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screamed. She ranted, raved. She smashed glasses on the tile floor, ripped her black dress to shreds and tore her stockings. But nothing assuaged the fury, the shame she felt. As angry as she was with him, she was furious with herself. How could she have been so stupid? So ridiculous? So pitiful! He said it. He didn’t dissemble. She wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked. But she knew that. She’d heard the men talking, laughing at their amorous exploits, marveling at the power Rafe had over women. How they flocked to him, experienced women, gorgeous women. Whatever the situation, the others lamented, Rafe attracted the cream of the crop, the women others would die to take. If Caleb was an accomplished chick magnet, Rafe was a vortex. He sucked the willing women in, then carelessly spat them out.
    After she’d raged for what seemed like hours Nicki did something she couldn’t remember doing since she was a little girl. She cried. Harsh, bitter tears. Wrenching sobs. She cried until she could no longer cry. Until she was drained of tears, until her head pounded and her chest hurt. She hung over the toilet, wanting to throw up but unable to make the effort. As the morning light streamed through the windows, ratcheting up the pain in her head, she forced herself to look in the mirror. To survey the damage. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, her nose was red. Her face was pale. Her hair was a torrential mess.
    Staring at her reflection, her pride kicked in. She refused to face him looking like this. Downing four Advil, she forced herself into the shower. After twenty minutes of blistering hot water, then five minutes of icy cold, she’d shocked her numb body back to life. She scrubbed away every vestige of him. Every hint of his smell, his musky masculine odor and the scent of sex between her legs. She surveyed her voluptuous body with disgust and dragged out her warrior garb. A sleeveless black t-shirt, cammo pants and combat boots were her armor. She pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail daring any tendrils to break free.
    ~~~
    Their breakfast meetings were the same pleasant ritual. Camaraderie, pots of coffee and smash talk set the tone for the day. Nicki hesitated at the dining room door. She heard their voices, the clink of silverware, glasses, the aroma of strong coffee and fresh baked bread. She’d spent the last two hours preparing for this moment. She refused to cave now. Squaring her shoulders, Nicki pushed open the door and walked in.
    Every muscle, every nerve was tuned to a high pitch. She was as battle ready as when she fought. Until she walked through the doorway and saw him. With one glance at his hard, impenetrable eyes, she folded, unable to meet his somber gaze. He frowned, then stood and motioned for her to sit in her usual place next to him. She ignored the gesture and moved down the row of men, and sunk down in the chair next to Caleb. Grayson was over by the counter. He caught her eye and held up the coffee pot with a welcoming smile. She shook her head refusing knowing she couldn’t swallow, much less tolerate the acidic brew.
    Rafe’s refined tastes had converted them all. He’d insisted that even in the banlieues of Paris, they knew how to make bread. Rafe’s personal chef, Andre, won over the hard core Wonder Bread enthusiasts. Each morning, Andre enticed them with fragrant offerings that would meet the exacting standards of the finest French bakeries. The hungry men gobbled up the sweet-scented delicacies along with omelets and quiches made with fresh herbs and the finest aged cheeses.
    As Nicki slunk down next to him, Caleb shoved a plate of warm brioche and croissants in front of her. With a welcoming smile, Matt handed her the butter and wild blackberry jam. Nicki’s stomach clenched at the smell. She fought the gorge threatening to choke her and refused them both.
    Caleb leaned over and put his hand on her forehead.
    “You okay, hotstuff? You don’t look so good. One of the things I