My arch-nemesis husband got amnesia and now he's my side piece. Chapter 2

When we get home, I head straight to my study to deal with a mountain of paperwork.

Later, when I walk into my bedroom, I stop dead. Nathan is standing there, a basin of… foot-washing water… at his feet.

He’s just standing there, looking dazed. Then my eyes catch what he’s holding, and a silent alarm goes off in my head.

It’s his pajama shirt. If there’s one thing you can say about him, it’s that he’s loyal to a fault. He’s been wearing that same damn pajama shirt since college, four years into our marriage.

He turns to me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “You said you were married. Why are my things in your room?”

I smile and walk toward him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

The tips of his ears turn a bright, tell-tale red. He averts his gaze, flustered. “What… what are you doing?”

My fingertip traces a slow circle on his well-defined chest. “My husband,” I purr, “is always abroad. And you know… a woman gets lonely. I have certain… needs.”

His eyes go wide with shock. “So… I’m your affair? Your other man?”

“Or is ‘plaything’ more accurate?” I suggest, tilting my head.

I open my mouth to say more, but I stop when I see his expression. He lowers his gaze, a shadow of despair coloring the corners of his eyes. His voice is barely a whisper. “Plaything… I can live with that.”

For a second, watching him stand there so lost and pathetic, I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe I’ve taken this too far. This is Nathan Donovan, a man whose pride is his entire identity. Waking up to find he’s a bankrupt servant who’s also a part-time gigolo… could that be too much of a blow?

But in the next instant, all my guilt evaporates as he pulls me into a fierce embrace.

His mouth crashes down on mine, a kiss that is both brutal and utterly desperate, a conquest without mercy.