“I’m fine. And I’d like to spend time with your parents before they leave.”
He smiled but his eyes stayed worried. “You would’ve seen them New Year’s Eve at the party they threw, but someone insisted we stay in and play Scrabble instead.”
“I won fair and square. You’re just a sore loser.”
“You used ‘qi’ on a triple word score. That should be illegal.”
She tried to smile, but was afraid she was failing miserably. She held out her hand instead. “Ready to go down?”
He looked at her strangely but nodded and took her hand.
They’d made it to the landing overlooking the living area below when he stopped her, turning her to face him. Laughter drifted up from the kitchen.
“Marnie, wait. I need to tell you something.”
She looked at him and knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. It slammed into her—the vision, the certainty—and she almost stumbled under the intensity. And after the phone call from Clive, she couldn’t bear to hear the words. Because she knew he was only going to be hurt. Clive would find a way to ruin this, to ruin her, and Beckett would be collateral damage.
He opened his mouth to speak, and she kissed him.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was desperate and needy, born of fear rather than passion. She poured everything into it—all her terror about Clive, all her hope that somehow this could still work out.
He responded instantly, his arms coming around her. But after a moment, he gentled the kiss, slowing it down until it was soft and sweet. Then he pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders.
“What’s going on?” His voice was quiet but firm.
“Nothing. I just?—”
“Don’t.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t hide from me. Something’s wrong. I’ve seen it since you walked in the door.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to ruin this.”
“You couldn’t ruin this if you tried.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Whatever it is, we face it together. That’s what we agreed to.”
“Beckett…” Her voice broke.
“I love you.” He said it simply, like stating a fact. “I’ve loved you since I was nineteen years old. Nothing you tell me is going to change that.”
The tears fell freely now. “I don’t deserve you.”
“That’s not for you to decide.” He pulled her into his arms and held her while she cried against his chest. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
So she did.
She told him about the phone call from Clive. About his threats to come collect her, to enforce the fraudulent contract, to drag her back to Savannah. She told him about the fear that had gripped her—not fear of Clive himself, but fear of what his presence might do to the life she’d built here.
He listened without interrupting, his jaw tightening with every word. When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
“Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“I was ashamed.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I let him control me for two years. I signed things without reading them. I was so desperate to feel successful, to feel wanted, that I let a man like that into my life. What does that say about me?”
“It says you’re human. It says you were young and trusting and someone took advantage of that. That’s on him, Marnie. Not you.”
“I should have been smarter.”
“And I should have found you years ago instead of pining away on this ranch.” He smiled slightly. “We can’t change the past. We can only deal with what’s in front of us. And what’s in front of us is a coward who thinks he can waltz into town and take what’s mine.”
“Yours?”
