Her head near my chest.
Her breath brushing my throat.
And I swear—I’m about to say it.
I’m about to tell her I didn’t marry her for Bella, or nostalgia, or obligation.
I’m about to confess that I have always,only, belonged to her.
That she’s the reason I came home.
She’s the reason I fucking breathe.
The only constant melody in a life of noise.
It’s right there.
Right on my tongue.
And then—tap.
Someone taps my shoulder.
I freeze.I pull back slightly, and when I turn around, I’m staring into a pair of very familiar eyes.
“Mars?”I blink.“Motherfucker!How are you doing?”
DJ Mars—one of the biggest synth music producers on the damn planet—grins at me, clapping my shoulder.
“Thought that was you, Thorn.Didn’t you say you’d never come back to play Vegas?”
“Yeah, well,” I laugh, “shit changes.”
He shifts his gaze to Adrianna and instantly turns the charm to full blast.
Prick.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?I don’t know what he said to convince you to dance with him,linda, but I guarantee I can say it better.”
What the fuck?Is this motherfucker flirting withmy wife?
Mywife.
Heat punches into my gut—sharp, ugly, possessive.
Adrianna looks stunned.
“Are you—I'm sorry, you must get this a lot—but are you reallyDJ Mars?”
I stare at her because what the hell?She’s never been into club music.
Mars winks.“That’s right, but you can call me David.David Mars.”
He holds out his hand.
She takes it.
And he doesn’t let go.
