Free Good with His Hands by Tanya Michaels

Sean.”
    Holy hell, she’d seduced a total stranger. A liar, at that. She shot out of the bed, mind reeling. Bryce had an evil twin? Impossible. That was the kind of thing that happened in freaking soap operas, not real life.
    Gray—Sean?—stood, too, his eyes beseeching. “When you first asked me to join you for that drink, to help you let off some steam, I had no idea you thought I was him.”
    â€œAnd as soon as you realized?”
    He glanced away, guilt and misery marring his breathtaking profile. For an inane moment, she wanted to reach for him, comfort him.
    But then anger rose, a dark tide. “Did you think I was so desperate to get laid that I wouldn’t care who I screwed?” she bit out. “Or were you afraid I wasn’t desperate enough, that I’d walk away if I knew you weren’t the man I wanted?”
    His eyes flashed, her words riling him past contrition. “I
am
the man you wanted. You had hours to be sure of that before you brought me back here. And you can’t tell me you know Bryce any better than that. Before yesterday, the two of you had never even exchanged names.”
    The truth in his words didn’t come close to extinguishing her rage. If anything, it infuriated her more. “Don’t try to defend what you did! I just got out of a very long relationship with a liar. I am not about to get involved with another one. Get out of my apartment.”
    â€œDanica—”
    â€œOut,” she said coldly. She was working so hard to control her temper, afraid that if she let it loose, she’d find herself in the midst of an honest to God tantrum, throwing her belongings and risking her security deposit.
    He stared her down. For a second, she thought he might continue pleading his case.
    His shoulders sagged in defeat. He gave her one last look and returned to the living room, where his shoes and shirt were. Apparently, he didn’t even bother to put them on, merely scooped them up, because bare seconds later her front door opened, then clicked shut with gut-wrenching finality.
    Dani pressed her hands to her midsection, not sure if she was going to cry or throw up. An image from last night taunted her, his eyes peering down at her as they moved together. She recalled sardonically how close she’d felt to him. And she hadn’t even known his
name
. His bizarre announcement this morning left her feeling as blindsided as she had the day Tate called off their engagement—maybe more. At least with Tate, there had been some suspicion, some minor foreshadowing.
    What was wrong with her? Was she inherently attracted to dishonest men?
    Were there any honest ones?
    Blood pressure skyrocketing, she scrambled for her cell phone. Meg answered a moment later.
    â€œThank goodness you called,” her friend burbled. “I didn’t want to, you know, interrupt anything, but I have been dying of curiosity! Tell me all about the ‘best date ever.’”
    Not a date, a con. She opened her mouth to say as much, to spew venom and call Sean Grayson every bad word she knew, but, to her horror, only a sob emerged.
    â€œOh, honey.” Meg’s cheerful tone immediately switched to concern. “I was hoping a wild night with Hot Architect would be enough to erase Tate from your memory.”
    Architect? Good Lord. She had no idea what the guy did for a living.
    â€œBut I guess,” Meg continued, “with it being the weekend of your wedding, it’s only—”
    â€œI am not upset about the wedding. Or Tate.” She was far too ticked off at Sean to give a damn about the man she was supposed to have exchanged vows with yesterday. Was that the secret to getting over an ex once and for all, finding someone else who enraged you even more? If so, all she needed now was to go out with a guy who stole her car and burned down her apartment, and maybe she could put this latest mistake behind her, too.
    Shouldn’t