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The Wrong Man

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Syd came home from Mallorca, exhausted and furious, desperately needing to unwind. Luckily the apartment was empty, and she could spend some quality time with her vibrator, the one Marshall seemed to believe was being used for muscle aches.

It wasn’t fair that she had to work with Sark. The man was insufferable. Not to mention being completely untrustworthy. When he talked about her mother, she wanted to kill him with her bare hands.

So why couldn’t she keep herself from imagining what it would be like to give in to one of his less than subtle propositions?

His hands would touch her the same way he opened a safe; find her depths and steal her secrets. She pushed the vibrator against her clit and pressed her legs together, hearing Sark’s voice in her ear, gently mocking her desires, but also promising to fulfill them.

“You need a man Syd, not a Boy Scout.”

Even thinking about Sark was a betrayal of Vaughn, of everything she believed in, but it was Sark’s face she saw, as she came, complete with self-satisfied smirk.

“We’re a great team, Sydney,” he’d said, and maybe he was right.

Another secret to keep from Vaughn.