When Tamara finds the man she loves in bed with another woman, she must put her life—and her heart—back together. Step one, make her philandering ex regret the day he strayed. She rebuilds her appearance, but her self-esteem proves more difficult to restore. How does she cut the ties binding them together when she doesn’t know what they are? Maybe being with him just one more time will help her find those ties and sever them forever. Like most well-laid plans, however, things don’t go according to plan—they go so much better.
Tamara slammed the door of her studio apartment. The delicate butterfly ornament she’d treasured since childhood fell from the window where it hung and shattered. She glared at the cracked glass scattered over the polished hardwood floor. The decoration had been so delicate, with iridescent sheets of green glass and gold ribbons shooting through its wings as if fluttering constantly. Her grandfather had given her the bauble as a gift, saying the butterfly had great beauty.
Unlike her.
Her ex’s taunting words rang in her ears. Tamara, you’re the coldest, most unexciting woman I’ve ever dated.
And just like that, she felt ugly and broken all over again.
She stomped over the broken glass, tears coursing down her cheeks as she stumbled into her room. She threw herself face down on the bed, letting the pain come. She’d seen them together. From the moment she’d opened the door of his bedroom, she’d been in shock, frozen in the doorway. Watching them. Cameron dragging his tongue across that woman’s pert, dark nipples, the buds slick with his saliva. His fingers wet with her juices as he frantically worked them in and out of her, the other woman screaming—and so had Tamara.
But with revulsion.
Cameron had rolled over and laughed at her. As did the well-endowed Latin waitress who’d served them dinner the night before.
Laughed!
Hadn’t he seen how hurt she’d been? Hadn’t he cared about her at all or what they’d shared? They’d been together almost two years. She’d thought they’d been in a committed relationship, but those hateful things he’d said to her…
She’d never forget them.
Seething anger getting her moving, she dried her tears, forced herself from the bed—and a pillow soaked with bitter tears—and strode into the bathroom. It was noon on Saturday, so she had time.
Cold? Unexciting? Those were the words he’d called her, what he thought of her as a woman. She’d show him. She wouldn’t let him get away with this.
The cool water she splashed on her face felt good, and she made her decision. She wasn’t about to wallow in self-pity. The first thing on her to-do list was a serious makeover.
