I tapped my pink fingernails on the cool metal table top, just about out of patience. I hated prisons—hated the pungent smell of bleach and despair, the flickering yellow lights that washed the whole place with sickly color, the way that every surface was unyielding, and every clash and clang and buzz echoed with deadly finality. Most of all, I hated the way that the damn place was designed so that everyone and everything within was forced to wait.

I’d gotten good at hiding my instinctive hatred, of course. I would’ve been the shittiest defense attorney alive if I broke down at the end of every client meeting when the prisoner was escorted through their door, back into the bowels of the prison, while I sauntered out the other door to fresh air and freedom and life. Instead of dwelling on what happened to my clients between visits, I tried to apply myself to getting them freed instead. And while I was in this room, I tamped down every emotion so I could appear ruthlessly calm and competent and collected, the way my clients needed me to be, never letting my anxiety show.

Until today.

Until Ethan was the man on the other side of that door.

I had tried my best to keep cool. I’d pulled my hair back into a sleek twist, worn my most professional black jacket, skirt, and heels, and spent ten minutes deep-breathing and centering myself out in the parking lot before walking in. It hadn’t helped. Tension prickled along my shoulder blades and every ounce of my consciousness now focused on the man who’d soon be walking through the thick metal door in front of me. The man I’d loved nine years ago. The man I’d hated since then. The man I was pretty confident I was falling for again…

The man I would see released today, goddamn it, if I had to bust this place apart with dynamite myself and pluck him from the rubble.

Nine years ago, he’d figured out exactly what I wanted in a man and fit the role to perfection. I’d fallen for him hard, and when I’d finally been forced to accept that he’d played me—when he’d broken our date and abandoned his apartment, leaving my small town in a hurry and taking my parents’ savings with him—my heartbreak and shame had been relentless. When the police hadn’t found a trace of Tad Warner or his friend, that shame had doubled. Many a night, I’d only managed to fall asleep by conjuring images of him being led away in handcuffs. I’d wanted him to be tortured in prison. I’d wanted him to rot there. I’d become a lawyer to protect other people from hustlers like Tad Warner.

The irony of the current situation wasn’t lost on me.

Now, here I was, using that very law degree to free him. Here I was, nearly busting out of my skin with the need to make sure he was whole and safe. Here I was, ready to fall for him all over again—the real man, this time, I was confident—and to take him to my bed.

I blew out a breath and fought the need to get up and pace. What the hell was taking so long?

Two days, we’d said. Two days, he’d be in here. He’d given me that cocky smile and told me not to miss him too much. I’d reminded him snarkily that I’d survived for years without his overbearing, bossy presence in my life, and I was confident I’d survive forty-eight short hours.

That had been a week ago.

When a call from the prison had come in on the second day, I’d been giddy with excitement, expecting Ethan to update us on what he’d learned and give us the code word that said he was ready to come home. We’d been talking and laughing about some stupid comment Walker had made, but when I’d seen the familiar Bonneville number come up on the phone, I’d glanced around the kitchen table, where the Masters had been scarfing down inhuman quantities of the steak sandwiches and homemade potato chips Sabrina had prepared, and shushed everyone with the words, “It’s him!” I’d put the phone on speaker and accepted the call.

But it hadn’t been Ethan.

There had been a fight, the woman on the other end of the line had told me, a bad one, and they were notifying me as Ethan’s emergency contact. Ethan wouldn’t require transportation to the hospital, but he would need to be moved to the medical wing. Words like contusions and lacerations, clean chest x-rays, and possible concussion had rung in my ear. They would be monitoring him for the next several days, keeping him away from the general population until he could give a statement about the people who had attacked him. He was medicated, she said. He was safe.

But I knew that was a lie. He wouldn’t be safe until he was home with me.

And that was the moment, sitting at that table with the phone in my slack grip, that I’d faced the truth about my feelings for Ethan. I wanted him to live. I wanted him free and happy. I wanted him to get justice for his brother. I wanted him to kiss me, and hold me, and spank me like he threatened, and fuck me, and I couldn’t hold onto the past anymore.

Xavier had been the one to stand first. He’d removed the phone from my hand and started speaking to the woman, claiming to be my colleague. I’d mumbled some explanation to the others before walking myself directly to Ethan’s room and burrowing into the pillows that still smelled faintly of his cologne.

Days had passed since then. Days when I’d harassed the prison for updates on Tad Warner’s status and insisted that I be allowed to see him. Finally, today, I’d get my wish.

If the fucking guards would fucking hurry up for once in their fucking lives.

I shot to my feet, unable to stand the wait any longer, wishing I had my phone or anything else to distract myself. I would go absolutely crazy in prison and I couldn’t help but wonder what toll this experience had taken on Ethan.

There was no warning before the metal door clanked open and a man in a dark green jumpsuit appeared in the doorway. His eyes were cast down to the ground, his cheeks scruffy with red-gold hair, and for a minute, he was utterly unrecognizable. One of his cheeks was slightly swollen and cast with the mottled yellow-blue color. Livid bruises ran the length of his forearms. And when he walked, his gait was confident, but deliberate—like he was just now getting used to walking without pain. He looked up as the guard turned and shut the door behind us, and his eyes met mine.

Oh, my Ethan.

I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but I was sure it wasn’t calm, cool, professional competence. Still, the devastatingly handsome grin he gave me in return was worth any loss of composure.

“Ms. Wright,” he teased in a husky voice. “What brings you by my humble abode on this fine morning? I’m afraid I don’t have any refreshments to offer you. Not quite up to my usual standards.” He gestured around the room with his cuffed hands and winced, like he’d caused himself pain with the movement.

It took all I had, in that moment, not to run to him, bury my face in his chest, and hold on so tightly that the guards wouldn’t be able to break us apart.

He played his part, I reminded myself. God, had he ever. Walking into this situation with no backup, without a moment’s hesitation for his own safety, was one of the bravest things I’d ever witnessed. And I wouldn’t fuck up his sacrifice now by failing to play my own role.

“Mr. Warner.” I stood by the straight-backed metal chair where I’d been sitting and grasped the chair back for dear life. “Are you feeling any better?”

“I’m fine,” he soothed, his eyes meeting mine again. “Better than ever, now.” Now that you’re here, his eyes seemed to say.

The loud clang of metal indicated that the guards had closed the door, and we were alone in this room, monitored by cameras to prevent us from touching, but able to speak freely as attorney and client without the guards overhearing.

“Thank God,” I breathed. “I was so worried. I can’t wait to get you home.”

He nodded, then leaned his shoulders against the wall furthest from me. I frowned. Why wasn’t he coming closer?

“I arranged for your release,” I blurted out. “They’re doing the paperwork. It might take a couple of hours, but… I wish they’d at least uncuff you.”

He smiled again, leaning his head against the wall. “Ah, but they love their procedures around here. You know how it goes. I’m trying to find the silver lining.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I couldn’t imagine a silver lining to being cuffed like that, especially as bruised and tender as he appeared.

“Come sit down?” I asked, and he looked at me for a second before quirking his lips slightly.

“I’m fine where I am.”

What the hell did that mean?

“I have lots to tell you,” he continued, giving me a significant look. “Enough to keep Walker busy for days.”

“Oh. Well… Good.” I sat down in the chair, unable to take my eyes off him. “That’s really good.”

It had been his purpose in coming here, after all, and it would have been a fucking waste if he’d had so much happen without getting that information, but I found myself hardly caring about what he’d learned. I’d let the other Masters worry about that right now, because Ethan himself was my priority.

Why was he standing all the way across the room?

“They wouldn’t let me call you,” he continued, eyes to the ceiling. His tone was light and casual, but there was a rumble beneath the words that told me just how hard that had been for him. “You would think after all the years we’d been apart, I wouldn’t have missed talking to you while I was in here, right? I mean, it’s fucking crazy for me to miss you when we’d barely spent three days together in the past nine years. But all I wanted was to hear your voice.”

He shifted his eyes down to look at me, then, and there was a fire in his gaze that spoke of pain far beyond the physical. Odds were, he’d never tell me even half of what he’d been through over the course of this week, but it was clear he wasn’t the same man he’d been seven days ago. I knew, as well as anyone who hadn’t been in prison herself could, how hard the isolation behind bars could be, and how quickly despair could take hold. I needed to drive the shadows from his eyes.

“It is crazy,” I breathed, leaning toward him. I wanted more than anything to touch him, to hold him, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to convey everything I was feeling with my words. “But I feel exactly the same way.”

“Yeah?” he smiled, and a teasing glint appeared in the summer blue gaze. “I’ve gotta tell you, I have spent a lot of time thinking while I was in here.”

“I can imagine,” I whispered. “I’ve been thinking too. About forgiveness, and what’s really important.”

He laughed slightly, tilting his head back against the wall. “Did anyone ever tell you how sweet you are?” He looked at me again. “Because you are, you know.”

I hadn’t been expecting that. “Okay?”

“Sweet. Gorgeous. Devastatingly sexy.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed. “See, while I was in here, my thoughts were occupied by all the things I couldn’t wait to do when I got out of here. I decided, I want steak for dinner from La Marque.”

“The one on Fifty-Fourth?”

He nodded. “And I want the longest, hottest shower known to man.”

“Oh, I bet,” I said, putting my elbows on the metal table and leaning forward to rest my chin on my hands. I couldn’t imagine the culture shock of having your showers regimented.

“But before I do any of those things, Haven?” His voice had changed tone and I was startled by the intensity.

“Y-yeah? What do you need, Ethan? Anything you want.”

He smiled, slow and hot. “I want you. In my bed.”

I swallowed again. I’d already decided in favor of that, of course. He’d paid his debt to me—both by giving me back the money he’d taken from my parents, and by showing me just how much he’d changed by stepping into this hellhole voluntarily to free Max and Luis.

But Ethan didn’t know that. If the man had been making assumptions, I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“Is that right?” I said, folding my arms over my chest. “What makes you think I’d go?”

His voice shifted even lower, deeper, the rasp of his voice sliding over my skin. “Because you know I can make you scream my name.”

My breath caught, a tell-tale hitch that belied my stiff posture. The words were a bold challenge, an honest, straightforward claiming. They were proof that we’d moved way beyond deceit and trickery, and that my faith in him was justified.

“I’ve thought a lot about how sweet your pussy was the other night,” he continued conversationally. “I closed my eyes and I swear to God, I could practically taste it. It was fucking delicious.”

Oh. Dear. God.

“I imagined I was sitting on my bed at home, and you were standing in front of me in a hot little black and white dress giving me that little teasing smile I love. And while I watched, you pulled the dress up, just an inch at a time, and bared your skin and your sexy-as-fuck panties to me.”

Oh, God. I could see it too, like he was painting a picture in the air with his words. My mouth was hanging open and I tried my best to summon a cool, snarky response, but all that came out was, “Guh.”

He smiled, dark and predatory. “I told you to remove your panties. Slowly. And do you know what happened next?”

I shook my head. I could guess. Hell, I was practically ready to do it right here and now, cameras and guards be damned. But I wanted to hear the words from his lips.

“You said no,” he whispered, and I blinked. Wow. His fantasy-Haven was pretty badass and had way more control than the real me had.

“But that was fine,” he said, his eyes burning into mine. “That was fucking perfect.”

“I-it was?”

“Mmm. Because I turned you around, put you over my knee, and spanked your ass for your disobedience.” He bit his lip, the first physical sign he’d shown that he was as affected by his words as I was. “And Haven? You wanted me to. So, so badly.”

I raised my hands to press my cold palms to my suddenly burning cheeks. I would want that. I hadn’t confessed it to anyone, ever, not even to him nine years ago, but I did want it. I craved it.

He didn’t move from the wall, but his eyes stalked me, cataloging my every movement, my every response. Ethan knew how to read people, and I knew he could read me right now.

Did he know that my panties were damp? Could he sense the way my nipples were beading beneath my blouse? Did he realize how badly I wanted him? Suddenly, I wanted him to know.

“Then what happened?” I demanded breathlessly.

“After that? After your ass was red, you mean? After you’d writhed on my lap until your pussy was dripping for me?” He smiled, innocent as an angel except for his wicked, wicked eyes. “Then I forced you to your knees on the floor.”

I was nearly hyperventilating, aching with want, and I could barely see him across the room, since my vision was turned inward, imagining the scene he projected.

“You took my cock in your mouth,” he said hoarsely. “Licked it like a popsicle that might melt at any minute, and then sucked me down the back of your throat. Jesus Christ, I was so hard. So, so hard. And I didn’t want to hurt you, I would never want to hurt you, but you grabbed my hands and put them on your head to let me know you loved it every bit as much as I did, that you wanted me to use you that way.”

I gripped the table so I could hold myself down to earth when the stunned arousal in my blood made me feel buoyant. I did want it. I did, I did, I did.

“I fucked your mouth,” he whispered, like the world’s most erotic confession, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t repentant. Not for one single second. “You made the sweetest little noises, just like the noises you made when I ate you out the other night. You remember, Haven?”

I didn’t respond fast enough, apparently, because he repeated himself, his voice harder this time. “Do you, Haven?”

I nodded jerkily. God, of course I did. I’d deliberately tried not to think about it while he’d been away, knowing it would only make me miss him more, but his voice was a spell, an incantation, that conjured up that evening with perfect clarity. I could feel his mouth on my most intimate areas, could feel the powerful thrust of his tongue.

“Ethan,” I breathed.

“I want to do that again, Haven. Right now. Tonight. Over and over.” His hands were flat against the wall behind him now. And though they were still cuffed behind his back, it seemed like he was hanging onto the cinder-block surface for support. In a rush I realized that he was standing that far away because distance was the only way he could control himself.

“Enough,” I choked out, a cross between a whimper and a sigh. “Please. No more.”

He stared at me, nostrils flaring. “I want you in my bed, Haven,” he said, repeating his words from earlier. “Tonight. Every night. Will you?”

I looked at him steadily, then nodded once, twice. A bargain struck.

He smiled. “Thank Christ. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in here, it’s that I’m fucking done with waiting.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. I wanted everything he had to give me, and I wanted to give him everything in return. Most importantly, forgiveness.