to look at the muscled upper body she’d caressed so feverishly less than an hour ago. “Well we can’t do anything for a couple of days anyway. It didn’t hurt during but I’m sore now.” Despite the humiliating awkwardness of the admission, she forced herself to meet his eye, aware that Gabriel would capitalize on the slightest indication of weakness with brutal efficiency.

      He flicked off the light. “Suit yourself. But don’t try to use sex against me. I don’t play those kinds of games.”

      “I’m not playing a game.”

      “Aren’t you?” He snorted. “If you think I’m going to agree to carry on with a marriage where my wife saves herself for another man, you’re sadly mistaken.”