Dane

Being at the Penthouse without her was hell.

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He walked in, his mind buried in all the details he had to check and arrange, but the first thing he saw walking through the door was the spot on the floor where they'd sat that first night, before he learned she was a virgin. The place he'd tasted her, almost taken her. The place she'd touched his skin…

She'd taken his face in her hands and pulled him in. They both sucked in hard as their lips touched. He was shaking with restrained lust. Trembling. She leaned into his chest and with a groan, with a slide of his tongue, he straightened his legs and reached around her, pulling her into his lap until she straddled him, her fingers curled around his neck, and his at her waist.

The kiss was deep and promised so much more. His breath tore out of his throat as he gripped her to him, leaning in to deepen the kiss again, and again.

Curling her legs around his waist, she arched into him as his lips trailed down her neck and he pulled her even closer. She ground against him, gasping, and he whimpered his desperation into her neck and nipped at her shoulder until she gasped again.

"Lila, we can't," he groaned, but he gripped her waist and pulled her even closer—

…Cursing himself, Dane shook off the memory and strode into the penthouse. But no matter what he did, where he looked, there were memories of her.

Her, sitting in that stool while he stood between her knees and had her in his hands…

Blinking back an emotion he couldn't describe, he led her to the other side of the long island in the kitchen, pulled out a stool, and urged her to pull herself into it. When she did, he swung the stool around so she was facing him, her feet dangling between his knees.

He stared at her until her quick smile faded to be replaced with concern. Her brow furrowed and she put a hand to his shoulder. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

Dane swallowed, then leaned down to brace on the island behind her, his arms either side of her and fencing her in. "I want to make sure you understand something," he said hoarsely.

Her face went very serious, but she nodded and didn't speak.

"I want to make sure," he said, then cleared his throat, "that you are utterly certain that you are always welcome here. Always. No matter what. Even if we fight. Even if I'm busy. Even if I'm throwing a fit. My door is always open to you. You never need to ask. Especially if you're ever afraid. Even the tiniest bit."

Her lips pulled up in a quick grin, but he shook his head. "I'm serious, Lila. If I learned anything growing up with my father, it was that even if I couldn't identify the source, if I was ever nervous or afraid, it was better to listen to that instinct, than to ignore it. If you ever feel afraid—even just uneasy!—you come to me if we aren't together. And if we are together, you tell me. I don't care if I'm the reason you're scared, you tell me. I'm the guy who yells, and I can be an ass. I know I'm going to have to apologize—probably before the week is out. But no matter what, if you're ever afraid, you tell me, Okay? I will always want to help. I will always want to protect you. Always."

Her eyes were liquid, lined in silver, and she bit her lip. "How is it possible that you've been alone for so long?" she breathed, putting on hand to his face.

He smiled on that side. "It's simple," he said, leaning in to kiss her again. "I was waiting for you."

Dane sucked in a breath and blinked back to the present and his vision blurred. He tried to turn away, to forget, but all he could see was her.

Her curled up on the couch, her temple on her fist, watching him work, her eyes promising that she'd be doing so much more if they could.

Her telling Chris where to go.

Her telling Dane exactly what she thought of him.

Her following him into his room.

Her in his bed, on his body, in his mouth… Dane groaned and swore and had to stop himself throwing a chair through the window. The torture of it threatened to push him over the edge. He was going to lose control, and he couldn't afford that. Being here was necessary, but it was also tearing him apart. If he didn't get it together…

Then he realized. That was it.

That was exactly what he needed.

And so, with his head bowed, and a broken sob in his throat, Dane made himself look. Made himself remember. He pushed into the tub room and reminded himself about her wet skin, and warm mouth and the way she'd given herself over to him on their wedding night.

He stood in the bedroom and remembered taking her on the bed.

He walked into the closet and focused on that moment she'd come through the laundry stairs and the way her eyes lit up when she saw him.

And the deeper he went, and the more he wanted to break, the more he made himself think through exactly what she was facing, who had his hands on her, who she was to him, and how this could all end, until he was a gibbering mess of fear and disgust and rage—and it broke through the part of him that was human and could love.

Until he was cold and faceless and numb.

Until he could stand in his kitchen and not care about the space on the counter where he'd pressed her to kiss her.

Until he could look at the alcove by the fireplace where they'd vowed to love each other forever and not cry.

Until he could turn his back on all the memories, open up the bank of monitors and databases in the wall, call the lawyers, and make all the decisions, and dot all the i's and cross all the t's.

Until he could check that all the copies of all the papers were in the safe, exactly as he'd told her they would be.

Until he could slide off his wedding ring, place it and his phone in front of the picture of Talia on his bedside, and walk out without looking back.