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“I understand.”

“I know it makes no sense.” He lifted a hand and let it fall in defeat. “I can’t wrap them up forever, but dear Lord, Cait.”

“I know.”

He flattened a hand on the island and tapped his chest with his index finger, his heart pounding an odd beat. “And do you know who I could have been that first night with you?”

A hint of affection sparked in her eyes. “You did promise not to be Ted Bundy.”

“Don’t be cute.” He threw up a hand in disbelief. “I could have been anybody, and you just walked off with me, alone. Hell, you took me back to the house with you.”

“I reiterate, Calvert, you weren’t just anyone that night. You weren’t the first guy to try to get close to me that weekend, but you were the only one who succeeded.”

“You’re not making this better.” Her naivety with him squeezed his chest. He dragged a hand through his hair. Lord, he needed a drink. Maybe a couple. Maybe the whole damn bottle.

And that wouldn’t fix anything.

He lived his life with work separate from home, nice little compartments that let him function and deal with the reality of what his job meant, even years removed from the human trafficking task force. The walls weren’t just down — that late-night phone call from David had blown them apart.

“I concede my behavior with you was reckless and naive. But it was you.” Her gaze lay on him, soft and dark. Her mouth twisted with self-deprecation. “The real danger was the year before, Callie and I on the La Belle Dame. That was beyond reckless and naive, and the only protection we had were the names Christofides and Falconetti. Our stupidity that night is staggering.”

His breath rushed out, and he laughed, a hoarse chuckle completely lacking in humor. He knew that, knew how asinine her rebellion had been, what they’d opened themselves to on that yacht. He just tried not to think about it. “Fuck me. We’re going to talk about that?”

She stilled, her gaze steady on his face. “Should we talk about whether or not you should be working here instead of in Houston?”

“What?” He jerked his head back like she’d punched him. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“It’s a valid topic of conversation.”

“It is not.” He threw his hand aloft again. The whole world had gone crazy. Gene had better not have had anything to do with this. “Did Grandaddy bring this to you? I told him. We are not moving from Houston. I’m not limiting you like that.”

“Gene has not said anything.”

He popped the cork out of the bottle, poured himself a couple of fingers. Mouth clenched, he grabbed a slice of pizza. One drink was it, and he wouldn’t have that on an empty stomach. He waved the triangle of cheesy dough at her. “I’m not limiting you.”

“It’s not that you think this place would limit me.” Hands pressed lightly to the marble, she studied him. “It’s that deep down, you believe you limited me. That Eleanor limited me. And you continue to refuse to recognize how far from the truth that is.”

He lifted the whiskey glass, heavy in his hand, as heavy as the truth in her words. “I hate when you do that.”

“No, you like that I understand you. It’s what makes us easy.” A hint of whimsy colored her husky murmur, despite her solemnity. “But you hate when the way I construe you rubs along the need for control you won’t admit to. And this situation is so far out of your control that it’s making you come undone.”

Circling the glass in emphasis, he took a sip. “I’m not a control freak.”

She smiled. “Oh, tesoro, sometimes your behavior in bed says differently.”

The way she loved him, being able to dump out his emotions without judgment, steadied him. He set the glass down, picked up his pizza. “That is not the same.”

“Mmm, I think so.” She arched a brow. “Your habit of refusing to talk about making a move here, the way you want to control that entire narrative says differently.”

“I’m not controlling the narrative.” He spread his hands. “Do you want to live here?”

“I want us to make a mutually satisfying decision, together.”

“We’ve made that.” Some of his frustration bled over into his tone, and he tamped it down. He was on edge, but that didn’t mean he had to be terse with her. “I’ve been fighting this idea with Virgil, Talley and Grandaddy since the day I left DCPD for the Bureau. I don’t want to have it at home, too, precious. I am completely satisfied with our life in Houston, and I’m satisfied with the Bureau. So I don’t get what the issue is.”

The line of her mouth told him she was biting the inside of her lip. “I know you would give up what you really wanted in order to feel you were taking care of me and the girls.”

“Well, yeah.” She had a problem with that? He knocked back a quick swallow of Old Ezra. “That’s how it works.”