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waking moment he wasn’t working entertaining their child or surfing the Internet, Sam prayed their unborn son’s cord blood would be a match for Dani—unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered.
    Michael was born at only twenty-seven weeks and died.
    Nick promptly tossed out every bootie and rattle, Sam had bought for their baby, before she was even released from the hospital. He’d said it was to spare her, but then he threw himself into his job, working nonstop and leaving her to mourn their loss alone without a single receiving blanket to soak up her tears.
    That’s when it became crystal clear that Nick’s promise—during his marriage proposal—to provide for her and their child had referred to their physical needs. He’d never said a word about satisfying Sam’s emotional needs, which a nice home and mind-blowing sex couldn’t begin to fill.
    Although she really missed the latter.
    She heaved a sigh, recalling how he’d always left her gasping her pleasure. She’d cherished the tender way he’d held her afterward—despite the absence of any declarations of love aside from a few Spanish endearments.
    Sam slid off the bed and stomped into the bathroom for a shower. Leave it to her to be dumb enough to divorce her sexpert husband right when she reached her sexual prime. At thirty-two, she finally understood her husband’s perpetual state of arousal. If Adam’s kisses evoked even half the fireworks Nick’s did, she would’ve slept with Dani’s doctor weeks ago.
    After shucking the denim shorts and T-shirt she’d changed into after work, she pulled off her undergarments and twisted around to study her bare fanny in the mirror. At only five-foot-three, she wasn't one of those lucky women who carried her weight all over her body. At least eight of the twelve pounds she’d gained since her divorce were glued to her dimpled butt and boobs. She stepped on the scale and gasped, shifting her weight several times in a vain attempt to make the number drop.
    Make that fifteen pounds.
    That would teach her to substitute peanut butter cups for sex. Even if she lived on celery and lettuce, she’d never be able to lose the added weight before she saw Nick again.
    Maybe there was a grain of truth in the trivia he’d loved to quote that ‘ a daily romp in bed burned enough calories to lose ten pounds a year .’
    Her celibate lifestyle had certainly piled on that much weight and more. Meanwhile, Nick, though he tried to deny it, was probably turning himself into a skeleton, playing fitness trainer for Bimbo Bethany. After all, a man with the drive and stamina that only a polygamist needed would hardly be content to remain abstinent the rest of his life. And a man who made Zorro seem downright average would have had no problem finding a pretty young volunteer to cater to his Latin libido.
    Sam swallowed hard, clearing the giant lump of envy from her throat.
    Unlike a lot of men only interested in gratifying their baser needs, her virile ex reveled in the prelude to sex as much as he did the grand finale. He’d loved ratcheting up her anticipation and teasing her into a wild frenzy. Of course, his fondness for making her beg in bed was probably another facet of his Svengali complex.
    So why, after all this time, did the idea of him introducing El Capitán to another woman eat at her insides? She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to blot out the memory of Nick’s lovemaking. Every time he made her climax, he grinned like a proud fool, as if he owned the patent on orgasms. No doubt, he was doing a lot of smiling these days, sleeping with a stacked teenager. Of course, that was assuming he had the energy left to lift the corners of his mouth.
    Sam stepped into the shower stall and slammed the glass door. Why should she care? It wasn’t as if she still loved him, right? Her jealousy had to be simply a matter of pride.
    When Nick saw how fat she’d grown without his so-called nightly workouts, he would probably laugh