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lines appearing around her lips. “You know why I’m here.”
    A dark flush crept up Chance’s neck, mottling his face. He looked like he was about to blow.
    Jane stepped close to Chance. Her hand itched to rub his back. She asked, “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
    â€œNothing’s wrong.” He glanced down at Jane, regret and resignation flickering over his face. Running a hand down his cheek, he sighed. “I was just hoping I’d seen the last of this woman for a good long time.”
    â€œWhy? Who is she?”
    He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His gaze darted across Jane’s face before settling back on the woman.
    Annette stepped forward, raised her hand to shake Jane’s. “His manners never were much to talk about. Hi. I’m Annette McGovern. Chance’s wife.”

Chapter Five
    J ane’s stomach plummeted to her toes. She shook the woman’s hand in a daze. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. I thought Chance’s wife . . . I thought she was . . . uh . . .”
    Chance cursed under his breath, and Jane knew she hadn’t misheard. She was shaking hands with his wife, Josh’s mother. She snapped her hand back. Putting on a cool smile, she said, “Jane Willoughby.” She stepped away from Chance. “It looks like you’ll be busy here. I’ll go to the ballroom and meet with the manager.”
    She took two steps before his hand snagged her elbow. He swung her around to face him.
    â€œJane, it’s not what you think.”
    She looked past him, not wanting to see regret in his eyes. Annette folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head, staring at the pair of them. She didn’t seem upset that her husband was in a hotel with another woman. She looked curious. And amused.
    Tucking his finger under her chin, he raised her face to his. “Just listen to me for a second.”
    Oh, hell no. He wasn’t allowed to lie to her again and think an apology would cut it. “Oh? So your wife is dead? That woman there is just a crazy stalker?”
    He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I never said my wife was dead.”
    Her chest felt tight, like the walls of the elevator were still pressing in on her. Chance’s wife checked her watch, and the maintenance guy looked like he wanted popcorn with the show. She needed to get away. “My mistake.”
    She made it ten feet before he grabbed her again. “Why are you so mad about this? You’ve met Josh, you must know I had a wife.” Running his hand through his short hair, he blew out a harsh breath.
    Like this was her problem. Like she was the one being unreasonable. Heat rocketed up her neck to her face. She knew she must look like an angry tomato. “I don’t care that you have a wife. You could be a bigamist and it wouldn’t matter to me. Why I’m ‘mad’”—she was too ticked to be embarrassed about using rabbit fingers around that word—“is that I thought you might have changed in ten years.”
    His eyebrows slammed together. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou’re never honest,” she hissed, leaning into him and poking his chest. “You should have just told me you were still married, like you should have told me you had another future planned out. One that didn’t include me.” She didn’t know which was worse. That she was dredging up decade-old hurts like some pathetic woman clinging to her high school glory years, or that it felt so good to let him have it. She finally had her target in front of her.
    â€œJane.” His voice held regret. And a tinge of pity.
    She was surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust. Heat and anger rolled off of her in waves. Time to pull it back from her hangups to his screwups. “You might not have outright said it, but you sure as hell implied that you were a widower.