Page 11 of Inferno

So Prissy had nothing to say to her other than, “I’m sorry, Celeste, but I won’t be able to meet you for dinner.”

“What about drinks? Surely you can make time for drinks?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So that’s it? Just because I made a decision you don’t agree with, we can’t be friends anymore?”

“I have to go, Celeste,” Prissy said with quiet finality. “Take care of yourself.”

Before Celeste could utter another word, Prissy hung up the phone.

Blinking back tears of anger and regret, she swiveled away from the window and exhaled a deep, shaky breath. She told herself that she’d done the right thing by severing ties with Celeste.

So why didn’t she feel better?

Shaking her head, she swiped at the corners of her eyes. At that moment her gaze landed on a framed portrait on her desk. In the old photograph, Prissy sat with three-year-old Mason on her lap. Stan stood behind them with one hand resting lovingly on Prissy’s shoulder. Manning, Montana, Magnum and Maddox flanked her, two on each side. All of them wore big smiles as they beamed into the camera, their eyes shining with happiness and laughter.

Prissy slowly reached across her desk and picked up the photo. A soft smile curved her lips as she tenderly traced her fingertips over the beloved faces of her husband and sons. She remembered how overjoyed she and Stan had been when they’d learned that she was pregnant—the first time, and every time after that. She remembered Stan kneeling before her with his arms wrapped around her expanding waist and his face pressed to her swollen belly as he marveled at the life growing inside her. She remembered his delighted shouts of laughter whenever the baby kicked him, and she remembered the lazy nights they’d lain in bed together reading from a pregnancy book while Stan gently rubbed her stomach and talked to their unborn son.

Prissy wasn’t like Celeste. No matter how bad things might become between her and Stan, she could never walk out on her family.

But what if Stan’s having an affair?challengedan inner voice.Would you stay with a man who’s unfaithful to you? What if the decision is taken out of yourhands,and Stan leaves you and the kids for another woman?

Prissy’s smile faded.

Holding the family portrait close to her heart, she silently prayed,Please don’t let my worst fears come true, God. Please keep my precious family together.

Two hours later, Prissy was adding the finishing touches to a budget report she planned to present at tonight’s school board meeting. When a knock sounded at her door, she glanced up. She was surprised to find her husband standing in the doorway behind her secretary.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Gayle announced in a singsong voice that was far from apologetic, “but you have a visitor, and the gentleman insisted on seeing you right away.”

“Did he, now?” Amused, Prissy arched a brow at Stan. “Has the gentleman ever heard of calling first or making an appointment?”

Holding her gaze, Stan said dryly, “The gentleman is offended at the notion that he’d have to call or make an appointment to see his own damn wife.”

“Touché.”Lips quirking, Prissy glanced at Gayle. “Would you please hold my calls for ten minutes?”

“Make that twenty,” Stan corrected, sidestepping Gayle to enter the office.

“As you wish, Mr. Wolf.”Grinning wickedly at husband and wife, Gayle closed the door behind her.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Prissy watched as Stan sauntered toward her. He wore black boots and his department-issue uniform—the navy blue one with a gold badge and a patch bearing the CFD emblem sewn onto each sleeve. Prissy had never been the type to lose her mind over a man in uniform…until the first time she’d seen her husband in one. He’d looked so damn fine that her mouth had watered, and all she’d wanted to do was jump his bones.

Fourteen years later, nothing had changed.

Hestilllooked mouthwateringly good, and shestillwanted to devour him.

But this was not the time or the place.

She eyed him warily as he reached her desk. “What’re you doing here, Stan?”

“Since we got interrupted this morning,” he drawled, “I came to finish what we started.”

“What?” She shook her head quickly. “I don’t think so.”

“Then don’t think,” he suggested, rounding the desk. “Just go with the flow.”

“Are you crazy?” Prissy demanded, watching as he knelt beside her and swiveled her chair around to face him. “I’m atwork, Stan. I can’t be fooling around—”