“I don’t want to reconnect.”

This was the best idea he had. His go-big-or-go-home strategy, and it’d taken a lot of help from Mia. There might be simpler ways to rebuild their life other than jet-setting to a tropical getaway, but this was the one that worked best in his head. Mia said the idea was too big, and maybe he should’ve listened. Maybe he should listen to anyone but himself where his family was concerned, because his choices weren’t working.

Brock pressed her hand in his grip, unwilling to let go and give up. “I talked to, um, somebody. A therapist. Mia Winters. She works with Titan sometimes and said this idea was too much. Too bold or aggressive. But why hold back? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Sarah’s bottom lip dropped open. “A therapist?”

“She also said there was stuff we could do. Talk about. Think about. Do, to work shit out.” Why did talking to someone make him feel like a pussy? Such an awkward conversation, with Mia, and now Sarah. But screw it, whatever it took. He brought her knuckles to his chin, not daring to kiss them but needing their touch.

“I’m not sure…”

This was the most uncomfortable conversation, maybe ever. But if it had to be said, then fine. He was saying it. “We could go see a counselor, or whatever they’re called. Do that once-a-week appointment thing for a few months. Or we could take off, just the two of us, for as long as it takes. I’ll answer your questions. We’ll make changes that work for us. Make us us again. Better than before.”

“But…”

She wasn’t saying no. That was a good thing. She hadn’t reminded him that he was long past the three-minute mark. “It’d be like a second honeymoon,” he urged.

She snatched her hand away.

Wrong thing to say. Honeymoons were all about flirting and screwin’ and—well, he’d take that too. “Angel.”

“Time to go.” She stood up, nearly knocking over her chair.

Still seated, he looked at the floor, dropped his forearms to his knees, and bent over. So close, and she was backing away again. He scrubbed a hand over his face then raised his head to rake his gaze over her. That knockout was still his wife, and there wasn’t a thing wrong with wanting her like he always did. Perfect breasts. Perfect hips. Pouty lips that could kiss and suck. No, nothing about the word honeymoon was off-putting to him.

Brock unfolded himself from the chair. He crossed his arms and studied. Dilated pupils. Shorter breaths. Her sharp stare dropped to the tattoos on his arm then roamed across his chest. He might not be Titan anymore, but he still had the skills to decipher the micro-emotions of a victim. Sarah wasn’t reacting as a victim. Not right now. She was reacting aroused. Shocked, maybe at how she felt, angry that her responses betrayed her attitude. But honeymoon didn’t scare her from him, just their conversation.