I smiled back at him. Or at least I was pretty sure that’s what my face did.
There it was. Proof that Swiss and the club really could and would help me. They had a whole organization established to keep women safe from violent husbands. Well, at the very least, keep them safe while they left those violent husbands.
But I’d already left mine.
And getting their help would mean revealing a whole other part of me. One I was not willing to share with Swiss.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
I took a deep breath and looked up at him, trying my best to hide the sorrow that was reaching my fingertips with the knowledge my time with this man was truly running out.
My eyes met his and I leaned into his touch. His smell. The safety of his presence.
There it was again. The truth. On the tip of my tongue. I could say it all now. We could figure this out together. He would not let me leave, once he knew the truth, I knew that. He would not let me face Preston alone. He would not let Preston hurt me.
I knew all of these things. Knew he cared about me.
No.
He cared about the Kate he’d met at the club. The Kate who drank beer and wore ripped jeans, who partied, who cooked, who worked in a coffee shop.
I wasn’t at all sure how he’d feel about the other Kate. The one I was hiding.
“I’ll miss you,” I said quietly, opting for a much smaller, much simpler truth. “But you should stay longer to do that, help that woman,” I added, thinking of what courage it must’ve taken for her to make the call to the club. Make the decision to leave. She deserved to have Swiss standing there, protecting her.
He searched my face. I worried about what he’d find there, even though I knew he couldn’t possibly read my mind.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said, voice husky, forehead resting against mine. “Vision of me fuckin’ my Countess against a brick wall in broad daylight is gonna have me rushin’ home to you, though.”
My body warmed at his throaty tone, at the reality of what he’d just said.
“Home to you.”
Three small words that filled me up.
Even though they were based on a lie.
A lie that would keep me up later.