Page 11 of Wilder’s Mistake

“Good.”

My pulse trips. Why does he always manage to do this to me? “Waking up married has changed nothing for you?”

“It changed plenty.” His gaze makes the answer physical.

I move toward the wall map because distance gives me a better chance of speaking coherently.

“Vegas involved too much alcohol and terrible judgment.”

“You knew you were marrying me, though.”

“Yes, but…”

“You knew you wanted me.”

“That was never the confusing part,” I confess.

Wilder leans against the closed door. “Then what is?”

“You. This place. The fact that Nora is my best friend and you are not a man I could sleep with once, regret quietly and avoid at Christmas.”

“Good thing I wasn’t offering only once.” The blunt certainty catches me.

“You spent six years acting as if every filthy comment meant nothing.”

“No. You have that wrong. It meant everything. I liked watching you react.”

“That is a terrible defense.”

“Good thing I wasn’t defending it.”

“You knew.”

“Yeah.”

“And you kept doing it anyway.”

“A look. A few words. I never crossed the line.”

“Because of Nora.”

“Same reason you didn’t.”

The answer strips away the easy version of our history. Wilder didn’t stay away because he felt nothing. He stayed away for the same reason I did.

“Did you think I’d make you choose between us?” I ask.

“No. I thought if I touched you and it went wrong, she would forgive me before I forgave myself.” The honesty is quieter than anything filthy he has ever said to me. It makes the room feel smaller.

“And if it didn’t go wrong?”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “That was the dangerous part.”

“We were drunk,” I say, though it no longer sounds like an argument.

He pushes away from the door. “We’re not now, though.”

Each step brings him closer until the backs of my knees touch the bed.