Playing Dirty Read Online Free

certain skill set which gave him a distinct advantage.
    Trenton held up his hands to stop Ford’s approach. He turned his hard flinted gaze in her direction. “What did you call him?”  
    She moved next to Ford and faced Trenton. “It’s Ford, Trenton.” She pulled in a quick breath. The pain and confusion in his eyes clawed at her conscience. “He’s my husband.”
    “But he’s—”  
    “Not dead?” Ford flexed the fingers of his right hand and winced.  
    “So it would seem.” Despite the quaking of her insides and the trembling in her limbs, she walked into the kitchen and went to the refrigerator where she pulled a couple bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer. She returned to the family room in time to see Ford snagging a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass from the bar. The determination in his eyes when he looked at her nearly stole her breath. Ford had always been a little possessive. The fact that she’d gone and married another man no doubt hurt him deeply.
    Join the club.
    The fact that he’d “died” had nearly killed her.  
    She walked toward him as he sat in one of the two, turquoise club chairs situated near the fireplace, then gently placed the bag of frozen peas against his jaw before she handed one off to Trenton to do the same. “You both need to cut the macho bullshit.” She wasn’t any man’s territory and she sure as hell didn’t appreciate them destroying her home.
    Trenton went to the bar and opened a fresh bottle of scotch. “I’d like to know, exactly what the fuck is going on?” he asked as he poured a liberal portion into a short glass. “How is this even possible?”
    She barely recognized the man she’d been married to for a mere two weeks. His golf shirt untucked, his khakis a wrinkled mess and his neatly trimmed, warm-brown hair was mussed. He looked unkempt, a bit rough around the edges and so unlike the man she’d promised to love, honor and cherish in a ceremony before three hundred of their friends, family and Trenton’s important business associates. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I don’t know how it’s possible.”  
    She looked at Ford. Far too many emotions to catalogue crashed into her. Confusion. Elation. Devastation. They all jockeyed for position, yet she failed to settle on one to help her survive the next few hours let alone the next two minutes. “But it is,” she added, her voice catching with emotion.  
    Trenton tossed back the scotch, then poured himself another. Almost as an afterthought, he poured a splash into another glass, which he handed to her as he made his way to the black leather sofa. He sat and looked at Ford. “Where the fuck have you been for the past five years?”
    Mattie sipped the scotch, grateful for the numbing effects of the alcohol. Numbness she prayed would stop the agonizing pain from tearing her in two. My God, she had no clue what she was supposed to do or say. For that matter, what on earth was she supposed to say to her daughter? How did she tell Phoebe that her daddy was alive?  
    She went to the bar and poured herself another drink. There wasn’t enough scotch in the entire state of Texas to quiet the demons inside, throwing questions at her she had no hope of answering.  
    “Since when did you start drinking scotch?”
    She turned and looked at Ford. All of a sudden she had an almost uncontrollable urge to throw her glass at his head. Instead, she downed the scotch like a professional barfly. “I think the question currently on the table is where have you been for the past five years?”
    When he nailed her with those bluer than blue eyes she’d seen only in her dreams, more guilt piled on top of her and it ticked her off. She had done nothing wrong. She had no reason to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if she’d committed adultery. She hadn’t been unfaithful to Ford, she’d been his widow, dammit. But not even the truth of the matter could ease her shame.  
    He shot a pointed glance