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But she could handle regret.
Or anyway, she hoped she could.
Hadn’t she already?
“Am I yours?” she asked him. “Truly?”
She saw something flare in his gaze, that brilliant shot of heat. And she could feel it inside her, far better than those other feelings of shame or horror.
Or this deep sadness she doubted would ever really leave her.
“You know you are,” he said, his voice low.
Thick. Hot.
And threaded through with a hint of deeply male satisfaction. Because, she knew, he thought he’d won.
For there was nothing Crete Asgar loved more than winning.
Especially not her.
But Timoney held out her arms anyway, because this was for her, not him. “Then prove it.”
