Maggie discovers her fiancé, Patrick, is cheating on her once again. When she catches him in bed with his secretary, she wants revenge. Then John, the secretary's fiancé, approaches her with a plan. Maggie gets much more than she bargained for.
“Damn him!” Maggie Hansen groaned, tears welling in her eyes as she neared her fiancé’s house. There, parked in Patrick Galloway’s driveway, was his secretary’s car, an electric blue late-model Malibu. She walked softly across the dewy grass and made her way to his bedroom window. Usually, he left the blinds open, but not tonight. He’d closed them down to the sill. Inside, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of a man and woman making love—no, having sex. That’s all it is, she told herself.
Simple, rutting, blissful, heavenly sex, no doubt.
He’d done it again; cheated on her, for the third time in as many months. No more, she vowed; no more would she allow the man whom she thought was the love of her life to hurt her. He’d pay, but she had no idea how...yet.
Satisfaction soared through her heart and soul that she’d opted for a lengthy engagement. Still, it didn’t lessen her heartache at the moment especially when she heard that slut, Angelina Kirk, scream “Yes, yes, yes, do me good, boss!” announcing to the entire neighborhood she was on the verge of an earth-shattering climax. She scowled as she tried peering in the window, thinking that Patrick hadn’t provoked even a tiny climax out of her yet, even after a year-long engagement of making love. Not so much as a single tremor or ripple had she experienced. Of course, there was the fact that Angelina might be faking it.
Then she heard Patrick’s grunting and groaning, and finally, within an embarrassingly short time his bellowing like a bull, as he too reached orgasm.
Swiftly, she left the yard retracing her steps across the grass and down the street until she reached her car. It was a cold, early October, Minnesota evening and a chill raced through her hand when she touched the metal door handle. Suddenly, shivers went up and down her spine, not due to the cold but because she felt someone behind her. She gasped when a warm, gloved hand settled over hers. Then she froze at the unmistakable feel of a man’s hard, strong body pressing her against the side of her car.
“Miss Hansen? We need to talk.”
She breathed a relieved sigh and scowled, recognizing the voice but couldn’t place it. “Who are you?”
“Angelina’s fiancé. John Grayson.”
Maggie couldn’t help the eruption of ironic laughter from deep inside her as she sank against her car, more tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re too late,” she managed to say.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” he snapped in a low, menacing voice, “then her.”
He moved away from her and she turned to see his tall, muscular frame; saw the impatience and dejection in his broad, leather-clad back, his hands jammed on his hips while he stared at Patrick’s house.
“You know, neither of them is worth our time and effort. Is this your first time?” she asked as she came up beside him.
He looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“Is this the first time you’ve caught them together?”
“For crissakes! You mean to tell me it’s happened before?”
“Yes, this is the third time that I know of.”
“Why in the hell didn’t you call me about this? Why didn’t you break off with the jerk? What are you, a martyr, or what?”
She raised her brow. “Look, Grayson, we are merely acquaintances. Would you have believed me if I’d told you?”
After a long, intense moment of silence he said, “Good point.
Maggie sighed. “Well, then that’s that I guess. Good luck.” She took one step back and squeaked when a long arm wound around her waist and yanked her back. She found herself pressed against his chest, looking up in wide-eyed amazement at the handsome man before her.
“Listen, what kind of woman are you anyway? You’ve been scorned damn it. Hell, we’ve both been scorned. Don’t you want at least a taste of revenge?”