He turned and prowled through the living room toward me, one hand to his back pocket. He had his phone out by the time he stopped a foot away.

I held my breath when I saw his face up close.

“Honey—” I whispered but stopped speaking when his hand came up abruptly.

I tensed as it came to me but, whisper-soft and unbelievably sweet, his fingertips skimmed my cheek on their way to glide into my hair where his hand curled around the back of my head and he pulled me closer.

I went because I didn’t have a choice and because I wanted to. When I got near, I put my hands to his abs.

“Mood’s broke, sweetness,” he muttered. “And I need to make some calls. If you’re tired, go get ready for bed, or if not, give your girl a call. I’ll be in in a minute and we’ll get some shut-eye. Yeah?”

“Is he gone?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed.

His hand gave me a squeeze and I watched his eyes flare.

Then he asked, “He won’t stay gone, will he?”

I shook my head.

His mouth got tight.

Then he said gently, “Give me a minute to make some calls, baby.”

I nodded. His hand gave me another squeeze and then sifted through my hair until it was gone.

I moved to my bedroom.

Okay, it was safe to say I wasn’t tittering with excitement nine months ago when my abusive ex-husband who raped me contacted me for the first time in over four years, shattering the illusion I’d built that I was safe in a life that no longer contained him. And it was also safe to say I deliberated at length about going to lunch with him.

But I loved his dad.

Donald Heller was a good man. He adored me openly and it cut to the quick when, to erase Damian from my life, I had to break ties with anything that had anything to do with Damian, including his dad. Donald tried to keep up a relationship with me but I did not encourage this and he finally quit trying. News that he was unwell broke my heart, gave me guilt, and just as Damian knew it would, spurred me to show at lunch.

It was a mistake that I would pay for quite a bit, it would turn out. And this settled in my soul the troubling fact that I’d allowed myself to be played, again, by Damian.

I left him the day after he raped me. My dog and I lived with Martha for the year and a half it took finally to get a divorce then I moved to my own apartment. And for that year and a half, Damian stopped at nothing to “win me back.”

I couldn’t take another year and a half.