It’s not what I really want, but it’s all he has to offer. He’s filled with turmoil and heartache and regrets, but for two hours every Wednesday all he feels is me. How much I desire him, how desperate he makes me, how much I’d like things to be different between us. Real.
He used to be my best friend back before he got married. And now? Now, he’s a young widower. It would be wrong on so many levels to expect something more from him, so I give him what he needs. Dark, delicious fucking.
But I know I can’t keep this up. I’ve already given him my body, my soul. I want him to have my heart. It might drive him away forever, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Wednesday is an angsty romp told from dual points of view. If you’re in the mood for something quick and dirty, you’ve found it. Proceed at your own risk.
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About the Author:
Kendall Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the contemporary romance novels HARD TO LOVE, UNRAVEL ME, MAKE ME YOURS, RESISTING HER and THE IMPACT OF YOU. She's a sassy, yet polite Midwestern gal with a deep love of books, and a slight addiction to lipgloss. Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest books news.
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Once upon a time, he’d been my everything.
He was standing in the corner talking to one of her great aunts, holding an empty glass that my brother had kept filled with whiskey all afternoon. I wanted to help—to do something, anything, to take that dark, stormy look out of his eyes—so I asked him if he wanted to get some air.
He took my proffered hand without a word, but instead of leading me outside like I expected—maybe to the front porch for a breath of the cool February air—he towed me upstairs. And straight into the bathroom. Without a word, he pulled my black cashmere sweater off over my head.
I stood there shocked for a few seconds. This was Shaw—my former best friend and secret lifelong crush. The man who once held my heart in the palm of his hand when I was young and foolish. And he had just been through the most traumatic event of his twenty-six years—losing his wife to a drunk driver. Yet here he was, singularly focused on getting me naked, and seemingly as quickly as possible.