“I need to apologise for … so much,” I mumbled against the soft rise of her breast.

Soft, small hands combed through my hair. “You really don’t. I know that you only … broke up with me … because you were trying to keep me safe from your sister.”

“And she got to you regardless.” I scrunched up my face. But devils do cry, especially when they’ve hurt the one they love above all others. I let those tears fall. “I hurt you, and I knew I was hurting you, and I kept doing it. And in the end, it was all for nothing.”

“Not for nothing!” She gripped my chin, lifting my face until I had to look at her. “Was it a kind of stupid idea?” She shrugged. “Yeah. But you did it with good intentions. You did it to help me. To protect me.”

Her thumb swiped at my wet cheeks. “I didn’t believe you that day … not really. I let you do it because I had a feeling there was something else going on, and you were running from me because of it. It didn’t take me long to suspect that you’d done it out of some odd, masculine urge to keep me safe … because I know you, SJ.”

She scooted down the bed until she was eye to eye with me, wrapping her arms and legs around me. “I’ve had plenty of chances to learn all about you—the real you, that is. And you’re a good man, Satan Junior Lucifer.” Her mouth met mine in a soft, comforting press.

“I don’t want to be a good man,” I mumbled against those soft, strawberry lips. “I just want to be your man.”

She giggled wetly, breaking the kiss. “You can be both, you know. In fact, I like knowing the one good devil out there is all mine. Makes me feel special.”

“You already were special, all on your own, Mouse,” I murmured, tucking her cerise hair behind her ear and rolling us until she was under me. “From the very first moment I spied you talking to yourself in that ridiculous puffy jacket outside the hospital, I knew. It was why I followed you to those markets. Even then, I think deep down I knew I never really wanted your soul. I just wanted you.”

She beamed up at me, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “And … I know what you did, with Professor Proctor. And I want you to know … I’m going to do it. Finish my degree.”

“And will you get the other qualifications you need to become an art … terrorist?” I winced as Jemma shook with barely contained mirth.

“That’s not the right word, is it?” I asked sheepishly.