She takes in a shuddering breath and wipes her eyes. “So you claimed it was yours.”

“Yes.” I narrow my eyes, studying her as she works through this.

“Because you felt responsible.” Her voice is even, void of any inflection.

“Yes. She lost the baby at three months. Likely from the drinking and drugs she’d consumed early on. She was devastated.” And I’m devastated now, as if the loss has just happened. There’s a familiarity in the pain, and I remember feeling a hint of this ache back then. I’d been convinced that Alayna had taught me sensation, but now I wonder, have these emotions always been inside me, locked away, waiting for someone to set them free?

“That’s awful,” Alayna says, and I leave my introspection, returning my focus to her. I still can’t read her, still can’t figure out what awful things she’s thinking behind those beautiful brown eyes.

“It’s awful,” she says again, her voice tinged with confusion, “but I don’t understand. You thought this would make me not love you…why?”

I fall onto the arm of the sofa, baffled by her lack of concern. “Because it changes everything. I did that. That’s who I am. It’s my past, and it’s very ugly.”

Finally, her face breaks, but it’s not disappointment that I see on her features—it’s compassion. She moves to me and settles her hands on my shoulders. “Do you think your ugly is any different than mine?”

Her touch, her words—they’re hard to bear. She’s making too light of my sins. They’re nothing like the things she’s done. “This isn’t like following someone around or calling too many times, Alayna.”

“It was an unforeseen tragedy, Hudson. A game that got out of hand. You didn’t set out for Celia to get pregnant and have a miscarriage. And you can’t diminish the things I’ve done to a simple statement like that either. I hurt people. Deeply. But that was before. Less than ideal pasts, remember? It doesn’t mean it defines our future. Or even our now.”

Her words reach deep inside me, through my skin, into my bones, and I hear her. Really hear her. She’s voicing an idea I’ve played with since I’ve met her. Can I—can we—break free of our pasts and step into the future unchained?

I let out the breath I’ve been holding and brush a tear from her eye. “When I’m with you, I almost believe that.”

“That just means you need to spend more time with me.”

That almost makes me laugh. “Is that what that means?” Maybe that is what it means. I entertain the idea with more sincerity than I have previously. Could I be with Alayna like this? For real? Put another way, could I ever find the strength to not be with her like this?

I slide my thumb down to caress her cheek. “Yesterday morning, when I got the phone call that required me to be in Cincinnati—I couldn’t even let myself look at you, sleeping in that bed. If I did, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.”

Her face lights up. “I thought you left because you were freaking out. Because of the love stuff.”

“I wasn’t freaking out.” Not about the love stuff. That I’d welcomed. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?”

“That that’s what we were feeling.” I hedge around an actual declaration. “That it was love.”

“It was,” she says with certainty. “It is.”

“Hmm.” I let her affirmation settle around me. This thing I’ve felt for Alayna began when I first met her, the first spark igniting at the moment I first saw her. Since then, it’s remained constant, growing and brightening, refusing to take a shape that I could identify, but always strengthening in intensity. Love, she calls it. It’s new. It’s amazing. “I never felt this before. I didn’t know.”

I sweep my hands down her sides to rest on her hips. “But, Alayna, I’ve never had a healthy romantic relationship. Every woman who’s loved me…” My throat clenches as I recall the pain I caused Celia and others who claimed they’d fallen for me. “I don’t want to break you too.”

“You’re not going to break me, Hudson.” She’s so sure. “I thought you might, at first. Turns out you make me better. And I think I do the same for you.”

“You do.” She’s the only thing that ever has.

“If you decide to not…follow through…with whatever this is that we have, it will hurt. But I won’t be broken.”

“But it would hurt?” I’m already committing to a new plan, one that hasn’t fully formulated in my head.

“Like a motherfucker.”

I don’t want to hurt her. It’s why I can’t admit everything to her, but it’s also why I can’t leave her. She’s confirmed it now. And while I fully realize that there will be pain at some point in our relationship, I decide that it’s not going to be right now. “Then we better follow through.”

It’s wrong, I’m sure. It’s definitely selfish because I want this more than anything.

I pull her closer, wrapping her in my arms, and say the words I came here to say. “Alayna, you’re fired. You can’t be my pretend girlfriend anymore.” Then I add the new ones that I’ve only just chosen in my mind. “Be my real girlfriend instead.”

Happiness flares in her eyes. “I kind of think I already am.”

“You are.”

“Can I still call you H?”

“Absolutely not.” That ridiculous nickname for me of hers. It’s somewhat endearing. I’ll never tell her that.

I kiss her then, sealing our new deal. It’s here, as I mold my lips to hers with tender passion, that my plan solidifies. I’ll love her like this, without words, but with my life. I’ll let her in as far as I can. I’ll commit to her completely. Her world will be mine. And I’ll do everything I can to protect her from being hurt, including hiding the one secret from my past that will hurt her more than any other—the one involving her.

All of this I tell her in my kiss.

She’s the one who pulls away, but only far enough to ask, “What now?”

I feel her trepidation. She has no idea all that I’m offering her, and I have a feeling it will take a while to make her understand. Soon, hopefully, she’ll be able to hear everything I tell her with my nonverbal cues.

For now, I’ll try to use my words. I smile slightly. “Come to my place after you finish here.”

“I’m not off until three.”

“I don’t care. I want you in my bed.” I want her in my life. I’ll move her into my penthouse as soon as she’ll let me. And more, when she’s ready.

“Then, yes.”

Am I moving too fast? I’m nearly thirty years old and feeling for the first time in my life. I think that by most standards I’m far behind the curve.

She helps me up, and I reluctantly let go of her to straighten my clothing. I miss her touch already, but it won’t be long until I see her again. My eyes catch sight of the furniture behind me—we just fucked there, and it only occurs to me now that it’s new. “Nice couch,” I say. Really nice couch.

She laughs. “Thanks.”

I study her, untangling her sex-mussed hair and straightening her dress. God, she’s amazing. She’s everything that I never knew I wanted. I’m addicted to her—she’s my drug and I can’t get enough of my fix. But she’s also just the opposite. She’s my cure. She’s a balm that eases and relieves me. She’s rehabilitation. She’s remedy. She’s reason.

I take her hands in mine, surprised to find that I’m not shaking. Inside, adrenaline is pumping, not with fear, but anticipation. “Tell Jordan to take you to The Bowery. He knows where it is.”

“Not the fuck pad?” Excitement sparks her voice.

“No. My home. I’ll leave a key with the doorman.”

She laces her fingers through mine and giggles. I love the sound. Almost as much as her words. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we? Moving forward.”

“We are.” I pull her into my arms, wanting her to know how completely I am doing this, hoping this embrace tells her.

Her mouth is at my ear, and she whispers, “I’m going to rock your world.” Then she sucks on my lobe.

I nip at her neck, already thinking about how we’ll christen my bed later tonight. “I can’t wait.”