He takes a step toward me, but I just shake my head. “Jane. Please. We have to talk.”

I can’t—I can’t process it. I can’t deal with it. Not the fact that he is at the heart of something I find so reprehensible. Not the fact that he kept it a secret. Not the fact that I thought I knew him better than anyone, and now my whole world is crashing down around me.

“Jane,” he repeats. “Jane, please.”

“No.” It’s the one word I can say. And when he takes another step toward me, I turn and race up the stairs.

I’m breathing hard when I get to my car, gulping in air as I struggle to get the key into the ignition. I shouldn’t drive—I’m crying too hard—but I take off anyway and then park on the shoulder in front of a neighbor’s house until I can get my shit together.

Or, at least, together enough so that I can drive without killing myself.

I don’t know how long I sit there, half-expecting Dallas to pull up behind me. He doesn’t, and I can’t help but laugh at the irony. He knows me well, after all. And that means he knows I need to be alone right now. Or, at least, I need to not be with him.

The truth is that I don’t want to be alone, and as I head back to the city, I dial Brody. But I only get his voicemail, and the message I leave is garbled because the moment I try to speak I burst into tears again.

I’m such a fucking mess.

I’m exhausted by the time I reach the townhouse. Too little sleep, too much adrenaline, and now I’ve crashed and burned.

I stumble into the house, grateful for the exhaustion. Maybe I’ll just pass out. Maybe I’ll sleep without nightmares.

Maybe I’ll wake up and the world will be sane again, and I’ll realize that this is the nightmare.

I head into the kitchen to get a glass of wine to take to bed with me, and let out a shriek when I see both Brody and Stacey sitting at my breakfast table.

“What the hell?” I demand, as Brody leaps to his feet and comes to my side.

“Are you okay? I tried to call you back, but it just went to voicemail.”

I shake my head, confused, and realize I must have turned my phone to silent. I glance at it quickly, half-expecting to see a missed call from Dallas. But there isn’t one, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed.

“Dammit, Jane, I was worried. What happened?”

“Dallas,” I say. “I think—I think it may be over just when it’s finally begun.”

Just saying those words—those horrible words—makes me queasy. I slide into one of the chairs at the table as Stacey rises. There’s an open bottle of wine on the counter—and they each already have a glass. She brings a fresh glass and pours it for me. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently.

I shake my head. “Actually, yes. But I can’t. It’s—it’s hard. It’s personal.” I can’t tell them about Deliverance. Despite the fact that Deliverance represents something I abhor, I can’t share that secret.

My eyes flick to Brody, who looks confused. He knows damn well that between the two of us, very little is too personal.

“Was it the room? Did it freak him out?”

“No. Yes. No,” I decide. “That just triggered it. There are issues. Things in his past. Things that are his to share, you know. But—”

“But it’s coming between you,” Stacey says. “Fair enough.”

I take a sip of wine, so grateful my friends are here even though I can’t really tell them what’s going on.

“Can you work through it?” Brody asks.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. How the hell do you work through such a fundamental difference?

“Bullshit,” Stacey says, her voice mild, but her expression fierce.

“Excuse me?” Despite everything, I’m amused. That is not a Stacey-like response.

“If Dallas were to die tomorrow, would you regret every single day that the two of you stayed apart for whatever the hell reason there is?”

I just gape at her.

“Dammit, I’m serious—maybe it really is over. But if it’s surmountable, then for god’s sake start climbing that mountain. Haven’t you two lost enough time?”

We have, I think. We really have.

But I’m not sure how to get past this.

I’m still not sure when I wake up late in the morning, or when I go back to sleep, too sad and frustrated and lost to care about the fact that it’s a gorgeous day and I’m missing all of it.

When I finally drag myself out of bed around eight Sunday evening, I’m still not sure what to do. I’m still numb. I’m still lost.

I haven’t magically healed, and it’s my life that is still a nightmare, but not the kind I can wake from. And the truth is, I’m starting to wonder if I truly understand what is at the core of my pain. Is it the difference in our beliefs? Or is it that he kept such a huge secret from me.

I don’t know, and the question is still on my mind when Liam shows up at my doorstep Monday morning.

“You writing me off, too? Or can I come in?”

I frown, because I’m not. I hadn’t even thought about calling Liam to chew him out. To tell him our friendship was on the outs. Honestly, except for the shock of seeing him on that video screen, I hadn’t thought of him at all.

“It’s different with Dallas,” I say defensively as I let him in, then head to the living room.

“Because you’re sleeping with him?”

I whip around to face him, surprised.

“Because you’re in love with him?”

“I—he told you?”

“If he hadn’t, you just did. Do you really think that matters to me? I’ve known you two should be together since you handed him that damn bunny.”

I drop onto the couch and put my head in my hands, my elbows on my knees. “I’m all screwed up,” I say to the floor. “And I’m so pissed off at Dallas.”

“I get that,” he says. “But you’re not angry with him because of what he does. You know he’s not like Benson. That Deliverance isn’t like Benson.”

I nod. I’d never believe that he or Liam would so callously put victims at risk in order to make a buck. “But that’s not all of it. What you do—this vigilante bullshit—”

“You don’t agree with it,” he says. “Understood. But you don’t agree with a lot of things people do and you don’t write them off.”

I lift my head to look at him, because his words are a mirror to my earlier thoughts. What he did or what he kept secret? Which is really at the heart of my pain?

“Take a hard look at Colin,” Liam continues. “Tax fraud. Insider trading. And we both know he was into more dangerous stuff than that. Your arm didn’t get broken back then because he fucked up his accounting. Smuggling, drugs, I don’t know. But I do know he’s done some messed up shit, and you know it, too.”

I can only nod. He’s right.

“Even your dad. He may not be part of Deliverance, but he did exactly what you say you’re against. And yet here you are in this nice house from the family trust. And you love him and he’s your father, and I don’t think you’ve even thought to bring it up with him.”

“No,” I say. “I’ve thought about it. I just haven’t said anything.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “Because he’s my father. Because—because I love him and he did what he thought made sense and it’s just easier to stay quiet and not tell him why I think he was so, so wrong.”

“Funny, I was under the impression you loved Dallas, too.”

I lick my lips. “I do,” I whisper. But the truth is, Dallas matters more. It’s not like it is with my father. I can’t just stay quiet. Not if I want to be close. Not if I want there to be an us. And I do. God help me, I really do. But I don’t know how to get past this wall.

I don’t say that. I don’t need to. I’m sure that Liam can see the answer on my face.

“That raid almost got him killed,” I say. “Those damn mercenaries Daddy hired almost destroyed everything.”

“Bullshit. Dallas was already transferred. Honestly, I think they set you up. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, and I think they made sure you had clues. Made sure you had just enough evidence that the team could find where you’d been held. They wanted to blow up the building and take out a few of Eli’s men. They wanted you all to think Dallas was dead. They were fucking with you. Because that’s what evil does, and whoever snatched you two was pure fucking evil.”

I frown. I’d never considered that. But the blindfold did slip. My clothes were covered with dirt that was easily traceable. I did hear those distinctive chimes, when a five minute difference would have meant I heard nothing. Could Liam be right?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “It’s not just our kidnapping. What Deliverance does endangers the victims.”

“We’re saving victims,” he counters.

He’d been sitting on the couch opposite me. Now he rises and walks to me, then squats so that he’s right in front of me, his hands on my knees. “If it’s any consolation, he decided after your TV gig that he had to tell you. But he couldn’t do that without letting the others on the team know first. That call you walked in on? After we went through the new case specs, I was going to add the other guys to the feed. Let Dallas tell them he needed to let you in on the secret.”

“Oh.” I feel shaky. It hadn’t occurred to me that he would ever want to tell me, or that he’d made the decision right before I took him to the playroom.

I only knew that he’d been hiding a huge piece of himself from me.

“Here’s the bottom line, Jane. I believe in Deliverance. Dallas believes in Deliverance. We’re not shutting it down. Probably not even when it’s served its purpose.”

“Purpose?”

“Why do you think he started it?”

“To find our kidnappers.” Of course that’s why. Of course he’s been searching. Not only that, but I’m certain that he is searching mostly because of me. If he’d been held alone, I think he might have let it go.

I’ll always protect you.

I close my eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

Liam doesn’t relent. “It’s grown beyond the original purpose because the entire team believes in the value—the necessity—of what we do. And the truth is, it doesn’t matter if you believe it, too, Jane. All that matters is if you believe in Dallas. If you believe in the two of you.”

I do, I think after Liam leaves and I am alone again. I do believe in the two of us.

Haven’t I been the one all along telling Dallas that we can make it work? Despite family and society and secrets and sex? I’ve been like a broken record—and now I’m the one who’s put on the brakes.

But I don’t want it to end. So help me, I want this to be a beginning.

I’m still scared, though. Scared of secrets. Scared that he’s angry about the way I left.

Scared that the reason he hasn’t called since I walked out is because he thinks we were fools to try to make it work in the first place.

Most of all, though, I’m scared of losing him.

And that’s the fear that drives me.

I force myself to shower for the first time since Saturday morning, then head back to the Hamptons. Once again, I’m not sure if he’ll be there. Once again, I’m determined to wait.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly what I have to do.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jane,” Archie tells me. “Mr. Sykes had to go into the office this morning. I expect him back by dinner, though.”

“Oh. Okay.” I consider going back to the city and cornering him in his office. But I talk myself out of it. “Is it okay if I just hang out? Maybe spend the day by the pool?”

Archie’s smile is both polite and gentle. “Of course. I’ll go put together a light lunch. Would you care for wine?”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much I would like wine,” I admit.

I head inside first to find a book, then return to the pool area. I’m wearing a light skirt with a thin sweater over a tank, so I take the sweater off, find a chaise in the shade, kick off my shoes, and settle in for the day.

I don’t intend to fall asleep, but before I walked away from Dallas I wasn’t getting much sleep because we’d filled the night with other, more interesting activities. After I walked away, I simply couldn’t sleep. Or, rather, I couldn’t sleep well. So after a few glasses of wine, exhaustion sucks me under, and I wake only when the mattress on the chaise shifts.

I blink, and find Dallas smiling down at me. “I talked with Liam. And then I went by the townhouse after work,” he says. “You weren’t there.”

“I came here this morning,” I counter. “You weren’t here.” His mouth twitches with a tentative smile, but it never fully blooms. Instead, I watch as his brow furrows. And when he takes my hand, I hold tight, savoring the connection between us.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “About Deliverance. About what I do and how it works and why I started it?”

“Yes,” I admit. “I want to know everything.” I let go of his hand and push myself upright. “But not right now. Now, I just want to ask you one question.”

“You can ask me anything,” he says.

“Do you love me?”

I see the answer in his eyes before he says a word. “You know me better than anyone, Jane. Don’t you know the answer is yes?”

His words fill me, leaving no room for lingering doubts or fears. I ease off the chaise and stand, then hold my hand out for him.

“Inside,” he says. “My bedroom.”

“Oh, no,” I counter, leading him away from the house and to the cabana. “I want to finish what we started.”

“Christ, I adore you,” he says as he lifts me up. I cling to him as he hurries into the cabana, then tosses me back onto the bed before tying the curtains closed.

“We’re going to make this work, aren’t we?” I say, and I know that he understands I don’t mean just sex. I mean everything. Family. Social taboos. Deliverance. Nightmares and secrets.

“We are,” he promises. “But right now, I need you naked.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to do something about that.”

“Oh, I will.”

He reaches for my tank top, but I smack his hand away. He raises his brows in warning.

“You first,” I say. “I want to watch.”

“Do you? Well, whatever the lady wants.”

He strips, kicking off his shoes. Tugging off his socks. He unbuttons his white shirt and slides it off, revealing the sculpted abs I love so well.

Slowly, he takes off his belt, then tosses it aside. Then he unbuttons his pants, lowers his zipper, and eases out of his khaki slacks. He’s wearing boxer briefs, and his erection is bulging against the material.

I actually lick my lips out of reflex, making him laugh. “No way, sweetheart. Not until I taste you.”

“Finish the show,” I insist, and then gasp when he lowers the briefs and his cock, huge and thick and perfect springs free.

The truth is that I do want to feel him inside me, so much that my muscles clench simply from the thought of it. But I am patient. I can wait.

And I will relish every moment of anticipation until we get there.

When he’s naked, he moves to me. I’m so turned on that every brush of his skin against mine as he frees me from my skirt and tank makes me shiver. And when he tugs down my silk panties and then raises them to his nose, I writhe on the bed with pure, lustful need.

He tosses them aside, then eases onto the bed. He kisses my lips, then trails more kisses over my aching breasts, my belly, all the way down to just above my mound.

Then he raises his head and gives me a look that says he knows exactly where I want his mouth next, but that I am just going to have to wait.

“Bastard,” I murmur.

“Sexy bastard to you,” he counters, and I laugh despite him tormenting me.

Slowly, he tugs my legs apart, then cups my pussy, the pressure and the sensation of skin against skin making me even more crazed.

“One day,” he says, “I’m going to fill you. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t know if you want me to stop or to continue.”

“Continue,” I say as he thrusts three fingers inside, making me gasp. And then he pumps into me, hard and deep. I pound against him, fucking his hand shamelessly. And, yes, I want more. But this feels good. So damn good.

“Your mouth, your pussy, your ass. Every way I can be inside you, baby, I will be. Deep and hot and hard.”

“Dallas. Oh, god, Dallas.” He keeps his fingers inside me, thrusting hard, then lowers his mouth and sucks on my clit as waves of pleasure break over me, precursors to an explosive orgasm.

But it’s when he lifts my rear and slides a finger into my ass that I really lose my mind. I want to writhe, but I can’t. He’s wholly in command of me. He owns me, and I am a slave to his touch, his tongue.

More and more, he teases, taking me close and pulling me back. Exhausting me. Thrilling me. I am screaming. Begging. I’ve never been particularly noisy in bed, but I am now. I want. I need. And I can’t hold any of it inside.

And when my release finally comes, I arch up off the bed with such wild, wonderful violence I think that I might just reach the ceiling. When I’m spent and limp on the bed, he bends over and kisses me gently between my breasts. “I think someone liked that.”

“Someone definitely did.” I push myself up, then stroke the line of hair that arrows down his lower abs toward his cock. “And now I think it’s your turn.”

He’s wonderfully hard, and I close my hand around his cock, then ease up onto my knees to be closer to where he’s standing by the side of the bed. I stroke him, enjoying the velvety smoothness, and thinking that I just might want to taste him, too, when his hand closes over mine.

I look up and see that his green eyes are dark.

“What is it?”

“I can’t come like that. Not from someone else stroking me, going down on me.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t realized that, and for a moment I’m flummoxed. Then I shrug a little, and lie back on the bed, propped up on my elbows as I face him. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll just stay right here and enjoy the view.” I know, after all, that he’s more than capable of jacking himself off, and I slide my own fingers between my legs in memory of that truly excellent moment on the beach.

“No,” he says. “Come here. Behind me.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, and I do as he says, my legs spread wide around him so that my thighs are against his hips, and my pussy is against his rear. “Give me your hand,” he orders, and when I comply, he curls my fingers over his cock.

“But you said—”

“I said to give me your hand . . .” He trails off as he closes his hand over mine, and then he guides the action. My palm, but his motions, and it is crazy insane, this feeling of being there for him, for each other.

He grows stiffer under my hand. His cock twitches. His whole body contracts, and I can feel all of it because I’m pressed against him, legs to legs, back to chest. It’s as intimate as intercourse, and I am wildly aroused. So much so that I feel his orgasm coming, and when he explodes, I cry out with him, and I swear that I have never felt more close to him than I do in that one, intimate moment.

His release seems to go on forever, and his body shudders in my arms, the pressure of his ass against my still-sensitive clit sending me over the edge again. I cling to him, our bodies shattering together, and then we collapse back on the bed.

“Wow,” I say as I move to straddle him while he rolls onto his back. He holds me close, and I nuzzle against him, loving this feeling of skin against skin. “Wow,” I say again, then relish the rumble of his laughter through me.

“Look at me,” he says, when our laughter has faded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say. “So much.” I shift so that I can stroke his face, his hair. “No more secrets,” I say. “Not between us. Not again. Not ever.”

“No more secrets,” he agrees. And as he lifts his head and captures me in the kind of kiss that claims my heart and my soul, I think that we have finally crossed a line. That we’re going to be okay.

We’re in love. We’re moving forward.

And, somehow, someway, we’re going to make this work.