Page 66 of The Vow

“It hurts when your everything isn’t enough to save the people you care about.”

I lifted my eyes to his, prepared for the waterfall of warmth that cascaded down my chest.

“Why did Belmont do this to you?”

For a second, he sat as still as a statue, his hesitation turning him to stone. But we had a deal.

“To punish me for the damage I’ve done to him over the years.”

My throat grew steadily tighter. “What damage?” I asked like I didn’t know. Like I hadn’t known all this time.Like I wasn’t asking another question out of turn.

His hand moved—crawled across the comforter, up his side, and then caged on top of mine. Ice on one side. Burning man on the other. My hand felt as in turmoil as my heart, torn between the extremes of emotion.Trapped.

“Carson. Wenner. Ivans. Wheaton.” He paused. “Sinclair.”

The names from my past twisted the blade of truth through my chest.

For a year now, I believed Damon had a hand, in varying degrees, in the downfall of all the men associated with GrowTech and the cover-up of my parents’ illness and murders. But watching my enemy’s world burn was different than knowing it was set on fire for me.

Yes, some of the names didn’t cut as deeply as others, where my brothers and the Vigilantes had played a more substantial role in their apprehension and, in some cases, death. But at the root of every downfall stood Remington. My knight in fine Italian armor. My enemy. My husband.

I turned my head away, my fingers curling into the ice, the sound of it cracking and shifting as ominous as the way my walls began to fracture.

“Did you really think it was anyone else, Robber?” His voice gentled to the finest caress, smooth and cool along my burning skin.

No.The word sat like a hook on my tongue.

He’d left notes. Clues. An initialed letter in Sinclair’s pocket when he’d dropped him at the FBI. In fact, it was because of Remington at all that Harm got involved with Sinclair’s daughter, Daria. He’d sent the photos of Ivans toDare, spurring not only our hunt for him but also Dare’s own second chance with the woman he loved. And then he’d saved Mara from the local faction of the Triad, and he’d taken responsibility for deaths he hadn’t caused—shifted the blame away from my brothers and me.

No, I hadn’t believed it was anyone else pulling the strings, but the truth was simple when it led to the depths of fear and hurt and want circling in my chest.

“I wished it was,” I said instead.

“No, you didn’t.” His lip tipped on one side, his confidence unnerving me. “You’remywife, Robber. I vowed to protect you, and I promised you justice.”

I shuddered, his words grated the solid block of hurt in my heart into tiny shreds of rage.You promised other things, too.

My body warred with my mind. My body that wanted nothing more than the feel of his, the touch of his, the possession of his…with my mind that spun like a top, poised on a single point in our past. A single point of pain.

I wanted to hurt him. Not with a bag of oranges to his gut or a knife to his throat. I wanted toactuallyhurt him. Physical pain was nothing to a man like Damon, but denial? Living with an ache that wouldn’t be satisfied? That was a pain that didn’t go away.

My chest caved, releasing a pent-up breath, and then, with a single fluid motion, I swung my leg over him and settled my knees on either side of his hips.

“Robyn…” he croaked, his hands instantly gripping my hips hard.

Heat rolled off him in torrents, dark eyes sparkling with dread and never leaving mine as I slowly lowered myself onto him.

It took my tongue, the strongest muscle in my body, every last fiber of strength to swallow down the moanthat unspooled from my chest when I finally settled onto his lap. It felt familiar and forbidden, the safest place I’d ever been and the most dangerous place I’d ever be.

And the hardness of him pressed against my core. He was so thick, the bunched fabric of his pants made him feel ribbed against my center.

Lifting my arms, I grabbed the headboard on either side of him and bent forward. His face swam for a moment as the friction fed the ache between my thighs like another hit of an illicit drug.

I could come just like this. I knew it. Felt it. Just the pressure on my clit was deafening to my senses. Like being too close to an exploded grenade, it warped everything from sight to sound to stability.

It had been so long—mortally long since I’d felt anything close to real desire. Not the fleeting wash of pleasure from my vibrator. Not the transactional sustenance for physical release. But pure, potent desire. The kind that changes the composition of your blood to carry a complete craving for another person. That rewrites the DNA in your marrow, so the only thing expressed is the genetic lust for that person. And that changes the wiring of your brain and heart, where it doesn’t matter how many red flags or roadblocks or utter destruction they are saving you from, because at this point, your entire existence has been altered by needing someone, and not having them is worse than any pain or consequence that comes from giving in.

Knowing he was the man who broke my heart was nothing compared to the awareness flooding me that he was my husband.

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