Page 151 of Handsome Devil

“Yes.”

He knew, because in our last session, I’d foolishly told him why I hired her. About how I made her life a living hell.

And thought about her every time I fucked someone.

And dreamed about her every single moment she wasn’t next to me.

He pleaded with me to get evaluated for a bunch of other shit. I refused. He told me I was emotionally harassing her because Iresented her for stirring emotions in me. That I was inlovewith her.

I told him he was high and needed to have his license revoked.

Things got…heated. I left.

I left, because I thought I knew better.

But I didn’t. And now here I was.

“I need to get better.” I swallowed. “For her.”

“For both of you,” he corrected softly. “When can I see you?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. I knew he was booked out a year, but he’d find time for me. “I’ll pay you double to meet me at an unorthodox hour.”

“No need for that. How about ten thirty p.m.?”

“Yes.”

I killed the call and fell to my knees, surrendering to the new, foreign feeling I had been trying to run away from for the past few weeks.

For the past few years.

For my entire life.

Love.

It was four fifteen in the morning when I woke up.

The red numbers on the digital clock stared back at me defiantly, daring me to try to go back to sleep. My whole body felt drained and deflated. My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

I rolled to the edge of the bed, about to plant my feet on the floor, when I noticed a large, dark shadow draped across it. I squinted. It looked like a piece of furniture, or maybe…

Tate.

It was my husband. He was sleeping on the floor next to my bed. But…why?

Because you told him you wanted to sleep alone, and he respected that, but he also didn’t want to be away from you.

My heart cracked in two, warmth flooding my chest. Tatum Blackthorn, the most formidable man in all of New York, wascurled into a fetal position on the floor by my bed, like a gentle Great Dane protecting its owner.

Reaching down, I placed my palm on his shoulder so not to startle him. Tate was a light sleeper.

He rolled over and blinked up to me in the darkness.

“Do you, uh, want me to leave?” His voice was thick and raspy. “I thought it was okay, since I’m not technically in your bed.”

“No,” I said softly. “I was just about to get myself something to eat. Come to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

He straightened, sitting up with his back pressed against the nightstand. “What do you want? I’ll bring it to you.”