At almost eight hundred feet above sea level, Mount Bonnell stood as the highest point in Austin, and pretty much everyone in the city had been there at one time or another to see the view of the city, Lake Austin, and the surrounding hills.

Spencer had been coming there since he was a kid. He'd climb the one hundred and two steps all the way to the top, then circumvent the pretty, paved picnic area for the rougher wilderness beyond. He'd find a good, flat spot in the dirt and scrub, then put down a blanket, sit, and watch the world move along below him.

When he got older and began thinking about renovating homes, he'd take a notebook and sketch out his plans.

The place had always held a magical quality to him, and even though he was rarely alone there, he liked to think of it as his own.

Which was why when he brought Brooke there the evening of the second day he'd known her, he'd been as jumpy as if he'd sat in a pile of fire ants. He'd met her only twenty-four hours before, and yet he'd taken her out after he'd repaired her tire, and that non-date had been about the most perfect evening he'd spent with a woman.

He'd been smitten—no other word for it. And though he hadn't kissed her that night, it had been all he'd thought about until the next evening when she joined him on this iconic outcropping.

That was then. But things hadn't changed much, because having Brooke beside him at the park was still all he could think about. And even though it was barely six forty-five, he kept turning back to the stairs to see if she was coming.

And then, like a miracle, there she was.

She stood on the landing at the top of the stairs, the stunning spread of sky and trees a poor backdrop to her beauty. She wore jeans and a T-shirt and looked as sexy as he'd ever seen her.

Frowning, she cupped her hand at her forehead as she glanced around, obviously searching for him. He waited a second—stupid, but he liked knowing that she was seeking him out. Then he stepped into her view, and was rewarded with a smile as bright as sunshine.

"Hey," she said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand, and then leading her away from the stairs to a nearby dirt path. They followed it a bit, then pushed their way through some juniper branches to a secluded section he'd found when he'd walked the area upon arriving.

"This is perfect," she said, looking at the blanket he'd spread over the rocks and dirt. A few feet ahead, the hill seemed to fall away below them. And though he wasn't about to let her get too close to the edge, even when they were seated, they had a view of the river. And, soon, they'd have a view of an amazing sunset.

He put his arm around her, and she leaned against him, her sigh sounding like a mix of both pleasure and relief.

"You okay?"

She tilted her head so that she could smile at him. "I am now."

He brushed a quick kiss over her lips, making her laugh and murmur, "Tickles."

He chuckled. "Should I shave?"

"Hell no. You're perfect."

The words warmed him, but once again, he was catching that vibe. As if something wasn't quite right. And as much as he hated thinking it, he was afraid it might be him. "Brooke, what's wrong?"

This time when she looked at him, she was scowling. "That obvious?"

"Maybe I just know you well."

"You do," she said. "Even after all this time. This is like a miracle to me. That we're back together. That maybe if we don't screw it up, we'll get a happily ever after."

Her words sent rocket flares of joy careening through him. He'd been thinking along that way—hell, yeah, he had—but he hadn't been certain that she had. And this was the first time either of them had spoken concretely about a future.

"I can see why that would make you upset," he said, his voice deadpan.

As he'd hoped, she laughed. "Yeah, well, you forgot about the monkey in our wrench."

He felt the smile tug at his lips. "Did I?"

"It pisses me off that my dad keeps poking and poking."

"Ah." He leaned back, his hands behind him for support. He should have realized that the encounter with her dad wouldn't simply blow over. "What did he want earlier?"

"Oh, only for me to quit the show and get away from you. And as incentive, he said that he'd underwrite my entire business so that I can take on bigger, more prestigious jobs."

He felt his mouth go a little dry. "Not a bad offer."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a terrible offer. Be in business with my dad? Especially if it meant that you weren't in the picture?"

"I know. But he loves you. He wants to help you."

Her blue eyes went as hard as flint. "What he wants is you out of my life, and this time he’s using my business as leverage."

His radar tingled. "This time?"

She nodded, suddenly looking much younger than her twenty-eight years. "I need to tell you something," she whispered. "You might hate me—I won't blame you if you do. But the thought of losing you again terrifies me." A thick tear dropped from her lashes to the blanket as another trailed down the side of her nose.

Dread raced up his spine. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be fine, but all he could manage to say was, "Tell me."

"It was my father," she said, her words slow and measured.

"Your father? What was?"

"Our wedding. When I met you in the garden and told you I couldn't go through with it." She licked her lips. "I didn't want to—oh, God, I so didn't want to."

He wanted to shout. To shake her and ask why she'd done that to him—to them—if she hadn't wanted to. But that was the story she was telling, and his hurt and anger wouldn't make it easier for either of them.

He kept silent, and she pressed on, watching him as she spoke. He could see the exhaustion—and the relief—in her face as the words flowed. It was as if she'd been holding it all in behind a dam and was finally allowed to let it all slip out, the whole story about the promise her father had made about clemency for Richie. And the terrible choice that Brooke had been forced to make.

He said nothing until she finished, then sat up and put his head down on his knees, his arms curled around his legs, shutting out the world. Her father.

Her goddamn father had saved his brother. "He'd had the power," he said finally, turning his head to look at her. "Your dad held my brother's life in his hands. And the fucker used that power to play puppet master and pull all three of our strings."

"I know," she said. "Believe me, I know."

"You should have told me. You should have trusted me enough to come to me with that. If not before, then at least after the Governor granted clemency."

"I wanted to—hell, I planned to. But then my dad told me that he'd found out about your record." She licked her lips. "All the stuff from after Richie was arrested, when you said you went off the rails." She swallowed audibly. "He said he was going to tell your producer, and it would be a scandal on social media, and they'd yank the show."

"Christ." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "You should have told me."

"That's the point. If I'd told you he would have held all that stuff over you. He would have destroyed you. Don't pretend I'm wrong. You didn't exactly advertise your past to the producers. I was there, remember? You kept telling me over and over that you had to come across as a guy folks related to."

"And people don't relate to kids from shit neighborhoods who have to scrape by," he retorted, his already on-edge temper flaring. "Who go a little nuts when their brother ends up on death row. Who skirt up against gangs and fight like hell not to get sucked all the way in. No, I guess most people don't relate to that."

She leaned forward and pressed a hand to his knee. "That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"No, you were afraid I'd lose the show, and we couldn't have that." He was talking out his ass, and he knew it. Anger and pain and years of regret fueling harsh words that he wanted to call back even as he spoke them. "A construction worker from the east side wasn't good enough for you."

Her palm flew out and struck him hard against the cheek.

"Fuck you, Spencer Dean. Fuck. You." Tears glistened on her lashes. "I was right beside you for years before that show was even a twinkle in your eye, but when it did spark, you wanted it, and don't you dare deny that, because I know. I know because I'm the one you told. And I was faced with a horrible, awful Hobson's choice, and I did what I thought was right, dammit."

"You protected me."

"Yes." She sniffled, then wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"You shouldn't be the one protecting me. I should be protecting you."

Her laugh bubbled out, the sound rough with tears. "Oh my God, what are you? A Neanderthal?"

"Where you were concerned, yeah, I guess I was."

He saw a sparkle in her eyes, and the hint of a smile touch her lips.

"I should have been there," he continued, taking her hand, the connection electric. "You shouldn't have had to deal with all of that alone."

"Nice in theory," she said, as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Under the circumstances that would have been a little hard in practice." She met his eyes, her lips slightly parted, her breath coming hard.

"I'm sorry," he said, and though he wanted to say more, he couldn't. Not yet. He didn't need the words, he needed her. And so he pulled her to him, settling her on his lap, and lowering his mouth to hers. She met him greedily, teeth clashing, mouths searching, hands groping. He couldn't get enough of her. He wanted to claim her—had to claim her. Had to let her and her father and the whole damn world know that she was his, goddammit.

Roughly, he pulled her down until they were both on the ground, Brooke soft and yielding beneath him. His knee was between her legs, and he was as hard as stone. Her hands tightened in his hair, pulling him more firmly against her.

He deepened the kiss, losing himself to the feel of her and the fantasy that, somehow, this moment could fix everything. As if there was magic in it, and if he could simply kiss her long enough or well enough, he'd never lose her again.

"Please," she said, her hands going to his fly.

He groaned and almost came right then—and in the same moment, his senses returned. They were on a fucking hill, in a city park. And as gorgeous as the sunset might be, there was nothing romantic about taking her in the dirt like a damned teenager with hormones on overdrive.

"How much do you want to see the sunset?"

"What?" Her voice was heavy, lost in a sensual haze.

"Leave now, we miss the sunset. Your choice."

"Screw the sunset," she said, making his heart swell. "Take me home."