Get over it.
The phrase haunted Warren. Had haunted him for a decade. But it had been fresh on his mind all day, courtesy of Tilda, who was on her way to the airport in his limo.
Without him.
Because he couldn’t get his head on straight.
Tilda needed something bigger than he was capable of giving her. Obviously. After everything that he’d done and tried and bled all over, she still flinched when he forgot to be careful with her. And clearly he’d forgotten. His ham-handed qualities had been proven over and over.
Still. He could have gone to the airport with her, if for no other reason than to say goodbye. Right? They had a professional relationship that would extend for the next nine months or so. They’d be speaking by conference call on Tuesday, if not sooner, pending whether her connecting flight from LAX was delayed.
The reason why he didn’t accompany her had to do with the burn in his chest, the one that made it impossible to explain he couldn’t stand the thought of watching her fly out of his life. He couldn’t go with her. He couldn’t keep her here. It was a merry-go-round nightmare that had no exit.
How the hell had he gotten here? His nice, simple green-card marriage had exploded in his face, and he couldn’t even turn to his friends for comfort because they would laugh. The word sanctimonious would likely come up. “I told you so” would be thrown around more than once.
The house echoed with emptiness. Or was that his heart? Both. Neither.
The staff hadn’t gone anywhere and there were no fewer than five people within shouting distance. But, as always, they were invisible, keeping their distance because that’s what he’d always preferred. His heart had no business feeling anything other than guilt for the sin of bleeding all over Marcus and then Tilda.
Loneliness was his due, and he’d been combating that for eons. Of course, that had been easier when he didn’t have a basis for comparison. The ghost of Tilda was everywhere. In his bed, in the bathroom, at the dining table. Behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the habit of frequenting the terrace, so he didn’t have to see it or the garden below ever again if he didn’t want to.
That was a good plan. Just avoid everything that reminded him of how he’d screwed up and gotten in way too deep with the woman he’d married.
So deep that it had actually wrenched his soul from his gut when she’d flinched last night. Just as well. He didn’t need it anyway. Souls were for people who didn’t have a friend’s suicide on their conscience.
That’s why it was better for Tilda to go. He wasn’t good for her. In fact, he’d let her go for her own safety, because he did care.
If he repeated that a thousand more times, it might sink in, too.
Morose and sick of himself, Warren barricaded the door of the study and drowned himself in work. That lasted about an hour. He’d gotten so good at delegating as he focused on the Australia project over the last three months that he had little to do. Blasphemy. There was always something for the CEO to do. He captained the whole ship, for crying out loud.
Digging into some of Thomas’s reports put him in slightly better spirits. There were discrepancies in the inventory numbers. Grateful for the distraction, he fired off an email for an explanation and moved on to the next report. Five minutes later, an email popped into his inbox. Thomas’s reply: I’m aware. That’s why the discrepancy is explained in the quarterly report I sent out three days ago.
Warren rolled his eyes. Fine. He dug around until he found the report in the wrong folder on his desktop, read it and had to agree that the explanation seemed reasonable enough. What was the world coming to, that his brother had a better handle on the operations of the business than he did?
That was a question better left unanswered. And now he was thinking about Tilda all over again.
His phone dinged and greedily he snatched it up, hoping for a text from Tilda that her flight had been canceled or the airport had been destroyed in a tornado. Australia had fallen off the map. Anything that meant she wouldn’t be getting on a plane and going to the other side of the globe.
Jonas: Roz and Viv are doing a girl’s thing tonight. They want to pick up Tilda. Okay?
He groaned. Excellent timing. Now what was he supposed to do, tell them everything?
Warren: Tilda is.
What? Sick? Busy. Tilda is busy. But, instead, the word gone appeared on the screen and he hit Send in the millisecond before he realized his Freudian mistake. He groaned. No point in recalling it now.
Jones: We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
They made it in ten. When Warren swung the door open after waving off the housekeeper, Jonas and Hendrix both stood on his doorstep.
Jonas held up a six-pack of longnecks. “Figured we’d come fortified. The girls went somewhere that I have absolutely no desire to hear about later, so you’re stuck with us until maybe Monday.”
Rolling his eyes, Hendrix barged into the house without being asked. “Such a liar. They went to a spa that shows romantic movies while they’re doing nails and some such. Viv will talk about Hugh Grant when she gets home and you’ll listen to every word.”
“That’s frighteningly true,” Jonas agreed with a nod and followed Hendrix, pulling out a beer to hand to Warren, who was still standing at the door with his hand on the knob.
“Please. Come in,” Warren told both interlopers sarcastically. “I insist.”
“The Tilda story is a doozy,” Hendrix said to Jonas in a loud whisper that deaf people in Timbuktu heard. “I told you to get two six-packs.”
“I have my own alcohol.” Warren shut the door because the smart-ass duo was already in the house. “Is there any chance you’re going to shut up and let me sulk in peace?”
“None,” Jonas and Hendrix chorused. “We can do this in the foyer or you can let us spread out in the game room. The Devils are playing.”
Basketball sounded like as good a distraction as anything. Warren took the lone leather chair that reclined, leaving Yin and Yang to lounge on his couch as they jabbered about their fantasy basketball brackets.
Beer flowed, and in the middle of his second one, Warren started to relax. The name Tilda hadn’t come up yet and he appreciated his friends’ glaring omission of it more than he could possibly say.
They’d come right over, no questions asked, to keep him company without fully understanding why he’d needed it. Which was a trick and a half considering that he hadn’t even known he needed them.
They were his friends through thick and thin. Even when the thickness was his own skull.
“Tilda’s green card was denied,” Warren muttered.
Jonas and Hendrix both glanced away from the second-half tip-off in progress on the screen, their attention firmly on him instead of the game.
“That’s rough, man,” Hendrix said sympathetically. “Did they say why?”
Warren nodded and threw out the legalese from the letter. “She left this morning. She’ll work remotely until the project is done, and in the meantime, I don’t know. Maybe I can fly down there occasionally to attend some in-person meetings. Not really sure there’s a point in that, though.”
His friends glanced at each other, their expressions laden with meaningful eyebrow gymnastics.
Jonas held up his beer in a pseudo toast. “You’re a rock. A total inspiration. You escaped that marriage without falling in love and I have to say, I’m impressed. I’m fifty bucks poorer, but eh. Easy come, easy go.”
“You bet on me?” Warren tried to get up enough energy to be mad, but pretending he wasn’t thinking about Tilda was exhausting.
“Of course,” Hendrix threw in. “We had a pool. Roz won. She said you’d never unbend long enough to see that Tilda is as perfect for you as if we’d ordered her from a catalog. Me, I was, like, no way it could fall apart. If she’s perfect for you, she’d figure out how to pull that CEO stick out of your butt long enough for you to get there.”
The circular logic made his head hurt. Especially given that he’d always thought the same thing. Tilda was a female version of himself, save one aspect—she deserved happiness. He didn’t. “Get there? Where is ‘there’?”
“If we have to tell you, you’re hopeless.” Hendrix sipped his beer and high-fived Jonas as the Devils scored a three-pointer.
They let Warren stew in his own juices for an agonizing five minutes until he muttered, “I don’t have a CEO stick in my butt.”
“Figure of speech,” Jonas answered pleasantly, without looking at him. “And we were wrong to bet on Tilda, obviously. Sorry about the lack of faith in your ability to stick to the pact.”
Was it going to feel like a hot iron poker had stabbed him in the gut every time someone mentioned her name? How was he going to manage working with her for the long term? “We can stop talking about this any time now.”
“You brought it up,” Hendrix reminded him. Also without looking at him, because the game was apparently tight enough to keep their attention riveted on the screen.
Geez. His friends were something else. They were supposed to notice that he was quietly coming apart and, like, care or something. “Because I figured you wanted to know, or you wouldn’t be here. Your sympathetic ear leaves a lot to be desired.”
As if he’d flipped a switch, Jonas swiveled on the couch, completely turning away from the TV, and Hendrix went so far as to turn it off. They both gazed at him expectantly.
That was way too much attention. His chest started to hurt.
“We were waiting for you to admit there was sympathy needed,” Jonas allowed, his dark eyes warm with compassion. “You do too have a stick. You’re way too proud of yourself for sticking to that ridiculous pact. I’m guessing that’s why Tilda is on a plane and you’re not on it with her.”
“The pact is not ridiculous,” Warren countered and couldn’t even celebrate the fact that his temper had started simmering. It just meant that he wasn’t numb, after all, and frankly, he’d prefer to continue not feeling. “Just because the two of you broke it and figured out how to justify your faithlessness to yourselves doesn’t make—”
“Hey,” Jonas cut in quietly. “I get that you’re upset Tilda’s gone. But we were not faithless to the pact. Maybe the letter of it, but not the spirit. You’re missing the point. We’re still here, still friends after a terrible tragedy.”
“I’m not upset.” They didn’t even have the grace to accept that lie.
“We haven’t forgotten Marcus,” Hendrix added, setting his beer down on the coffee table and leaning back into the couch cushions with a contemplative expression. “I like to think that what I have with Roz is a fitting tribute to his memory. I never would have married her if I’d thought there was a chance I’d fall in love, and yet, it grew between us, anyway. Without the pact, I would still be alone and I’d have missed out on the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“The key is that you have to understand when to admit defeat.” Jonas jerked his head toward the door. “After the woman you’ve fallen in love with gets on a plane to go to the other side of the world is too late.”
“I’m not in—”
Too late. It was too late. He couldn’t even finish that sentence because the falsehood wouldn’t form. Warren’s head started to spin in time with his heart.
The pact was irrevocably broken.
He had fallen in love with Tilda. That’s why all of this hurt so much.
“It’s okay,” Jonas said with every bit of the sympathy Warren had railed at him for not providing. “Give it a minute. You put up a good fight.”
“The problem isn’t that I can’t admit I broke the pact.” Wearily, Warren let his head fall back against the chair. Not a problem. But not easy, either. “It’s that I kept the pact for a reason.”
“We all did.” This from Hendrix. “I didn’t want to lose our friendship. It’s important to me. So I used it as an excuse to avoid what I was feeling. Jonas had his reasons, too. You’re sticking to it because you can’t imagine loving something more than work, I imagine.”
At that, Warren’s head came off the back of the chair and he glared at Hendrix. “Really? You think that’s the reason? Because Flying Squirrel is more important to me than Tilda?”
Hendrix shrugged. “Seems like as good an explanation as any.”
“Except it’s not true. I kept the pact because it’s my fault Marcus died.” Something broke inside as he verbalized the thought that he’d kept quiet for a decade. He’d never uttered those words out loud.
Sitting up straight, Jonas rubbed at his temples. “Warren, Marcus committed suicide. Unless you put him up to it, it’s not your fault.”
“I...” Yes. It was his fault. What could he say to explain this decade-old crime? “I don’t mean I killed him. I mean, I thought he was going to snap out of it. I believed that firmly. So I started talking to him. Looking up bits in psychology books I found in the Duke library. At one point, I read that you should pay attention to the depressed person’s cues and counter the messages they’re giving themselves.”
You were supposed to do it nonverbally. Like the way Tilda startled easily. No big mystery how to handle that—you moved slowly and always showed your hands so she got the message that you weren’t a threat. It had worked more often than it hadn’t. It was only when he’d let his temper get the best of him that he screwed up.
Like he had with Marcus.
So, frustrated with the lack of progress, he’d blurted out “Get over it,” totally convinced that Marcus could have moved on from his broken heart if he’d just tried. Instead, his roommate had swallowed a bunch of pills while Warren had been at a party. Stumbling over his roommate’s lifeless body just inside the door of their condo had sobered him up quickly.
Jonas heaved off the couch and sat on the arm of Warren’s chair, breaching the invisible shield that had always been in place, even between friends. It should have been weird. Warren had always maintained that distance. When they went to a bar with bench seats at the table, Jonas and Hendrix shared and Warren sat by himself. As he should. Marcus had been his roommate and the empty seat next to him served as a constant reminder.
But it was nice, to have his remaining friends here at a time when difficult memories were his constant companions.
“Will it surprise you to learn that I talked to him, too?” Jonas asked. “I called his mom twice. There were a lot of people concerned about him, and all of us did what we thought was best. But in the end, the blame has to lie with Marcus. He made that decision, not you.”
Intellectually, Warren knew that. But his gut was where things didn’t feel right. “How can I go on and be happy when Marcus doesn’t get that opportunity? It’s not fair.”
Hendrix sat forward on the edge of the couch. “What, like you have to punish yourself for the rest of your life for someone else’s choices? Trust me when I say you’ll end up miserable if you do that. You deserve to have whatever relationships you’re willing to work for in life. It’s that simple. This is about you, not Marcus.”
Warren shook his head. “I’m not good with people. I screwed up with Tilda. She left because I can’t be what she needs.”
“I thought she left because of her immigration status,” Hendrix said blithely. “Do tell.”
Walked into that one. “I fell for her, okay? Happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Jonas made a noise in his throat. “Yeah, but only because you needed to hear it, too. You let her walk away because you’re scared to be happy, not because you’re not good with people. That’s an excuse that won’t fly here. You don’t have to be good with people. Just Tilda. Are you good with her?”
So good.
And he’d let her go.
It was killing him slowly and would only get worse. “Doesn’t matter. She only cares about the project. That was the last thing she said to me. Send me the divorce papers and don’t worry about your market share.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you jumped right on that and told her that market share meant nothing to you,” Hendrix said sarcastically. “What a complete and utter shock that any woman who’s spent more than five minutes in your company could possibly be confused about your feelings for her versus Flying Squirrel.”
“You don’t have to be an ass about it,” Warren muttered.
The point wasn’t lost on him. Tilda’s parting words had been a far more painful variation of Why don’t you marry your company? Every woman in his life had butted up against his workaholic tendencies. Tilda didn’t have any special shield against it just because she was as enthusiastic about work as he was.
“Seems like that’s the only way to get through your thick skull,” Hendrix said. “And while we’re on the subject, here’s what you’re going to do. Get on a plane, go to Australia and tell Tilda you’re in love with her. If she says it back, then you can spend the rest of your life figuring out how to feel like you deserve it. If you don’t get on a plane, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting that you didn’t. It’s really not that hard.”
“I can’t do that.” Oh, he wanted to. His heart rate tripled as he envisioned doing exactly that. But he couldn’t. What if he forgot about her triggers and grabbed her again? He might destroy her the same way he had...Marcus.
No. That wasn’t his fault. Greedily, he clung to that absolution from his friends.
Except it wasn’t sticking. He’d messed up with Tilda, too. Clearly, he wasn’t good at this kind of thing.
Groaning, he put his head into his hands. Either he believed the things his friends were telling him or he didn’t. Getting past this was as much his decision as it had been Marcus’s to take his own life, and all at once, Warren didn’t want to take on the responsibility for other peoples’ choices. Just his own.
And he was choosing happiness.
No, he hadn’t bothered to try with Tilda. He’d just sent her back to Australia to protect himself from further screwups. But what if they could work through her triggers? If she even wanted that. How would he know her mind unless he talked to her? It didn’t have to be hard. Like Hendrix had said.
He’d made a mistake in letting her go. The biggest one of his life. And that was a turning point, as well, considering that, for the longest time, he’d have said failing Marcus was his biggest mistake. No longer. He could fix this mistake.
“You guys need to leave,” he said to them both as he stood, nearly toppling Jonas from his perch on the armrest. “I have a very long flight ahead of me.”
* * *
Melbourne welcomed Tilda in much the same manner as it had seen her off—with little fanfare. Of course, she’d sneaked away to the US without telling anyone but her mum and had landed at Tullamarine upon her return as quietly as possible.
No point in stirring the pot. She had enough on her plate, what with nursing a bruised heart and a job that she still had to do alongside a man she was trying to forget. Adding Bryan McDermott into the mix would not make things any better. But if he stayed true to form, he’d find out she was home soon enough.
Oddly, she was too numb to remember what it felt like to be so fearful of him. As the taxi drove down her mum’s quiet street, the only thing she could focus on was how much she did not want to be in Melbourne, but for far different reasons than the ones she’d expected.
She missed Warren. She’d fallen in love with his house, his smile, the way he held her hand as they slept because he’d somehow figured out she didn’t like waking up with his arm across her chest. But she liked being connected to him and he’d known that, as well. Somehow.
Too bad his sixth sense hadn’t extended beyond that. He obviously had no clue she’d fallen for him, and how she’d hidden it, she had no idea. But she’d pulled that off brilliantly, hadn’t she? He didn’t have to contend with a mess of a wife much longer.
Mum was waiting for her at the door, blubbering about how thin Tilda was, the pastiness of her complexion and a multitude of other sins that needed to be fixed right away, apparently.
“I’m fine, Mum.” Tilda dropped her bag in the entryway of the small clapboard house at the end of a neat row of similar houses. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”
She had no idea what time it was or when she next had to be on the phone with Warren. Or how in the world she’d handle that when the time came. Melbourne wasn’t nearly far enough away to dull the ache that just thinking about him caused.
Falling into the bed located in the small guest bedroom, Tilda let her eyes drift shut, craving the oblivion. When she came to, it was midafternoon and Mum was nowhere to be found. The note on the dining room table said she’d gone to the market and would be back soon.
A knock came at the front door. For a half second, she hesitated—Warren’s staff opened the door, not the lady of the house. But she wasn’t the lady of any house anymore, and Warren was thousands of miles away. Blearily, Tilda crossed the small living room to answer it.
“Forget your key, Mum?” Tilda asked with a small smile as she swung open the door.
All the blood drained from her head. Bryan. Standing on her mother’s doorstep as if he had all the right in the world to be there. Struggling to breathe, she gulped air and tried to get her legs to move. Her arms. Something. Slam the door, her brain screamed. Shut it. Right now.
“Nice to see you, Tilda,” he said in that menacing voice she heard in her nightmares.
No! He couldn’t be here. Not so soon. How had he learned she was back so quickly? This was ten times worse than she’d ever imagined. He must have people at the airport. Or listening devices on her mother’s phone.
“I can’t say the same.”
Good. Okay. She could talk. She could breathe.
If she slammed the door in his face, would he break it down? She had to think. Distract him. Call someone.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” he said. “We have unfinished business.”
That put her back up. What was unfinished? He’d stripped her of everything, and only because she’d wanted her confidence back had she gone in search of it. Warren had given her that and so much more. He’d given her purpose. Meaning. The freedom to be herself.
Actually, Bryan was right. They did have unfinished business. “So, you’ve come to apologize?”
He blinked. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”
“A black eye? That’s the only thing that you’ll leave here with.”
Had that really just come out of her mouth? A quiet sense of pride joined the sick fuzzies in her stomach, nearly settling it at the same time.
Confidence. She knew what it felt like now and this was it. Bryan wasn’t stealing it from her again.
“Are you threatening me?” Bryan asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “If you so much as touch me, I’ll have you arrested. You know I can make your life miserable.”
She crossed her arms and leaned on the doorjamb, letting a small smile play about her mouth. “So, you’re saying you’d be willing to testify in a court of law that a woman half your size clocked you?”
That sounded like fun. She might even do it just to see if he’d actually follow through with calling his buddies to do his dirty work.
He blinked again. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Too bad. I’d love to see the looks on the faces of the guys on your squad when you tell them you let a girl punch you and wouldn’t they please run over to arrest her.”
Bryan took a step back and it was every bit a retreat, whether he realized it or not. “You wouldn’t punch me.”
“Won’t I?” She swept him with a scorn-filled glance, seeing him for the coward he was. The power of it roared through her, sweeping away cobwebs she’d long grown accustomed to. “I’ve been in America, as I’m sure your sources informed you. I learned a lot of things about how to protect myself. I wouldn’t be too sure what I would and wouldn’t do, if I were you.”
And it wasn’t even a total lie. She had learned a lot about how to pick up her pieces. No matter what, Warren had renewed her faith in herself. And given her the ability to talk down to her former abuser, apparently.
It was not her fault he’d hit her. Not her fault he’d been jealous and possessive.
And she was not taking his crap ever again.
“This is not over,” he warned as he stepped back once again. “We’re not over. You’re mine and—”
She slammed the door and locked it. Sure, he could probably bust through the wood frame easily, but she didn’t think he would. She’d stood up to him with stellar results, the likes of which even she couldn’t believe.
Warren had given her back her life in more ways than one.
“Tilda,” Bryan called through the door. “I—”
“Go away, you piece of garbage. I have my phone in my hand and I will call the authorities to have you picked up for trespassing.” It wasn’t an idle threat. Surely there would be someone on the Victoria police force who wasn’t in Bryan’s pocket and would be willing to uphold the law. She’d keep dialing until she found that person.
It went quiet outside and she peeked through the curtain to see Bryan slinking back to the gutter he’d come from. The victory was a little hollow but it was still a victory.
She ate dinner with her mum and didn’t think about Bryan at all. Until the next day, when he knocked on the door again while her mother was getting her hair done.
Marching to the entrance, she flung open the door.
“You can’t be here.” As she met the gaze of the man on her mother’s doorstep, her knees went weak.
Warren. Not Bryan. So not Bryan she couldn’t even process it.
“I know.” Warren held up his beautiful hands as if to ward her off, and why wouldn’t he? She’d practically attacked him before even getting the door open. “I should have called. I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s fine. I thought you were...someone else.” But on that note...she slid a once-over all the way down his body, drinking in his wrinkled slacks and the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. “Why are you here? You’re really here, right? This is not a figment of my overactive imagination?”
The caution eased from his face as he smiled. “Really here. I flew all night on Roz’s father’s private jet.”
Her mouth might have been hanging open. “Why?”
“Because that was the fastest way to get to Australia. And you,” he said simply, and everything else in the world melted away as she stared at him.
Her heart threw itself out of her chest and latched onto him greedily, lapping up every bit of his nearness.
“You told me to get on a plane,” she reminded him and pushed back the sudden desire to jump into his arms. Their horrible parting still sat in her stomach like a rock. “Only for you to follow me? You’re not making any sense.”
Clearly flustered, he ran his fingers through his hair, and that’s when she noticed he didn’t have his cell phone in either hand. Her well-trained eye didn’t locate it in either of his front pockets, either, which meant it must be charging in the long limo behind him. That or the apocalypse were the only two things she could think of that would pry his phone out of his hand.
“Only because I’m exhausted and all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you,” he said, and his small smile shouldn’t have warmed her as much as it did.
“Oh, I get it,” she said before he could say some more things that would make her forget how hopeless it was to think they could be together. “You came to Melbourne for a few days to micromanage the project. The idea of me handling all of it here at ground zero without you in the middle must have really freaked you out. Nice that you can combine your first love with a little side action, courtesy of your project manager.”
“Please, Tilda.” Warren shook his head, his eyes warm with some emotion she couldn’t fathom. “Listen to me. I shouldn’t have started with kissing. I haven’t slept because I spent the entire flight working out the details for Thomas to take over as CEO.”
“You...what?” Her brain was having trouble processing, obviously. “Does CEO stand for something other than what I think it does? Chief Energy Officer?”
He rubbed at his temple as if she was giving him a headache. “It means I gave him the reins. I walked away from Flying Squirrel. There’s no Down Under Thunder project anymore. Well, I mean, I guess Thomas can pick it up if he wants—”
Her lungs seized, and she tried to inhale and exhale at the same time, then choked on it. Coughing, she held up a finger to Warren who had a tinge of panic coloring his expression.
“Hold on,” she wheezed. “I swear it sounded like you just said you walked away from your company.”
“That is what I said. Tilda...” Warren held up a hand, fingers spread, and then dropped it. “I forget that I don’t have the right to touch you anymore. It’s automatic now to broadcast every move I make when I’m around you, but my muscles didn’t get the message that I screwed up and let you go.”
She felt his words in her bones. “I don’t understand anything you’re telling me right now. You gave Thomas the company and got on a plane to Australia to manage a project that doesn’t exist anymore?”
“I got on a plane to follow the woman I love.”
And that simple phrase changed everything, including the will to stay so far away from him.
“I think you better come in.” She opened the door wider, but as he crossed the threshold, she planted herself in his path so neatly that he almost bowled her over. The only way to keep them both off the ground was for him to throw his arms around her, which—not so coincidentally—was what she’d been going for.
“Price of admission,” she told him, and his grip tightened, hefting her closer until she fit into the grooves of his body like a second skin. Perfect.
God, he felt so good. Solid, warm, everything she’d been missing, and here he was, in her arms. She shouldn’t be so free with her affections, not when he’d ended everything so easily with scarcely a goodbye wave. But he’d followed her, and that counted for a lot.
“I had a whole apology planned out,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m having a hard time remembering it.”
“This is pretty good as apologies go.”
That’s when he pulled back to catch her gaze in his and she nearly growled in frustration as his heat left her.
“No. It’s not. I was stupid to let you go. I should have told you that I was falling in love with you the moment I realized it.”
That was even better than an apology. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Tilda Garinger. Assuming you’re okay with taking my name and making this a real marriage. I know we have so many things to work through. I haven’t been as understanding about your triggers as I could be. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll spend the rest of my life standing by your side as we work through whatever we need to. I won’t abandon you to deal with this alone. I promise.”
“You didn’t,” she protested weakly, still stuck back on a real marriage. “You were always patient with me. More than I deserved.”
She hadn’t wanted to burden him with her problems. But only by coming home could she have dealt with the last remnants of her nightmares. And she had. The blackness inside had lifted, leaving her wide open to accept the things he was telling her.
“You deserve whatever you need to get to a place where we can be together,” he told her fiercely. “I’m all in. We can live wherever you feel the most comfortable. Greece, Italy, Canada. You pick. I’m at your complete mercy.”
It dawned on her that, once again, he was giving her complete control over their future, and that broke the last of her barriers. “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you, we’ll make it work.”
That’s when he kissed her. Fiercely. Possessively. And she loved the idea of being claimed by a man like Warren.
Happily-ever-after was in her reach this time.