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All those times that they’d been together. When he’d pulled her earlobe between his teeth and growled into her ear, it felt like a physical wound. It hadn’t been her name.
The first time that he’d buried himself inside of her and groaned out her name, it hadn’t really been hers.
As beautiful and delicious as it had been welcoming him inside of her, she’d been somehow as empty as she was full. The name he’d called out when he’d come, had been a ghost of sorts. And it had all been her fault.
Had there been any possibility that he could have been the traitor she was looking for, there was no way she would have given him access to her body.
As much as he’d insinuated that she’d made love to him as part of her work, that had never been the case.
She’d loved him.
Loved him still.
She knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d ever forgive her for what she did.
She had to live with that knowledge.
But she didn’t know how she’d ever forgive herself, so they were even.
Her only hope was that she didn’t have to work with him often. Or at all.
Fate and Hank Patterson couldn’t be that cruel.
Right?
