Bent not Broken Read Online Free PDF

they plague every unused crevice inside your brain with revolving questions and no real answers. Is love a strong enough glue to put me back together again? Is the love between Ben and I strong enough to keep us together and our marriage afloat?
    With this huge gaping hole inside me, and my taunting doubts as constant companions, I’m left hollow, angry, and afraid of intimacy with my own husband. Physical intimacy won’t close that gap.
    After a perfect landing, the jet finally comes to a halt. I address Robert, “Well, it’s show time.” I wink at him and begin tapping my left high-heeled foot on the ground.
    I hope this guy doesn’t change the dynamics of the office too much.
    When the door to the jet finally opens, a beautifully dressed blonde woman appears. She is statuesque, and her body clothed in all shades of cream looks like it belongs on the runway of a Chanel Paris fashion show. Her ashy blonde hair is tightly coiled in a French bun, showcasing a lack of wrinkles all over her face. If that is Mrs. Stepford Wife, I already hate her. Behind her, comes a…
    Wait, is that supposed to be the kid? I expected a puberty ridden teenager.
    Oh, my.
    No. There is no boy in that body. He is all man. If that is, in fact, Mr. Radcliff’s son, he doesn’t look anything like I’d imagined. For one, this blond stud doesn’t look like a teenager, at all. And two, there are no pimples on his perfect face. And well, he is at least ten inches taller than what I expected.
    The man walking behind Mrs. Stepford Wife Perfect Skin No Wrinkles is wearing faded distressed jeans that hang so low on his hips you can see the waist-band of his Armani underwear as he walks, and a light pink oxford shirt with the first three buttons opened, exposing his tanned and very muscular chest.
    This guy exudes confidence and sex. I bet that if I got near him, trying to catch a whiff of his scent, I would be able to breathe in what pure sex smells like. Even his leisurely walk is sexy as hell. My God.
    When my eyes land on his face, I notice he is watching me with a lazy smile playing around his lips. He is beautiful. His chiseled face is the kind of perfect that belongs in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad to which thousands of girls daydream about kissing someday. But there is a deceptive sweetness in his features too; when you look at those eyes of his, you know you are in trouble.
    Big trouble.
    William Shakespeare said that the eyes are the windows to your soul. When our eyes connect, I see danger, and maybe something exciting. Something forbidden. Some basic instinct in me instantly recognizes that this man doesn’t make love to a woman.
    He fucks her.
    As I’m locked in his gaze, I am suddenly gripped by this feeling threatening to choke the air out of my lungs. A premonition or an omen, this feeling is shouting in my head, telling me to run and hide, to never turn back. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I just blink. My hand goes to my chest as I start to rub the area surrounding my heart.
    He is danger.
    My head is shouting to get away, and my heart is yelling danger, but my body isn’t letting me move. All I can do is watch as he makes his way down the stairs of the jet towards me. His grin has grown from lazy and crooked to a full-blown kilowatt-powerful smile.
    His smile is electrifying.
    His smile frightens me.
    His smile hypnotizes me.
    Shaking my head, I break my gaze from his hypnotic one. Get a grip, girl. Stop thinking about silly omens and wicked eyes. You need to listen to Amy and get laid. Like, as soon as you walk into your house, you better jump Ben.
    Putting my best smile on, I clear my throat as I step forward. “Hi, my name is Cathy Stanwood. Nice to meet you.”

Chapter 4
    On our drive back to the city, my cheeks are still tingling from where his lips touched my skin.
    I was definitely not expecting him to ignore my handshake and plant two of the most electrifying kisses I’d ever received on each side of my face. I felt