“Be mine,” I begged in a jagged whisper against his lips. “Stay married to me. For real this time.”

“It’s been real for me for a long time, Silas,” he admitted. “I was too scared to tell you.”

We kissed over and over, until I forgot where I ended and he began. I was too bone-tired to want more than this, but I was too scared to let him go.

When Way’s stomach growled, I finally pulled away. “I said I’d feed you, didn’t I?”

“I assumed you meant your tongue.”

“Thank you for coming,” I said, meeting his eye so he would see how much it had meant to me.

“You’re my husband. Where else would I be?”

I reached for the food and pulled out several items. A sports drink, a bottle of water, chips, peanut butter cups, a protein bar, and two bananas sat in a motley collection on the coffee table. I leaned over to turn on a nearby lamp. “Help yourself.”

He stared at the meagre selection. “The man has a penthouse and access to a private jet, and this is the meal he serves me?”

“Oh. Right. About that.” Heat rushed to my face. “I’m, ah… rich. Richer than your average corporate strategist.”

Way barked out a laugh. “You don’t say.”

“I wanted to tell you. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you.” I felt a pinch of guilt. “Okay, maybe I didn’t trust you at first.”

His eyebrows shot up. “The legal agreement.”

I nodded. “But I found out a couple of weeks ago that it’s non-binding. Kenji pointed out I gave the attorneys the wrong wording. I asked for a statement of intent, and it should have been a contract. Kenji tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.”

Way’s lips quirked into a teasing smile. “So why didn’t you get me to sign a contract at that point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I realized it didn’t matter. First of all, you aren’t the type of guy to use me like that. Secondly, if you needed money…”

“You’d give it to me,” he said softly, his smile still taunting me.

I leaned forward to taste his lips. “I’d give it to you,” I murmured. “Anything.”

We spent several more long minutes kissing, reconnecting—or maybe connecting on a whole new level, with no lies or pretenses between us any longer—before Way’s stomach grumbled again. After that, I force-fed him snacks before leading him to my bedroom.

On the way down the hall, we passed a framed photo of me with my friends celebrating at a bar the night we’d sold ETC.

“You going to tell me about the money?” he asked. “I get the feeling it has something to do with why you’re so close to these guys.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Let’s see…” He began ticking things off on his fingers. “They all seemed very comfortable with private plane travel. None of them mentioned work conflicts while taking an indefinite amount of time off to help the exhibition. Dev didn’t seem to spare a thought in hiring someone to trailer his horse and personal vehicle across the country. And you live in a massive luxury penthouse across from Central Park.”

“You’re right.” I pulled him over to the foot of my bed and nudged him to sit down before I knelt to remove his shoes. “We invented a software program back in college. At first, it was for a class project, but then we saw the potential and continued perfecting it until it became a really big deal. It’s called ETC. Remember the emergency traffic control program?—”

“The really expensive one you got installed in Majestic after finding us a ‘grant’? Yeah, I remember. You created that?” His voice was high with disbelief.

I nodded. “We founded a company called Sterling Chase to facilitate the sale of the software in an effort to hide the true ownership.” I set his shoes aside and reached to peel off his socks. Way’s fingers made their way into my hair until I felt the familiar light scratch of his fingernails on my scalp. “When our families found out we were selling a software program, they all started clamoring for financial support. It became… a problem. A big problem, actually.”

“Shit. I can imagine. My father would have had a long list of expectations if that had happened to me.”

I nodded and moved closer to him, nudging his knees apart so I could reach the hem of his shirt. The idea of getting Waylon Fletcher into my very own bed was intoxicating and distracting, but I wanted to tell him this story first. “It gets worse. Dev’s brother begged him for a sports car. A really fucking expensive Bugatti Veyron. Dev didn’t want to do it, said he had a bad feeling about it since his brother was young and irresponsible. But the kid swore he wouldn’t drive it too fast and he’d treat it like gold.”

I took a breath. “He and a buddy had been out drinking and got stupid. They took the car for a drive. Spun off the road and into a tree. Both of them died instantly. Dev’s parents blamed him. Hell, Dev blames himself even now. Even though it happened several years ago, he’s never been able to kick the grief and guilt. That’s why I was so relieved he agreed to come to the ranch. He’s happiest when he can be around horses and away from the traffic of the city.”

Way’s hand moved from my hair to the side of my face. His thumb brushed across my cheek. “I can’t imagine his pain. But obviously, it wasn’t his fault. He could have been just as stupid in an old Ford truck.”