This woman.

This woman had come into his life and burst through all the grief and pain and darkness.

And he wanted to do it for her. It wasn’t about her loving him back. He wanted that more than anything. Except this.

He wanted to find her. So that she could find herself. He wanted her to be able to shine her own light all the way down inside.

To be healed by him in the way that he felt healed by her.

“I love you,” he whispered. And then he kissed her, positioning himself between her thighs and thrusting home. Her blue eyes widened, and then she closed them tight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SAMMY WONDERED IF this was what dying felt like. Being stripped bare. Reduced to a raw nerve both inside and out. It was too much. Her heart felt scrubbed raw, and so did her skin. The feeling was just now returning to it fully from that dip in the water, and it was like icy pinpricks were dotting her skin with flashes of heat in between. And then there was Ryder. Over her. In her. His eyes burning into hers with an intensity that made her need to look away.

Because he could see her.

He could see her, and she couldn’t even see herself.

There was nothing but confusion, white noise. Except then he had whispered that he loved her. And he had entered her body. And that noise had quieted, everything centering down to him, to the moment.

And there was something almost more frightening about that quiet, about that calm. Because it had come from him. And it spoke of need.

And something else she didn’t want to uncover.

So she closed her eyes, and she tried to hide. Even as pleasure buffeted her. As desire made her mindless, need made her senseless.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

And she obeyed. She obeyed because she could do nothing else.

When those eyes met hers again she felt him. All of him, searing her right down to her soul.

And he was... He was the steadiest, best man that she had ever known. Or ever could know. And he wanted something from her. And he would never, ever leave her. He was in it for real. Because that was who he was.

Even if it made him miserable. Even if he never...

He had said to her that he had to be romantic because if it wasn’t him it wouldn’t be anyone else, because he was marrying her and they were forever. And it was the same for him. He wouldn’t have anyone else. Because she was his wife. And if she couldn’t give him the words then no one would.

She would make him miserable for the rest of his life. She already had. She had burst in a tangle of complication that a man like Ryder would have never found on his own. Because he was far too good, far too organized, and the universe had dealt its blow to him already. The way that it had treated him taking his parents away...