Instead Kahlil accepted her betrayal, accepted her failure, accepted that she’d been unfaithful. Apparently it hadn’t crossed his mind to even think otherwise.

Then he’d failed her, too. Twice.

Tears burned in her throat, unshed tears she’d never let fall.

Leaving him had nearly destroyed her. It had been the hardest thing she ever had to do. She’d nearly shattered all over again when back in Texas, she discovered she was pregnant.

It was a baby Kahlil wanted. It was a baby he’d never know. The guilt had nearly eaten her alive. Thank God for poverty. It forced her out of bed every morning, forced her to work until she dropped into bed at night, dead with fatigue.

Kahlil might mock Stan and his insurance agency, but working as a secretary at the agency probably saved her life. “Why don’t you just divorce me and get this over with?” she said hoarsely.

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Lifting her gaze, she looked at Kahlil, noting the firm set of his mouth, the intelligence in his warm golden gaze and saw her son there, the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth. Why hadn’t she ever seen it before? Ben was Kahlil in miniature.

And like that, she saw the awful truth. She and Kahlil weren’t completely strangers. They did have something in common, one precious little person. Ben.

“Too easy,” he answered curtly. “Divorce might be the easiest thing, but I’ve never taken the easy way out.”

She knew what he was talking about, knew the reference to their marriage. He’d warned her ahead of time that their marriage would create an uproar, predicted his family’s reaction, including his father’s harsh disapproval. Kahlil had said there would be hell to pay and she’d shrugged it off, kissing Kahlil’s lovely mouth, his cheekbone, his jaw. She’d been confident she could win his family over, so certain that Kahlil’s love and approval would be enough.

And she was wrong. Very wrong.

Knots balled along her shoulder blades, her back rigid, her neck stiff. Her gaze settled on his hard profile. Once she’d love to kiss the strong angles and planes of his face. She remembered how she lavished extra kisses on the small scar near the bridge of his nose.

She could feel the heartbreak again, thick and sharp. She had loved him. Once. She’d wanted nothing but to be with him. She loved him to distraction, needed the assurance he felt the same. Instead he withdrew, his warmth disappearing behind an impersonal mask. Duty, country, business. Their worlds no longer connected, their lives ceased to touch.

“How badly do you want a divorce?”

His question sent small shock waves rippling through her middle. He was toying with her the same cruel way a cat played with a mouse just before the mouse became a feline supper.

Her spine stiff, her shoulders squared, she lifted her chin, wanting to defy him.