Olivia stayed silent as Dylan guided her into the apartment. It wasn't the kind of expansive, zesty billionaire penthouse she'd half-expected, but it wasn't compact either. From a glance, she guessed it was a three, maybe four-bedroom unit, simply furnished, and secluded.
He watched her carefully, studying her as if he'd long forgotten what she looked like. "Olivia," he began again, "you still haven't answered me. What do you want? Should I go back to Laura, or should I stay here and make love to you?"
After taking in the details of the interior, she sank into the chair, trying to steady herself. It wasn't that she didn't want him, God, she did. The evidence was there, painfully obvious in the wet heat between her thighs. But the thought of him having a wife? It burned her. She didn't want to be that person, the one who made him unfaithful, the reason behind his betrayal. That was never her idea, never what she wanted to become.
