“What’s all this?”

Theo’s deep voice causes me to jump where I stand at the stove.

“Oh jeez, you scared me. I didn’t think you’d be home for another hour.” I turn, taking in the contrast of his sharp gray suit to the dark beard that has come to be his signature look.

He cleans up well, he always has. Oh, who am I kidding, he looks like a hairier James Bond-type character when he tightens that tie in the morning. And to know that underneath the clothes, he’s all lean muscle and smooth olive skin and that smattering of dark hair leading down his happy trail …

Woah, Imogen. Hold your hormones there, lady.

Shaking my head to dispel images of a naked Theo, I take a breath. But he speaks first.

“I can go upstairs, or grab a bite to eat out, if you want the kitchen.” Those gray eyes hold exhaustion, which I suspect has to do with this juggling act we’re performing as a living situation.

Biting my lip, I turn the burner off on the marinara sauce I was making. “Oh, actually, I was making dinner for you.”

Theo’s dark eyebrows arch up in surprise. “You were?”

And now I think this is a mistake. It’s too domestic of me, too wifely. Him, coming home from work. Me, standing barefoot and pregnant in our kitchen, cooking his meal. Well, not that he knows about the whole baby part.

“Yeah … I wanted to apologize for the other night. I let my temper and my feelings on the situation cloud my judgment, and I wasn’t listening to you. So I wanted to say sorry.”

He sets his briefcase down and shrugs out of his coat jacket. Then he walks over, loosening his tie, leaving me staring at the way his neck muscles flex and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“That’s … nice of you.” He bends down to peer into the oven. “Chicken saltimbocca, my favorite.”

“I was craving some comfort food. It’s been a long week.” I go back to checking my sauce.

Theo plops down on one of the upholstered stools surrounding our island. “That’s for sure. The office is nuts with the holidays coming up. People wanting their builds done faster than it will probably take … and Toxell is his usual Grinch self.”

“He’s a Scrooge if I ever met one.” I chuckle.

“God … how can a guy so hopped up on, probably, illegal prescriptions be so unhappy?” He shakes his head, tapping his fingers on the marble countertop.

Turning, I somberly say, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“No, I mean, I’m sorry that I forced you to take the job with Nolan. I should have known it would suck the creative soul out of you. Now look at you, you’re miserable. And I never saw it. I’m sorry for that.”

Theo’s expression is unreadable. “Thank you for saying that.”

I have to clear my throat, because I hadn’t meant for this apology dinner to get heavy. “Do you think you’ll find a new job … after?”

The word divorce is still hard to place into my vocabulary.

“I’ll probably go back to Nantucket. Work my old construction gig for a while until I figure something out.”

How weird would it be to start living separate lives? I wouldn’t know anything about him anymore. We wouldn’t have dinner together, and I couldn’t call him with every irrelevant thing that happened during my day. I hadn’t thought much about that until now.

“I think that would be nice. You always loved designing and working by the ocean.”

“I went by the house a couple weeks ago. I missed it … but it made me think a lot about our time there.” His gaze is boring holes into my back.

It’s too powerful to withstand, and I have to turn around. Theo’s expression is intense.

“We had a lot of good times there. Hey … how about the time that whale swam around our part of the island for hours? Remember we sat out on the beach with that bottle of brandy until like, two in the morning?” I’m trying to keep things light.

His jaw and forehead are still tight with unspoken feelings, but his shoulders relax a fraction. “That was really something. My whole life living on that island, and that was the only time I saw a whale idle like that. And we’re the only two who saw him.”

“Well, and maybe the neighbors a mile away. I always did think they spied on us.”

“Those two were like the Grey Gardens’ women of Nantucket.” His full lips pull into a grin.

I motion to the cabinet where we keep the plates. “Set the table, would you?”

“But you’re so much better at it,” he ribs, his usual excuse.

“Either put the plates and silverware out or I’ll eat all of this myself.”

Theo gets up with a sigh. “I’m only doing this because I know you could eat it all yourself. I’ve witnessed it, and I’m hungry.”

“You’re washing, too.”

“Flapjack can wash. What does she even do around here?”

I chuckle. “I know, when is she going to start paying rent?”

We often ask the cat when she’ll be getting a job to help provide. The inside joke and the banter we’re sharing makes me feel a little lighter.

Theo sets the table and I plate the meal, making sure to add extra sauce to his plate because that’s how he likes it. I put a few extra stalks of garlic broccoli to my plate, because the baby could use the nutrients.

Our dinner is pleasant, and we talk about the last Thanksgiving we had, when one of Alfie’s sons peed all over my mother’s vintage Persian rug in the dining room. Theo is laughing so hard I think he might spit the pale ale he grabbed from the fridge out of his nose.

But, it’s over too suddenly and the awkwardness is back in the air at the thought of each of us going to our separate bedroom. As he rises, clearing our plates and bringing them to the sink, I stand too.

I’m about to leave the room when he shifts, and we’re standing too close to each other.

Theo clears his throat. “Thank you for making me dinner.”

“It was no problem.” He’s too close.

“I know it’s been tough on both of us.” His voice is husky.

“It has been.” My whisper is too breathy.

Then, before I know what’s happening, my soon-to-be ex-husband’s hands are threading in my hair, and his lips come crashing down on mine.

Just like they have a thousand times before.

Only now, his kiss ignites something that I thought was extinguished months ago. This kiss is not one I’m familiar with … full of desperation and unspoken feelings and a last shot.

Theo has always taken charge when it comes to sex, and I flush from the waist down just thinking about how controlling he can be. It’s sexy and exciting, and he doesn’t go soft on me now. No, his hands move my head this way and that, his fingers kneading my scalp and directing the tilt of my neck to position my lips better for him to feast.

This man, the one who I’ve lusted over for five years, is putting his whole body into the kiss. I’m lost, grabbing him back, the hormones and confusion and sadness and love I still have for him mixing into a giant recipe for destruction. Our tongues tangle, doing the dance they’ve known for so long.

But in that knowing is also strangeness. Theo nibbles on my lower lip, something he usually doesn’t do in our routine of being intimate. I place my hand on the back of his neck, pulling at the curling ends of his hair there, a move I usually never practice in our usual choreography.

I won’t stop this, no matter how wrong it is. I’m too horny with double the everything pumping through my veins. And it goes against everything I’ve said to him and to myself since I left Theo … but deep down, I want him so much it’s killing me. Every day we’re not together, it’s like I’m carving out pieces of my soul.

I’m twisted and terrified and I hate myself. But I won’t stop this.

He must read my thoughts, know the ugly truth hidden in my heart, because after a few more impassioned seconds, he breaks away.

The beard, the brows, the set of his sharp cheekbones and the way those gray eyes have turned midnight black … it’s all too intense. And it’s directed right at me.

“Make up your mind, Imogen.”

Theo walks away quietly, never giving me his back, just staring deep into my eyes until he turns the corner and goes up the stairs.

He knows me too well. And if I don’t end this soon, it will be both of our undoing.