I went slow anyway. Not because of her physical frailties, but because she deserved to be handled with care. The haunted look in her eyes suggested someone—probably Walt the Wanker—hadn’t respected her body or her soul. I wanted to erase him from her thoughts and replace every one of his touches with mine.

Keeping my shit together took more self-control than I’d thought possible. With every thrust, each shift of her hips, my dick pulsed and my balls tightened. Her kitten moans made me crazy, ramping up my desire until I lost coherent thought. When her legs clamped around my waist and her pussy quivered, I let go. I became an animal, grunting and thrusting, taking her, giving her all of me. I nipped the skin below her ear, sucking on the soft flesh, marking her as mine.

My orgasm rippled down the length of my thighs. I stilled, riding the high. Sex with Hayden had been impersonal, more about getting off than fulfilling the emptiness inside me. As I rolled off Bronte, I tucked her into crook of my arm. I hadn’t expected the rush of emotions at the sight of her swollen lips and the shine in her eyes. The strange tug at my heart caught me off guard. I wanted to protect her and make love to her and keep her safe from all the other assholes in the world who might try to take advantage of her.

“Comfortable?” I asked her.

“Yes.” A dreamy sigh followed her answer. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Go ahead and sleep. You’re welcome to stay the night.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I can take you home in the morning. Or maybe I’ll just keep you all day.”

Within seconds, her breathing evened out. I reached across her to turn out the lamp. My gaze connected with the framed photo of Amy on the nightstand. I turned the picture face down. I waited for the guilt, but it never arrived. Instead, I felt irritated. How long was I going to punish myself for her death?

Memories of our last night together flooded back. We’d argued about the text messages I’d found to her boss. They’d been having an affair. There had been no remorse, no denial. She’d been in love with him. He was going to leave his wife. She’d wanted a divorce. My mind had reeled at her confessions. I’d been too stunned to react when she’d stepped off the curb without looking. I’d replayed the scene in my head a million times. There was nothing I could have done differently. No amount of regret or self-loathing would change those last moments.

A few hours later, I woke from a fitful sleep, drenched in sweat, with a naked Bronte draped over me. I gently untangled our limbs and went into the bathroom to splash water on my face. After a few minutes, I heard her call from the bed.

“Rhett, are you okay?” Her voice sounded uncertain.

One glance at my reflection showed the color had drained from my face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hurry up. I’m cold.” The thought of her nude and shivering in my bed snapped me out of my funk.

When I came out, she had the blanket tucked beneath her arms and Amy’s photograph in her hands. “This is your wife?” I nodded. Bronte’s brows drew together. “She looks like Freya.”

“They’re twins,” I replied and pressed my lips together.

“And Freya’s your assistant. Isn’t that a little weird?”

Carter’s admonitions replayed in my ears again. Fucker. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“Freya? Hell no.”

“I meant Amy.”

I had to think for a minute. In the months before Amy’s accident, we’d barely seen each other. She’d said my snoring kept her awake, so I’d moved to the guest bedroom. “I loved her in the beginning, but we’d grown apart at the end.” I’d been too hung up on doing the right thing to recognize the break in our marriage. “About ten minutes before she stepped in front of the bus, she asked me for a divorce.” It was the first time I’d told anyone other than Carter. The burden of secrets lightened considerably.

“I’m sorry.”

I took the picture from Bronte and studied Amy’s smile. The photo had been taken when we’d been in college, when we’d been in love. It was one of the last truly happy times I could remember in our relationship. “We’d been hiking that day. It was my birthday.”

“Oh.” Bronte looked down at the bedspread. “I suppose you miss her a lot.”

I lifted the blankets and slid beneath them where it was warm. Winter was fast approaching and had brought a chill to the air. I opened the nightstand drawer and dropped Amy’s picture inside. “We were married for eight years, together for ten. When you’re with someone for that long, you get used to having them around.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship like that. There was a guy in high school, but we never went anywhere or did anything.” She slid further beneath the bedclothes, drawing the blanket up to her chin.

“Walt the Wanker?”

“Yes.” To my relief, she smiled. “He was a wanker. All we ever did was have sex, and he told all his friends that I was a retarded slut. I was so desperate to fit in with the popular kids that I let him treat me like shit.”

My fingers curled into fists. “Is this wanker going to be at your reunion?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I hope he is. I’m going to kick his ass.” I took her chin and tilted her face up to mine. Our eyes met, sending a delightful shiver down my back. “You deserve to be treated like a princess. Don’t ever forget it. And if a guy treats you any other way, you need to ditch him.” The blueness of her eyes made my heart skip a beat. Fuck me, she was a mass of contradictions—smart yet naïve, complicated but simple. After the way she’d sucked my cock last night, I couldn’t call her innocent any longer. My dick twitched at the memory. “Promise me you’ll never let that happen.”

“Okay, I promise.” Confusion clouded her eyes. “Why do you care?”

The directness of her question set me back a pace. I did care, more than I realized. I threaded my fingers through hers and kissed her knuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you. You’re very special, Bronte.” "

“I hate that word.” A tremor ran through her body.

“When I say special, I mean unique, extraordinary, remarkable. If Walt the Wanker didn’t realize what he had, then he was an idiot.” A half smile tilted her lips. “I bet Walt is bald and fat with ten kids by ten different women.”

She laughed. “I hope so. That would be karma.”

With my hands on her waist, I shifted, rolling her on top of me. She placed her hands on my chest for balance, settling her thighs on either side of my waist. The long waves of her hair cascaded over her shoulders, messy and wanton. I liked her this way, relaxed and smiling. I lifted my hips pressing my growing erection into her. A lightness of being filled my soul.

“Do you believe in karma?” I asked.

“Not really. There’s no empirical evidence to support that theory. But I like to think there’s order to the universe. And I do believe that for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Cause and effect are basic principles. So, it kind of makes sense. I think our actions are like throwing a stone into a pond. Whatever we do causes a ripple effect, reaching far beyond ourselves, influencing the lives of others, with myriad consequences.”

“You’re scary smart, Bronte.” Her palms skated up my chest. I sat up, gathering her to me. “I’m pretty sure you’re a lot smarter than me.”

“Probably,” she said, burying her face into my neck, peppering kisses below my ear. Her lips curved into a smile against my skin. “But I like you anyway.” It was said without the slightest hint of arrogance. I laughed, feeling the last bonds of depression snap and release. “How many condoms do you have?”

“I have a box,” I replied. “Why? How many do we need?”

“Several.”

“Not three or eight or four?” I teased.

“Not three. That’s an odd number. It would have to be two. I think four might be too many.” Her serious answer caused another rumble of laughter in my chest. She shoved my shoulder. “Don’t laugh at me.”

I flipped her onto her back, eliciting a squeal of surprise, and settled between her thighs. Our eyes met. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone so perfectly imperfect before or since. “Well then. I guess we’ll just have to find out.”