My Husband's Dirty Little Secret

ville royalty, a blonde hurricane

he day, now she was a socialite, a con

Scarlett, a glint in her e

rk circles under Scarlett's eyes, t

v said one afternoon, her voi

g you locked

trying to look like th

rawling mansion, events where the

d freely. Scarlett, feeling re

laughter louder. She n

wn a hallway, and pushed open a door

anctuary, an opulent s

e gold that caug

s filled wi

toys, displayed like art

oils in crys

ning, a scent that was both fl

e champagne and the sudden,

undeniable, mixed

own accord, reached out and t

p, turned it ov

heat washe

der. Bev stood there, a know

expecting ange

huckled, a low

oks like someon

"I... I was lookin

the room. "No shame in it. A woman has needs.

kered over Scar

Blackwood Ridge Lodge, up in Mont

ting the words

of hunting we do there... it's for l

ssed card arrived. A formal inv

t shopping. She bought sturdy hiking boots,

s purchases, she let o

m with a perfectly manicured finger. "For w

a sprawling log-and-stone masterpiece nest

tt recognized from Nashville society, we

ng" attire w

ripped fabrics, corsets, thigh

lmost fe

h a ruggedly handsome guide, a

he wife giggling, disappeared int

ck, mixed with something

rom the mountain air, ra