Brock is at the front desk when I race through the doors. I can hear his voice, raised over the general buzz of activity in the lobby.

“Nobody here saw where she went? You want me to believe you all happened to be looking the other way at the same moment in time? Is that the sort of fool you take me for?”

“Nobody takes you for a fool,” the anxious concierge insists. He glances over Brock’s shoulder and the sight of me makes his eyes light up in sheer relief. “Here she is, sir.”

Brock spins, eyes wide.

I see him now. I really see him. He’s more than just the dominating, self-assured control freak. He’s out of his mind with worry about me. He thought I might have run off for good. He brought me here for himself. Granted, he could’ve just been honest with me that first night, back at his penthouse and saved himself a lot of money in the process.

“You’re here.” He looks me up and down, eyes darting back and forth as though he’s checking for signs of damage.

It makes my heart go out to him in a way it never has before. “I’m here. And I think we need to talk.”

“We definitely do.” He leads me to the elevators. I catch sight of the concierge leaning against the counter with a sigh of relief. We don’t say another word until we’re back in the suite. The empty suite. Charlotte is long gone, thank goodness.

“You left before I had the chance to explain.” He folds his arms.

Now, I notice for the first time how disheveled he looks. His polo isn’t even tucked in. The collar is askew. I want to reach out and fix it for him, but I hold back. “I know, I should have waited and given you a chance to explain, but you have to look at it from my point-of-view. Would you wait around in the same room with that—that—person?” I gesture toward the bedroom and the empty bed.

He gets the hint. “You’ve got to know I had nothing to do with her being in my bed,” he says, and sits on the sofa.

I do the same, leaving space between us. We’re not out of the woods yet. I’m not ready to climb into his lap. “What happened?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s all so ridiculous and stupid. I feel so stupid. She showed up here with a bottle of red wine and put on this big show about being nervous for the ceremony, needing a drink with an old friend. Wanting to bury the hatchet. Wanting to start off with a clean slate, no bad blood between us. What a joke. But I let her in when she made a big deal about it. She poured an obnoxious glass for herself, but she did always like her wine, so I let it go. Until she spilled almost all of it on me.” He grimaces.

“That’s not even very original,” I can’t help but observe.

“No, it isn’t. I got in the shower to clean up and when I came out…she was in my bed and you looked as if you had been struck by lightning. You have to believe me she was fully dressed when I left her.”

I do believe him, but I can’t make it so easy, either. “What happened after I left?”

“She tried to make it seem like she really just wanted me back, one last time with me before she got married, and you coming back was a surprise.” His eyes glitter with fury. “I saw the text she sent you.”

I had forgotten all about the text until that very second. Demanding that I come upstairs at once. I was so upset and so shocked I didn’t see what was so obvious. Yes, she set us both up. Now that I have the benefit of a little time passing between my discovery and my conversation with Mark, I see just how absurd it all was. Like Brock would text me to come upstairs with Charlotte in his bed.

“I was very deeply hurt when I saw her there,” I admit. “I know I have no right to be hurt, but that was how I felt.”

“And I told her I’d never forgive her for what she did. I never forgave her for spiking your chocolates with strawberry juice to begin with, but this is inexcusable. I threw her out. I don’t ever want to see or speak to that ignorant piece of trash again,” he declares.

What a relief it is to hear that. “You never forgave her for that?”

“That was a low thing to do to you. You’re just a sweet thing. You’ve never hurt her.”

I tilt my head to the side as though I’m ignorant of the truth. “I thought you were still in love with her. I thought that was why we were here to begin with?”

For the first time in my presence, Brock flushes.

I actually got him to flush. It takes all my self-control not to jump up from the sofa and pump my fist in triumph.

“Yes. That. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” I assure him, leaning against the cushions. It’s nice, feeling like I’m the one in control for once. Watching him squirm a little. Knowing who he really is, and how he knew me from the start goes a long way toward humanizing him.

“Suffice it to say I never cared about her. You’re the one I wanted.” He moves closer. Tentative at first, as though he fears I’ll run away. When I don’t, he gets more confident, and shifts closer. “I wanted you from the very beginning. I didn’t know any other way to get you into my life.”

“You could’ve just said you wanted to get to know me better,” I suggest, raising an eyebrow.

“And if you said no, that would’ve been the end of it. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“So you chose to bribe me? Is that it? You took advantage when you knew I didn’t have any money, and you’re loaded?”

“I guessed you’d be too proud to accept charity, and that would be how you’d see it. As charity. I wanted to help you, and I still do. I want you to have every good thing you deserve. And you deserve a hell of a lot more than being so exhausted that you passed out on my bed. So, I came up with this plan.”

“Scheme. Plot.”

“Plan,” he insists.

He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face and smell his cologne as he wraps himself around my senses. He has a way of doing that. I could forgive him of anything in this moment. And there isn’t anything to forgive, not really. I know why he did it. I wish he’d been honest, but at least I understand where he was coming from. And who wouldn’t be flattered? Even touched?

I place my palm against his chest, and feel his heart pounding. He’s so warm and real, and he’s right here, wanting to be mine. I can feel it, and that knowledge crackles between us. It practically lights up the room. The energy between us is so strong I feel it on my skin. Even so, there’s one thing he has to know first. I take a deep breath and say it, “I remember you now. From when we were kids.”

A little of the light leaves his eyes. “What?”

“I remember you from that day. In the schoolyard.”

“You do?”

He sounds so hopeful, like a little boy. It’s enough to crack my heart open. I nod slowly. “You were standing there, against the wall. Watching me. I was so ashamed. Not just of what I was doing, but of me. For being poor, for having to sink so low as to sell kisses just to put food on the table that night. That was what made me run away, that shame.”

“So it wasn’t the fat, greasy, smelly kid who was waiting for a kiss? He’s not the reason you ran?”

I frown. “No. I wished it was you I was kissing, instead of all the rest of them.”

“That’s good to hear. I always did wonder about that.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, staring deep into my eyes. “Because I wasn’t the boy watching from against the wall. I was the fat kid who was waiting to kiss you.”

The truth hits me like a slap in the face. That boy had dark hair too, and blue eyes. Only I hadn’t been paying attention to him. I never had. I shake my head in wonder. “You were him.”

He nods, and I see a sad flash of that bullied, unpopular fat boy all over again.

“I’m glad you are him. I never forgot you. I always felt bad about you. I took the money and never said thank you or gave you your kiss. You lost all that weight?”

He grins. “Yeah, I stopped eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and went to the gym.”

“Oh Brock. I’m sorry if I hurt you all those years ago. I was just a child.”

“I know. I never held it against you. And when you started to cry,” he continues, stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I wanted to make it all better for you. I wanted to protect you and comfort you. I loved you even then.”

My eyes widen with surprise.

He nods. “Yes, I was a kid, but I did love you. I gave you all the money I had and told you to go home, because I didn’t want to see you do what you were doing to yourself. It was tearing me up inside to see you cry.”

I touch his face with a trembling hand. It was him. That sweet boy who shoved money into my hand and told me to go home. Who saved me from having to embarrass myself any further. Even then, all those years ago, he was trying to protect me. “Oh, Brock.”

“I loved you then, and I’m in love with you now,” he whispers, still holding onto my chin and using it to draw my face closer. “I love you, Dani.”

“And I love you,” I breathe the words out before a deep, searing kiss rocks me to my core and sets the rest of my life on course.

A life with this man, loving him and letting him love me. I couldn’t ask for anything more.