Lainey stared down at the thick, legal-sized envelope on the table in front of her. She glanced up at Owen, drawing strength from his presence as usual, then at the pair of attorneys who’d brought it into the GAPS office that morning. It was emblazoned with her full, legal name: Elaine Georgia Case. Her married name. Her widowed name. She shut her eyes tight, willing away the tidal wave of memories.

A warm hand covered hers. She opened her eyes and met Owen’s gaze. He smiled at her and pushed the envelope closer. It had been four months since Owen, Zane, and Jon rescued her from Richard. Since Owen had turned around and fired a single shot into her husband’s brain, killing him “too fast,” Owen claimed.

Since she’d undergone surgery to fix her broken jaw and cheekbone, had endured endless painful exams of her lacerated labia and perforated cervix.

Since she’d been informed that she would likely never be able to carry a baby to full term and been pumped full of antibiotics and the morning after pill “just in case.”

She’d allowed herself to be interviewed by a nice lady on MSNBC and suffered the unwanted attention in person and online of millions of fellow marital rape victims. Owen had shielded her from the trolls, but she knew they were out there, blaming her for cheating on her husband, claiming she’d gotten what she deserved.

Her years of collected evidence proving Richard’s abuse had been pored over, repeatedly questioned as to its veracity. She’d described how he’d gone from super attentive boyfriend to insistent husband to abuser over the years—over and over again. So much she believed she’d truly become numb to it, even the last attack, the worst one of all. The one that had left her unable to do the one thing she wanted to do for Owen Taylor—to have his child.

Stupid, she berated herself as she stared at the envelope a few more minutes. She’d never wanted kids. Never fussed over babies. Never dreamed of being pregnant and holding her own flesh and blood close, feeding it with her body.

Until now.

Crazy.

She gave Owen a weak smile. He’d been such a champ. Supportive, yet giving her space when she needed it and providing a place for her to weep and wail and scream at other times. The last few nights, she’d been aware of something else, though. Something urgent and needy in her own body. Something she’d never dreamed she’d want again, after Richard’s brutal attack on her most intimate, private, delicate body parts.

It started a couple of nights ago when she’d woken from the usual nightmare, still held tightly in Owen’s arms. She’d settled back on her pillow and felt the distinct press of his erection against her ass and very nearly had a panic attack before forcing herself to relax, reminding herself that it was Owen. That he would never hurt her.

The night before, the same thing happened. But instead of scaring her as it had done earlier, she sensed her body welcoming it. She had big plans for him tonight. But this ticking time bomb had arrived via the company’s attorneys, and all thoughts of a soft, slow, gentle seduction had flown from her mind like so much sun-struck fog.

“Go ahead, Lainey,” Grant, the lead attorney, said. His dark eyes were neutral as he gazed at her. She nodded and pulled the thing close, opened the clasp and slid the stack of papers out. A judge had dismissed charges of first-degree murder, once it was proven beyond a doubt that Richard had been holding her hostage and torturing her. She knew Jon and Zane’s connections to the local and state police had helped speed that along. Then there had been talk of a civil suit, which had also been tossed out, thanks to a female judge’s sympathy to her plight.

But it had been a long slog, and one she wanted to put behind her as soon as possible. Zane and Jon had insisted she keep her job and continued to pay her as she convalesced. Owen had moved her into his place but was making noises about finding them a house. It was all moving fast—too fast. Her head pounded as she tried to figure out the meaning of all the legalese in front of her. Exhaustion, her new constant companion, made her vision blur.

“I can’t…” she said, handing the papers to Owen, who handed them straight to Grant before putting his arm around her and pressing his lips to her cheek. She stiffened, and he retreated, correctly sensing this was one of the “Lainey needs space” moments.

Grant studied the papers, and then started handing them one-by-one to his assistant. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he removed his glasses and threaded his fingers together on the table in front of him. She swallowed hard and fought the compulsion to burst into tears. It had to be bad news. Even given the various crappy, painful recoveries she’d been enduring, she’d dared to hope that things might somehow normalize for her. She put a hand on Owen’s thigh.

“It would seem as though Richard Case had a will,” he began. Lainey nodded.

“Well, duh. Rich guys’ day jobs are staying that way, right?” Zane quipped.

“In his will, he has left the bulk of his real estate holdings, his stock portfolio, his collection of cars, his three bank accounts, and his personal residences to you, Lainey.”

She blinked. Owen’s hand covered hers. “What the…” Jon began. Grant held up a hand and kept his gaze fixed on hers.

“His attorneys are fighting it. That’s what all this is about.” He gestured to the stack of papers. “They’re now claiming you as a gold digger who set him up.”

“Oh, right, she manipulated him into nearly killing her just to get his Palm Beach mansion,” Owen said. She glanced over at him. His jaw was clenched tight. She put her fingertips there to calm him. He sucked in a breath. “Sorry.” He put her hand to his lips. “But that’s just too fucked up to even contemplate.”

“I agree, Owen,” Grant said, pulling the pile of papers in front of him once more. “And I promise you we will fight this just as hard as we fought the murder charge. You’re in the right here,” he said, looking around the room. “She’s legally entitled to all of this, even if he was too slow on the uptake to change his own will even after she left him. The law is the law, and they can squawk all they want about it. You will win.” He stood and put the packet in his briefcase. “Okay, folks, I have some work to do.” He shook hands with Zane, Jon, and Owen. Lainey couldn’t even raise her hand she was so shocked.

Grant crouched by her chair. His kind face had been one she’d gotten used to seeing daily since her attack. And he’d never let her down yet. “Leave this to me, Lainey.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. He patted her shoulder on his way out of the conference room.

“Can we go home?” she asked Owen, as she kept her gaze down on the table and her mind filled with her earlier goal. She wanted Owen to make love to her, today, now. To help her begin to erase the horror she’d lived through. To help her heal. “Please.”

“Of course. Go on.” Jon waved a hand at them. He looked as shocked as she felt. “We can hold down the fort today.”

Owen pulled her up and guided her out to his Jeep. The ride home was silent. Lainey stared out her window, her mind spinning with the odd turn of events. When he came around to help her out of the passenger’s seat, she gripped his hand and stared at him. “You made me a promise,” she said, as her brain cleared of the past months’ worth of pain, recovery, and today’s inconceivable revelation. “Do you remember?”

Owen smiled and leaned into the Jeep to cup her cheek with his hand. His lips were soft at first, then insistent. She opened her mouth to him and sighed when he broke away. “I remember it well.”

When she put her purse on the table and gazed around at her new reality—the fancy, if somewhat generic furnishings, the granite, stainless dream kitchen, the view of the beach and ocean that soothed her every day when she woke up at five in the grip of nightmares.

“I love it here,” she said, turning to face him. “I don’t want a house. I don’t want to move. Can we stay here?” She put a shaking hand on the back of the leather chair.

“Sure. Anything you want.” Owen set his keys on the high counter and slipped out of his jacket. She took him in—really looked at him—for the first time since she’d walked out the day he’d rejected her. His wide shoulders, strong torso, slim waist, firm ass. Even the metal prosthesis—she loved it all. But especially his hands and arms, his lips and tongue. Feeling weak in the knees at the thought of actually having sex, she dropped onto the arm of the chair.

“Why did you make me go that day?”

He started for her, but she held up a hand. “No. Stay over there and answer my question. What happened between our shower fun, the dinner, your nap, and when you woke up? Why did you reject me?”

Owen swallowed hard, looked up at the ceiling, and then down to the floor before he met her gaze. “There was a girl—sorry, a woman. Hannah. She was an old girlfriend from my hometown. When I was convalescing there after the surgery, she showed up at my going away party. We, um, we fucked, you know. Nothing special, but it was the first time for me in a damn long time.”

Lainey lifted her chin and acknowledged a serious electric charge of raw jealousy. But she forced herself to be quiet. She’d not even met him at that point. And she’d asked a question. If she didn’t want to know the answer, she shouldn’t have asked.

He sighed and slumped against the high granite counter. “Go on,” she said.

“Afterward, she admitted she’d only come to the party to see if it…if I… could still do it. She said she’d always wanted to fuck a gimp.”

Lainey sucked in a breath. But it was Owen’s turn to hold up a hand. “No, no, she’s just ignorant. She’s never been anything but that. I knew it. But it got to me, I guess. But when you woke me up on the couch I…um, I’d been dreaming about her. I thought you were her. And I very nearly sat up and put my hands around your neck.” He stared down at his hands, studying them front and back as if they’d had a mind of their own that day. His eyes were glistening when he looked up at her. “I almost hurt you, Lainey. I was going to hurt you. So I made you leave.” He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. His face was open, guileless, and perfect. “I’m fucked up, remember?”

Lainey rose and walked over to him, went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, Owen Taylor,” she declared. “And I guess we are just gonna have to be fucked up together.”

He sighed and slid his hands down her arms to her shoulders, to her back and ass. But he stopped as if her skin had shocked him. “Owen,” she said. “Look at me.”

He did, and the expression on his face made her want to weep with relief. “I’m not going to break. Richard didn’t break me. He altered me, yes. He hurt me, without a doubt. But I’m ready to be with you—all the way with you. I need this so I can get me back again.”

He chuckled and gave her a peck on the lips. But she tightened her grip around his neck and made him really kiss her. By the time she broke away, her face was flaming hot, and her body was revved in a familiar, pleasant way. “Your promise, Mr. Taylor?”

He smiled, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the bedroom. She pressed her face into his neck and let herself have this cheesy, romance novel-worthy moment. He sat in one of the leather chairs near the window, still cradling her to his chest. “I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what hurts and what doesn’t?” She got up and stood in front of him.

He reached out and unbuttoned her blouse. As it slid off her arms to the floor, he reached back to unhook her bra. She stood, shivering slightly as he pushed her skirt to the floor, then hooked a finger in her panties and tugged them down her legs.

“Wait,” he said as she reached for him. “I’m doing the touching tonight. You just lie back and enjoy.” He led her to the bed, guided her down, then, starting at her feet, kissed his way up one leg, down the other and then back up until his mouth was pressed against her belly.

Lainey threaded her fingers through his thick hair, and forced herself to relax, allowed herself to enjoy him making love to her in a way no man had in her entire life. At some point, he shed his clothes and the prosthetic and began stroking and caressing her still-sore nipples. Teasing her to a pinnacle, then easing her down, before beginning again. She was panting, her legs spread, her hips moving as he raised his face from her breasts.

“Ready for me, baby?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not crazy, even though only crazy people cry during sex.”

He wiped the tears with his thumbs then lay on his back, pulling her with him. “I want you to come on top of me,” he said, tilting his hips and entering her, slow, easy, and gentle.

“Ow,” she winced, despite her effort not to. He reached up and stroked her nipples, distracting her until she found a rhythm that gave her both inner and outer friction.

“You’re pretty good at this,” she gasped. “Oh God, I’m gonna come…” She dropped down over him and let the welcoming arms of an Owen-induced orgasm envelop her and bowl her over like a warm ocean wave. “Oh, oh, oh,” she kept saying even as her body pulsed and thrummed, gripping him tight inside her.

“Oh, is right,” he muttered. “My turn on top.” He hooked his right calf around hers and flipped them so she was beneath him. A momentary flare of panic hit her brain and must have reflected on her face. “Sh, Lainey, my sweet,” he muttered, kissing her softly. “It’s all right. I love you.”

She looked up at him, took in the chiseled, distinctive terrain of his face, the brightness of his blue eyes, the fullness of his lips. “I love you too,” she said, shifting so she could wrap her legs around his hips and take him as deep as possible. “I love you, too,” she repeated as he began to roll his hips, keeping the angle that still provided that exquisite exterior friction against her flesh.

“Lainey,” he whispered. “Lainey.”

“Come, Owen,” she said, arching her back and reaching up to grab the headboard so she could take him even deeper. He gave quicker, harder thrusts, groaned and his entire body shuddered as warmth filled her and brought on the stupid tears all over again.