Page 16 of Sin

Jenna watches my face carefully, and suddenly I realize something ugly. She’s not angry.

She’s resigned.

Like some part of her has been expecting this for a while now.

“That’s not what this is,” I say, though the words sound weak even to me.

“No?” She tilts her head slightly. “Then what is it?”

“A project that’s going to put us on the map.” I force a smile. “Just wait and see.”

Jenna watches me for a long moment over the rim of her glass.

Then she says quietly, “You know, I wouldn’t be mad if you slept with her.”

The words hit like a slap across the face and my irritation spikes instantly.

“Why the hell would you say something like that?”

She sighs softly and sets her drink down on the coffee table. “Because we both know what happened today.”

I go still. She means earlier. Before the board meeting. Before Laurel. Before my entire day went to hell. Jenna had come by my office after lunch wearing that cream dress and perfume I used to love. She kissed me first. Sat in my lap. Tried. And my body gave her nothing. It’s not the first time it’s happened, either.

Humiliation burns hot beneath my skin even now.

“The doctor said it’s normal for men my age,” I mutter.

Jenna’s lips curve faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “We both know you don’t have problems in other situations.”

The implication lands hard because she’s right too.

My cock got hard so fast in Laurel’s office it damn near hurt. One look at that woman arguing with me and my body reacts like I’m twenty-five again. Meanwhile my wife touches me, and half the time I feel… nothing. The guilt of that sits heavy in my chest every single day.

“That’s not fair,” I say tightly.

“No?” Jenna leans back against the couch cushions. “Then tell me I’m wrong.”

I can’t and that silence says enough. Jenna looks away first, staring out the windows toward the dark backyard.

“I think we stopped being husband and wife a long time ago, Mason.”

Something about hearing my actual name instead of Sin twists deep in my gut.

“We’re still married.”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “Technically.”

I rub a hand over my face, exhausted suddenly. “What do you want me to say here?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice stays calm, but I can hear the sadness buried underneath it now. “Maybe just honesty.”

The room goes painfully quiet.

I stare down at the amber liquid in my glass. “Nothing happened with Laurel.”

“I know.”

“And nothing is going to happen.”