Chapter Twenty-Four

Grace’s POV

It didn’t matter what it felt like. It didn’t matter what I felt, or what Hunter might feel. What mattered were the vows he’d made to Helena.

I forced myself to stand on shaky legs, moving to the bathroom to wash my face. In the mirror, a stranger looked back at me… I didn't know this woman… flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes bright with tears. I looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly kissed.

Thoroughly compromised. I had just had my first climax with my sister’s husband… oh god.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the evidence of what had happened. But I couldn’t wash away the memory, couldn’t undo what we’d done.

There was only one solution. I had to leave. Had to remove myself from this impossible situation before it destroyed us all.

I’d find another job. Another place to live. Put physical distance between Hunter and me until these feelings—this madness—subsided.

The thought of never seeing him again made my chest ache. But what was the alternative? Continue working with him every day, living in his home, pretending I didn’t want him? Pretending I could be near him without remembering tonight?

Impossible.

I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water couldn’t wash away my guilt, but it soothed my trembling body.

I’ll give my notice as soon as we return to New York. Two weeks. I could manage two weeks of professionalism. Then I’d be gone, and Hunter could focus on his marriage, on figuring out whatever was going on with Helena.

And I could focus on forgetting him.

The lie tasted bitter even in my own mind. I’d spent years trying to forget Hunter, to move on, to build a life that didn’t revolve around him. And I’d failed miserably. What made me think I could do it now, after knowing what it felt like to be in his arms?

But I had to try. Had to be stronger than my feelings. Had to do the right thing, for once.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in the hotel robe, trying to gather the shattered pieces of my composure. Tomorrow would be brutal—facing Hunter across a conference table, pretending nothing had happened between us. But I could do it. Had to do it.

One day at a time. That’s how I’d get through this. One hour, one minute if necessary.

I moved to the bed, sitting on the edge, suddenly exhausted. The night had shattered everything—my composure, my principles, my carefully maintained distance. And putting the pieces back together seemed impossible.

I had to be the strong one, the sensible one. The one who walked away before this situation destroyed us all.

Even if walking away from Hunter would destroy me in the process.

I really prayed I wasn’t pregnant, so there could be a quick and final break.

Hunter’s POV

I stared at the connecting door for a moment longer, my body still tense, my mind reeling. I could still smell her, taste her.

With a muttered curse, I turned away, stripping off my clothes as I headed for the shower. Cold water. That’s what I needed. Something to shock my system back to sanity.

The icy spray hit me like punishment, but it did nothing to diminish the throbbing reminder of how far things had gone—and how much further I had wanted them to go. I slammed my palm against the tile wall, welcoming the sting.

“Get it together,” I muttered, turning the temperature warmer. This was madness. Complete fucking madness.

I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, but all I could see was Grace—the way she’d looked beneath me, lips parted, eyes dark with desire.

My body responded instantly to the memory, hardening despite the guilt crashing through me. I looked down at myself in disgust. What kind of man gets hard thinking about his wife’s sister minutes after betraying his marriage vows? Because there had been nothing almost about it.

I grabbed the soap, trying to focus on anything else. But my mind kept circling back to Grace, to her skin under my hands, to the sounds she’d made.

“Fuck,” I growled, leaning my forehead against the cool tile.

This needed to stop. Now. I was married. To Helena. I needed to remember that, to focus on her instead.

I closed my eyes again, deliberately conjuring images of my wife. Helena on our wedding day. Helena laughing at some charity event. Helena in our bed, her perfect body beneath mine.

Nothing. My arousal was flagging, my body unresponsive to thoughts of my own wife.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I switched tactics, thinking of Helena and me together. The practiced moves, the familiar rhythm. But each time I tried to hold onto her image, it morphed into Grace—softer, more real, more... everything.

My hand moved of its own accord, wrapping around my length. I should stop. This was wrong on every level. But the memory of Grace’s taste, her scent, the feel of her beneath me—it was too powerful to resist.

I stroked myself, knowing I was crossing yet another line but powerless to stop. In my mind, I wasn’t in this shower alone. Grace was with me, her body pressed against mine, her hands replacing my own. I imagined her lips on my neck, my chest, moving lower. Imagined laying her down on that bed next door, spreading her thighs, tasting her, making her cry out my name again.

My pace quickened, my breathing harsh in the steam-filled bathroom. I knew I should feel ashamed, knew this fantasy was a betrayal of both women, but I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

In my mind, I was inside her now, her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails digging into my back. I could almost hear her voice, breathless and urgent: “Hunter, please...”

Release hit me with unexpected force, my body shuddering as I braced myself against the wall, Grace’s name a whispered confession on my lips.

As the haze cleared, reality came crashing back. What I’d just done—what I’d just imagined—it wasn’t just inappropriate. It was the final nail in the coffin of my marriage. Because in that moment of truth, of pure unfiltered desire, I hadn’t wanted my wife.

I’d wanted Grace. Only Grace.

I finished showering methodically, my movements brisk as I dried off. I caught my reflection in the mirror, searching for the honorable man I’d always believed myself to be.

He wasn’t there anymore.

I pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, then moved to the minibar, pouring a large measure of whiskey. The liquor burned going down, a welcome distraction from the shit swirling in my head.

I needed to fix this somehow. Needed to talk to Grace. Where the fuck do we go from here...

The whiskey didn’t have answers, but it dulled the edges of my guilt enough that I could think past the immediate crisis to the deeper problem... I was married to a woman I no longer desired, possibly no longer trusted, while harboring feelings for her sister that went far beyond the physical. We could be bringing a baby into this mess.

What a fucking mess.

I drained the glass, contemplating another, then set it aside. Alcohol wouldn’t solve this. Nothing would, except facing the truth.

And the truth was, something had to change. I just didn’t know what—or how—or if I even had the right to make that choice anymore.