That was the first crack in the wall.

She finally looked at him. Her eyes, the color of sea glass, lingered on the lines of his shoulders, the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s a guest room upstairs. It has a cross-breeze. Use it.”

What followed was not an affair. It was a performance. A dangerous, addictive game.

“Show me how you’d punish me for being a tease,” she’d murmur, and he would learn.

His throat went dry. “Evelyn…”