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"Why did you end it?"

Olivia crosses her arms. "That's my business."

"It became my business when he showed up at your bar." I feel my control slipping. "Did you love him?"

"I thought I did." That hits me like a punch. "But it wasn't real."

I study her face, trying to read the emotions flickering behind her eyes. There's something more, something painful she's holding back.

"Tell me about him," I say, my voice softer now. "All of it."

Olivia takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. "My stepfather introduced us. They work together. My mother was thrilled; he was everything she wanted for me. A fancycorporate job, came from a good family." Her fingers trace invisible patterns on the tablecloth. "On paper, we were perfect. The happy couple everyone envied."

The bitterness in her voice makes me tense.

"My mother was so happy. After everything with my father, seeing me with someone 'stable' gave her peace. So I stayed." She looks up at me, her eyes suddenly hardening. "But he never loved me, Sam. Just the idea of me. The perfect fiancée he could show off at parties, the arm candy for business dinners."

My hands curl into fists under the table.

"Behind closed doors?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "He was cruel. Cold. Made me feel worthless in a hundred small ways. And he cheated constantly. With anyone who'd open their legs for him."

The rage building inside me is immediate and visceral. I want to find this man and tear him apart.

"Why did he come here?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice level.

"Because I embarrassed him by leaving." Her voice is steady now, stronger. "I was supposed to be his perfect trophy wife. When I walked away, it made him look bad. And Rhett can't stand looking bad."

I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. Her skin is cool beneath my palm.

"If he comes near you again?—"

"Are you jealous?"

"Am I jealous?" I lean back in my chair, studying her face. "I wouldn't call it jealousy. Protective, maybe. I take care of what's mine, Olivia."

She eyes me skeptically for a moment, watching me intensely. I wonder what she sees…a jealous bastard who wants to kill her ex for ever touching her. For thinking he has the rightto show up now and demand she go out with him. My fists clench at the thought.

"You keep saying I'm yours, but then you push me away. What isthis?"

"Olivia. I?—"

She crinkles her napkin and tosses it on the table, standing up swiftly. "You can't have it both ways. You can't act like a jealous boyfriend, and then pretend there's nothing between us."

"There is something between us," I rush to say, standing up and moving toward her.

"What?" She crosses her arms. "What exactly is between us, Sam? Because you run hot and cold. One minute, you're inside me, and the next, you're pushing me away."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not." She moves closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume. "Either you want me, or you don't. Either you're jealous because you care, or you're just territorial about your possessions. Which is it?"

"Of course I fucking care." My voice rises as the dam finally breaks. "You think I'd risk everything to keep you safe if I didn't? You think I'd lie awake at night worrying about you if this was just about sex?"

Her eyes widen as her breath catches.

I step forward, eliminating the space between us. "Fine. I'm jealous. I hated seeing him look at you like he had any right to. I hated hearing him call you his anything."

My hands find her waist, pulling her against me. "Because you're not his. You're mine. And I'm yours."