“Everly Weston isn’t like most girls.”

Chapter Fifteen

The moment Ambrose touched her hair so tenderly, like he was petting a little lamb, the torrent of emotion she’d been holding back for weeks poured over.

She burst into tears. Not a cute little trembling lip and a few teardrops. This was a full-on ugly cry with deep sobs from the pit of her soul.

Ambrose flinched back. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

Unable to make herself stop, she shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault,” she said, half-hysterical. “I’m just . . . tired.”

Through her blurry vision she spotted his hands shaking in his lap, like he was trying so hard to keep from touching her. “You can take a nap in the bedroom.”

“I’m tired!” she yelled, more at herself than him. “I’m tired of being sad and angry and confused. I’m tired of staying awake at night, thinking about you. I’m tired of missing you. I’m tired of poring over what happened in my head, doubting my feelings about it . . .” She had to pause to catch her breath.

When she opened her mouth to rail some more, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay to be tired.”

She’d missed this—missed him so much more than she’d even realized. The past few days, she’d thought maybe she was finally ready to get over him. But she’d been kidding herself. As soon as his scent hit her when she’d walked back into the police department lobby, any thoughts about getting over him had vanished.

Then he’d taken care of her—cooked her dinner, picked her up out of the bath, cared for her like he . . . like he still loved her. She’d expected him to be angry that she’d been ignoring him, not sweet and gentle and loving.

That brought a surge of rage and she yanked herself away and glared. “Why do you have to be so nice?” she shouted. “Why couldn’t you be an asshole and make this easier for me?” She punctuated it by pounding her fist on his chest.

He had the nerve to chuckle. “I could never be an asshole to you, love. Not even if you broke my heart a million times over. I’d still be here, waiting for you to do it again.” Hesitantly, he took her hand, looking like he was waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t. “Every moment we spent together was worth the suffering. Even knowing the ending, I’d choose to do it again.”

She cocked her head to the side, trying to read his face.

“I would tell you the truth, of course,” he rushed to add. “No lying. Ever.”

His gaze pierced her, opening her eyes and heart again, making her see him—beyond the money and the mansion and the lies.

Now that some of her knee-jerk emotion had drained away, it became clearer. Their relationship had been real. There was no denying that. Whatever his wealth changed about him, or them, it had nothing to do with his feelings for her. It had nothing to do with love.

And just like that, she believed him.

But how did she express that? Did she deserve another chance after ignoring him all this time? Was there room for forgiveness between them?

Doing her best to compose herself, she straightened. “Ambrose, can we . . . Can we give this another shot?”

His eyes widened like he didn’t believe her. “Are you serious?”

She nodded.

“Yes! Yes, of course we can.” Laughing, he grabbed her into his arms and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe.

Then he kissed all over her face and neck. In between kisses, he hugged her again, like he was so excited to have her he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

She half-laughed, half-cried through it. After slobbering all over her, he pulled her onto his lap and she buried her face in his neck.

“I missed you,” she whispered against him.

Stroking her hair, he replied, “I missed you so much. Everyone’s been complaining I’ve turned into a total jackass.”

“Like that’s new,” she teased.

“Worse than usual.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and she realized how relieved she was that he hadn’t moved on, even though she’d grumbled it at her phone often enough when his messages came. His blond hair was getting shaggy, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well.

His eyes . . . She watched them, marveling at the depth of feeling there.

“Do you . . .” Tears welled in her eyes again. That choking fear of rejection was still there, lurking in the back of her mind. “Still love me?”

He smiled then ran his fingers across her cheek, collecting her tears. “Yes. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

They sat quietly for a while, Everly crying new tears and Ambrose wiping them away. He hummed in contentment, and she felt like she’d drawn a breath for the first time in weeks. That heavy pressure in her chest had disappeared when she’d taken her place in her Master’s lap.

“Everly,” Ambrose said, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I own an international shipping company. I’m rich, but I try not to be an ass about it. I like fancy foods and useless oversized mansions, apparently. But I can fund shelters and other charities, and also take you on vacations anywhere you want to go.” He exaggerated a relieved sigh. “There. Got that out.”

Chuckling, she sat up so she could look him in the eye. “Anywhere?”

He kissed her nose. “Anywhere.”

Sighing deeply, she snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of being in his arms. It felt like it’d been so long since she’d been warm. Life had gone cold while they’d been apart. But now it was so very alive.

Their breathing synced, and she was pretty sure their heartbeats did, too, or maybe it was just a romantic notion. Either way, she was glad to be back in his arms.

“We need to have a talk eventually,” he said, breaking through her quiet contemplation. “About how we’re going to reconcile our difference in principles. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable being with me.”

Talking about serious things was a total buzz kill.

“Not now,” he echoed her thoughts. “But in the next few days. We need to work some things out.”

“Okay, but I’m sleepy.” She let her eyes drift shut. From his words earlier about giving up his mansion and donating money, she knew their differences weren’t insurmountable, as long as they were each willing to give a little. And for this, she would.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, then.”

“Nooo,” she half-whined. “You’ll get all sorts of ideas in the bedroom.”

He laughed. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m tired.”

“Mmm,” he purred, shifting underneath her. “Yeah, but I haven’t had you in weeks. You couldn’t stay awake a little longer? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Oh, she’d just bet he would. Since they’d split up, neither her vibrator nor her hand had gotten any use. Her fantasies always revolved around Ambrose, and she was too sad to think of him. But now here he was, and he wanted her.

He ground his hips against her, his cock growing hard. Thinking about his cock and her ass made her belly warm and her clit ache.

“Ugh,” she said in mock annoyance. “I guess if my Master wants it, I can manage.” She leaned back and smirked at him. But then a second thought pushed its way in. “Are you . . . still my Master?”

For some reason, that question made her feel more vulnerable than asking if he still loved her. But their D/s dynamic was so much deeper than plain vanilla love. It was love magnified a hundredfold. The two were so entwined she didn’t know if they could ever separate the D/s from everything else. It would go against the very nature of their relationship.