Page 112 of Crave Me

She links her arms around my neck, whispering against my cheek. “I really needed to hear you say that.”

My tone is heavy, the residual anger tainting it regardless of how good it feels to have her close. “I can’t forget what happened,” I confess, wishing I could tell her otherwise.

“I know,” she says, glancing in the direction of the wall of windows where only darkness waits. “I’d give anything to erase what you saw.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I interrupt. My palm falls to her hip. “I can’t forget how he exploited your innocence and how badly he hurt you.”

“You think I’m innocent?” Her gaze skims to my chest. “After everything we’ve done?”

I lift her chin with my thumb and kiss her gently. “Your kindness and dedication to those around you, and the way you care for me and them comes from a pure place. If that doesn’t make you innocent from harm or malicious intent, I can’t imagine what does.”

“You’re all sorts of sweet,” she tells me quietly.

“I mean it. But there’s something I need to remind you of so we can move on.”

She stills, waiting it seems for my final judgment to pass. Perhaps it’s what she’s used to. But an unkind word or thought will never come from me again.

“I love you,” I rasp.

Her eyes shut as if in pain. My lips skim hers from side to side, the depth of my love trickling with each pass.

“I love you,” I say again, pulling her closer, speaking low into her ear. “Just as I know you love me.”

Her head falls forward and onto my shoulder, heavy from the burden she carried for too long. She’s fighting not to cry. I can tell by how harsh her breaths come.

I hold her, refusing to let her go.

I never want to let her go.

Time slips by, in seconds, then minutes, then more. We let it, allowing this moment to heal as much as it can.

She lifts her head when I trail my fingers along the curve of her side. If she cried, I don’t see any trace of her tears. What I see is a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she says.

“Always,” I reply.

“Can we go home? Please? I don’t want to be there without you.”

“Very well,” I stroke her chin. “But there’s one more thing I need to tell you.”

Worry puckers her brow. “What’s wrong?”

I sigh. “We needed a minimum of fifty hospitals to commit to one of our products from the Mechanicus line. It’s the only way to keep the company running these next few months.”

“Right,” she says, remembering the aggressive sales tactics I implemented, and how I sent our entire team of reps to pitch to over two hundred hospitals across the country.

“As of today, we have one hundred and eighty-seven,” I reply, doing my best to tame my smile so I may finish. “Each committing to a minimum of two products in addition to the thirty-four I sold to my contacts in Europe.”

I expect her to throw her arms around me, or perhaps leap up screaming. Instead her eyes warm and she smiles softly. “You saved your company.”

No. I launched it into the cosmos as she predicted. I don’t remind her, she already realizes. “You don’t seem surprised,” I point out.

“Because I’m not.” Her fingers gingerly stroke my temple. “I knew you’d make it right.”

“Regardless of what we were up against?”

“Yes.” Her stare glistens. “Evan. . . . You always make everything right.”

My hand glides through her hair, palming the base of her skull and drawing her to me.

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