“That bastard had his hands all over you. You preferred that to a moment’s embarrassment?”

“No, I…” She didn’t know what to say to make this better. Christ, he was furious; his eyes were midnight blue. “I’m sorry, okay?”

His stare travelled between each of her dark irises, searching for honesty in her words. He pulled her closer. “You’re not sorry. You put yourself in such fucking trouble to prove what? That you can take care of yourself? Or more likely that no one gives a shit about you? Why are you so goddamn blind?”

He was gripping her in the same place as Thug One had, and it was really starting to hurt. “Nick, let go,” she said firmly.

“No.”

She blinked. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Exactly what the word means. No. So this is me, showing you that I give a shit.”

Closing her eyes, Morgaine let the tears that had gathered in her eyes fall. She’d never not been liked, and it hurt to think when she actually finally cared about someone, that someone didn’t care about her. That session had been her hardest to date because she didn’t find an answer that would appease her. Each day that she began to rework the fabric of her life into the vision she had for herself, she kept reaching a snag—Leland. She couldn’t describe the pull that kept guiding her to him, but it tugged and she followed.

She resisted the urge to cry. Morgaine knew this connection she felt for Leland wasn’t a result of the trauma she’d experienced as a child. This was about the two of them, and if she could just get that stubborn bastard to acknowledge what they had, life would be so much better.