“His wife—did he tell you about me and his wife?”

“You were with his wife?” I breathe.

“Fuck no, I went on a couple of dates with her before she even met him, then one day he tells us that he’s dating someone and it’s getting serious, and it was her.”

“Oh.” Relief swamps my system. “Why would you think he would have told me about her?”

“Because a while back she showed up at my house and she tried to shove her tongue down my throat.”

“She what?” I gasp totally horrified.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, now what else did he say?”

“I think it does matter because who the heck does something like that firstly when they’re married and secondly when it’s their husband’s brother. That is just—” My nose scrunches, “so messed up, not to mention gross.”

“Don’t be cute right now, Willow, not when I’m so fucking pissed that I’m seeing red. Tell me what he said to you.”

“Seriously.” I toss my hands in the air. “He didn’t say anything. Just that I need to be careful when it comes to you and not get attached because you date a lot and none of your relationships last long. But who the heck cares about that.” I roll my eyes. “I mean you’ve seen firsthand that I’ve not been sitting at home, knitting, waiting for the right suitor to knock on my door and ask for my hand in marria—” The word marriage tapers off when he takes two steps across the kitchen to where I’m standing and curls one hand around my waist and the other around the back of my neck so he can drag me into him. When his mouth lands on mine, I gasp and then moan and latch onto him. Okay, so the forehead kisses are nice, but lord, the man can kiss. When he pulls his mouth from mine, I blink my eyes open and find him staring down at me.

“I don’t need to hear about all the men you’ve dated, I’m sure I’ll meet them all eventually.” He grins.

The tension I didn’t even know was in my muscles loosens. “Whatever! Now, are you ready to go? I want to know if Miles has found anything out about Carly, then I need to eat because all I had today was soup, so I’m starving.”

“We can go.” He stands me up then reminds me. “Make sure you pack a bag for tonight.”

“I will.” I lift up on my tiptoes to kiss the underside of his jaw, then I head to my room to pack an overnight bag, because even if it might be reckless to trust Clay, I’m going to do just that.

Less than forty-five minutes later I sit with Clay in a dimly lit conference room at the police station with his hand wrapped around mine. Since we were ushered in here to wait, my leg has not stopped bouncing. I count the minutes as they tick by on the clock each one seeming to take longer than normal. How criminals are able to sit in these rooms for hours while being interrogated is something I can’t fathom doing. We’ve only been in here for a few minutes and I already feel like the walls are closing in on me.