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I take the chain from him and put it on.
“Why did you give it to her?” he asks, brushing the hair away from my eyes so he can see the truth.
“She was in grave danger, and I worried she was going to get caught up in something and we’d need to find her.”
“You were in grave danger too. Trust me. But you knew that,” he says carefully, “yet you gave your tracker to her.”
I lift a shoulder.
“Why?”
“I knew if she had it, there’d be a good chance you’d be able to find her if she went missing. I-I-I didn’t want another woman you loved to disappear. I couldn’t bear the thought of that happening to you again.”
This conversation is too much, and the swell of emotion is beginning to crest.
“Do you think it would be any different if you disappeared? Do you think I’d be any less distraught?” His voice is a rasp with a desperate edge.
I did think that.
“I wouldn’t be.” He pauses. “If something happened to you, it would be like my beating heart ripped from my chest.” The passion is back. It doesn’t tiptoe in. It roars. “Don’t ever give those wings to anyone, Angel. No one’s safety is more important to me than yours.”
He nudges me onto my back, kneeing my thighs apart, and crawls on top of me, his cock wedged between us. I hook my legs around his hips, digging my heels into his muscular ass, to pull him closer. I love this man with every cell of my body.
In one graceful move, he rears up, then lowers himself, plunging into the depths of me. His groan is low, primal and raw, as he slides, sheathing himself inside my walls—giving me everything that’s too heavy to bear. Everything.
I accept it all. The pain. The torment. The hatred. The lack of remorse. I take every last remnant of his vengeance. Everything.
As he ruts deep, I anchor myself on the precipice, between him and the devil who wants his soul. You can’t have it. It belongs to me.
The sweat drips from him, while I cradle his face in my hands. “Come back to me, Rafael.” It’s not a plea but a demand. “You’re mine. I love you, and I’m not giving you up.”
Something in his eyes stirs at my voice, and his thrusts become less violent. Less tortured.
Braced on his forearms, he rolls his hips, and finds my mouth with a kiss that robs me of all breath. Don’t leave me, it pleads. I love you. I need you. Let me take care of you. The whispers linger long after our lips part.
Rafael gazes at me with a love that’s all-encompassing—ferocious, demanding, and unapologetic—but not smothering. It might not be for everyone, but I’m home—and so is he.
Right then, I know for certain that we’re both reformed runners.
EPILOGUE I
18 Months Later
Rafael
“We need to talk,” Lexie murmurs, as I step onto the terrace of the home we moved into three months ago. There’s no hello. No music. No sass. No kiss that starts out innocent and ends with me ripping off her clothes. Nothing but the uncertainty in her voice, and a vibe that makes my skin prickle.
“What’s going on?” I watch her pour bourbon into two etched tumblers. She doesn’t drink bourbon. But since there’s no one else here, I assume the talk she wants is one that requires the extra oomph that dirty water provides.
I don’t let my imagination run free. I don’t allow myself to think about a single possibility, as I take the bottle from her trembling hands and replace it with a tumbler.
With a fingertip tracing the curved rim, she bows her head and stares into the amber liquid as if summoning courage.
“Hey.” I tip her chin up, so I can read those expressive eyes. But all I see is more uncertainty, cloaked in a nervous edge. I feel her torment in the pit of my stomach. “What’s wrong, Angel?”
She doesn’t utter a word. She’s conflicted. I see it in her face. I feel it in my bones.
The silence is blistering, and it’s becoming difficult to rein in my imaginings. This doesn’t feel like I’m sick, or I want us to live in London. This is different. But I can’t put my finger on it.
