Page 61

I glance over at my torn panties hooked on the corner of the nightstand and drop my face, burying it in his soft Henley. He tugs my hair, lifting my head, forcing me to look at him again.
“No more running, okay?” he murmurs.
“No more running,” I agree, lifting up and moving off him. He presses a quick kiss to my shoulder and slips out of bed to dispose of the condom. Meanwhile, I pull the sheet up over my lower half and sigh softly. So many things are spinning through my mind and I’m starting to think about the hard questions. Like how do we make this work when we live in different cities and—
“Hey,” he says, interrupting my doom-filled thoughts as he slides back into bed, “stop overthinking.”
“I can’t help it. It’s what I do.”
“Okay, you want something to think about, some new things to ponder? Well, how about this? I love you and you’re mine. End of story.”
I smile, his words a balm on my scarred heart. “Are you sure?” I ask playfully. “I can be hard to handle.”
“Bring it on,” he challenges. Our fingers lace and he turns my hand over, lightly tracing his thumb in small circles over my palm. Very quietly, he asks, “Who hurt you?”
I’ve never talked about my humiliating time with Shane before. Not to anyone. But I know I can trust Knox with all of my secrets.
“He was in my Top Gun class,” I say, allowing myself to completely open up for the first time. Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt like it used to. “Shane Murdock, standout pilot, and total dick in every other way. I stupidly fell for him.”
“I hate him already,” Knox grumbles.
“He was my first and last real relationship, and it wasn’t a good experience.”
“Why not?”
I meet his curious blue gaze. “Because he wasn’t you.”
“Are you trying to butter me up for another orgasm?” he teases, but then quickly sobers, knowing I need his support. Needing him to be my anchor if I’m going to tell this story.
Releasing a soft breath, I let it all out. How I unwittingly fell for his charms, believing all of his pretty lies. And, how it all crashed and burned after I walked in on him in bed with another woman.
“He blamed me,” I say softly. “He said I was bad in bed, too high-strung and controlling. The truth is, he fooled me into thinking it was all my fault. That because of my lack of passion, he had to go elsewhere. And, the sad thing is, I believed him.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Knox murmurs, squeezing my hand, “he was a first-class bastard and he knew exactly what he was doing. He gaslighted you. Because you, Hunter, are the most passionate woman I have ever known. Excuse my language, but whether you’re flying or fucking, I’m left in awe. You do everything with such zest and enthusiasm. Don’t ever doubt yourself again.”
“Thank you for helping me open up again,” I whisper. “You’ve taught me there’s more than one way to soar, Knox.”
“I’m glad.” His voice is pleased, content, but his smile fades. “Now I understand your hesitation and why my charm scared you off. But, if we’re being honest, I wasn’t always like this.”
“Like what? A devastatingly handsome heartbreaker?” Even though I’m joking, he doesn’t crack a smile. “Tell me then. What did you used to be like?”
“I was a poor kid who wore clothes from Goodwill. Whose parents worked long, endless hours and relied on food stamps to feed their six kids. I shared a bedroom with five sisters until it was deemed inappropriate, and then I slept on the lumpy couch. I met Addie by sheer luck, and she and her mom Angel took me under their wing and taught me the art of the heist. I never looked back, never regretted any choice I’ve made…until now.”
“Why now?” I ask softly.
“Because being a thief requires checking your conscience at the door and, dammit, you remind me a good man doesn’t do that. He should possess kindness, loyalty, courage…and honesty. I promise I’m working on it.”
He just listed all the things I said impressed me the first time we snuck into Torres’ Marbella mansion. And now, knowing how he grew up, I can understand why he’s done certain things. How he wound up on this path.
A fierce love swells up within me. I can picture him as a little boy wearing ill-fitted clothes, a latch key kid who slept on the couch, and my heart nearly breaks.
“He also should take care of his woman.” I release his hand and run my fingers through his hair. “And you do an excellent job of that.”
I’m trying to lighten the conversation, but he’s so serious.
His gaze locks onto mine. “What do you see when you look at me?” he asks.
It’s the second time he’s asked me this question.