Page 274 of Unexpected Heroine

“Oh please. Don’t serve me Cheez Whiz and tell me it’s Brie. It wasn’t too late.”

“It’s true,” he whines, flinging his open palms out. “There was no way in hell you would have let me help you if I admitted to giving you a fake name. You wouldn’t let me take you to the grocery store, help you get a job, or be around you at all. No chance.”

“That isn’t true.” Perfect. Now I’m whining.

“Think about it for a second. You’re new in town, a strange man approaches you at a gas pump when you’re crying. He buys you lunch. You talk. You text. Slowly, you get to know each other. A few days into this, he informs you, ‘Hey, I lied about my name. I promise I’m not a psycho. Come check out this sex club with me.’ Come on, Lettie.” He shimmies his head, jaw hanging. “You’d have blocked me so fast.”

He might have a point.

“Fine. I can concede that. However, when it got serious, you could have talked to me about it then. I would have listened.”

“When, Lettie? Before I got you the job or after? Before or after I had my fingers inside you? Or when I took your fucking virginity? Or fell in love with you? Huh? At what point should I have dropped that on your lap and kept even a sliver of a chance that you wouldn’t hate me?” He quirks his head to the side, face dripping with sarcasm he usually doesn’t show. “Hey, I got it. I should have bound you and suspended you from the rig in my bedroom so you couldn’t run away while I told you. Why didn’t I think of that?”

His head flops forward now that he’s done with his rant.

As for me, I can’t fake an answer with all those moments slamming into me at once.

He piles on to his impossible question. “While you’re thinking of when, please also tell me what I could have said.”

Now that’s something I can answer, and it leads me right to the answer for his first question.

“The truth or at least something damn close to it would have served you fine and dandy. After I started working at Bask or knew about that place, you could have told me it was your club alias and since we’d built some trust between us, you felt safe enough to give me your real name. Bam. Done.”

He attempts to stand, probably to stomp away from me, but I clasp his hand and tug him toward the bed. All my anger fizzles in a heartbeat.

“No. I need you to sit down and talk to me. Please don’t walk away. If you love me, you’ll come clean. Now. Be honest and give us a chance.”

Slowly, he returns to the edge of the bed. His eyes latch on mine, searching for something. In return, I focus on him fully in hopes he finds whatever it is he needs to see there.

I could let go of his hands, but I don’t.

His touch . . . I need it.

As much as I crave his honesty, I need to feel his skin. To know he’s here. That he’s real. Not because I’m scared to be alone, but because I’m scared of losing him.

Again.

“A chance?” The hitch in his voice nearly breaks me. “Are you saying we have a chance?”

My grip on his hands tightens, and my thumbs rub soothing circles over his knuckles. “That depends. Do you want a shot at earning my forgiveness? Are you willing to try?”

“Lettie, you know I want you back more than anything. That’s why I came up here in the first place.”

“Then talk to me.”

After releasing a shuddery breath, he nods. “Okay. I will. I’ll tell you the truth. I promise. Whatever you want to know.”

I release his hand only long enough to cup his cheek with one palm. “Thank you.”

He turns his head, pressing a kiss to the pulse point inside my wrist.

So tender. So loving.

How can a man this sweet do something so cruel? It makes less sense than trying to get applesauce from an almond.

Taking a steadying breath, I decide to gradually help him work through his thoughts, peeling them back layer by layer. “Why didn’t you try honesty? Was it because you didn’t think I had the capacity to forgive you?”

He shakes his head, ardently refuting the possibility. “No, that’s not it.”

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