The Passion Play by Amelia Hart Page A

an idiot to go and fall for the wife of his boss.
    Yeah, he could have groaned. He could have wept.
    It was like destiny that she'd picked his favorite club, of all the places she might have chosen. Like they'd been meant to meet there that night, for the first time away from the team and everything to do with her husband –– her ex husband – just the two of them.
    Heaven had handed him a free pass. And he'd rejected it. Why, why had he not dragged her outside where they could actually talk, and asked her what was going on? He could have been a friend to her. He could have let her cry out all her sorrows on his shoulder.
    Then he could have comforted her. Comforted her and then some. Helped her forget that son-of-a-bitch who wasn't fit to touch her. She might have let him. He'd seen it there in her eyes. She hadn't hidden it from him. She didn't want to be alone that night. And he'd sent her away alone or . . . or on to a different club.
    He must have made a sound because the other two looked at him.
    "Dude, you okay? You don't look so good," said Carlos.
    "He's short on sleep," Big Joe answered for him. "Go have your shower, check into the hotel and go to sleep, man. You got to be ready."
    "Yeah, I . . ." he had to make a better effort than that to sound normal. "I think I'll do that. I'll catch you guys later." He started jogging again, anything to get away, to get to someplace where he could just think.
    Think it through, and figure out what he was going to do now, how on earth he was ever going to make it up to her and convince her to give him just one more chance.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    It was noon.
    She should get up.
    She should put down the novel she was trying and failing to read, drag herself out of bed and go and wash those dishes.
    Exciting thought.
    Thinking of them had been bugging her all morning. Among other things, but it was the dishes that were most purely annoying, most potentially easily fixed. They annoyed her because she had deliberately left them. A pitiful collection of little frying pan for scrambling eggs, bowl and fork for mixing the eggs and plate from which to eat them.
    See, she could even enumerate them. Leaving them unwashed was supposed to be a small symbol of independence; of not needing to meet any standards of tidiness except the ones she herself set. But it turned out she'd so internalized Dan's rule of 'a place for everything and everything in its place' that now it was her rule.
    She gave up, got up and stalked through to the kitchen, all gleaming appliances and granite counters. An expanse of space for creating magic, he had told her with a fond pat on her bottom when they first inspected the place eight years ago. She had created magic there, it was true. When she'd finished her training as a financial planner, she had picked up the occasional gourmet cooking class. Dan liked to eat. She liked to please him. It was a natural fit.
    She had to stop thinking about the man. Grrr. She turned on the hot water, pulled out the rubber gloves.
    She could always think about Luke Barrett for awhile, though the memory made her wince. She had tried not to, but like the dishes, it was inevitable. She felt so embarrassed about it this morning. All she wanted was something good, easy, undemanding, with a man she could trust enough so that she could let go of the white-knuckled grip she had on life and enjoy herself for a small while. Even for just the night. Just a little light entertainment.
    As soon as she saw him she realized he was perfect for the task. Polite, respectful, perhaps not to bright but one did not need clever for a good time, if she understood modern dating philosophies right. Sexy as anything but not so promiscuous she had heard of his exploits. It had been the purest luck finding such a catch her first time out fishing.
    It was natural she had thought him interested. That erection of his had been hard to miss. So his body had been interested, just not the rest of him.
    That