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She shoved at him.

They both stood breathing hard.

His forehead rested briefly against hers before he stepped back, giving her space. “You feel it too,” he said quietly.

Dammit, she hated that he sounded so certain. “I don’t want what you’re offering.” She opened the Bronco door.

“You don’t even know what I’m offering.”

“Yes, I do.” She climbed behind the wheel before her resolve failed. “You want forever.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew she was right. He was a forever kind of man.

She started the engine. “And I can’t give you that.”

His face remained unreadable beneath the flood light.

“You need to move on, Ronan.” She shifted into reverse. “Find someone who isn’t broken.” Before he could answer, she pulled the door closed and backed out of the parking space.

She refused to look at him again.

But halfway down the street, she caught herself lifting her fingers to her swollen lips.

And cursed all over again.

*

The nightmare came that night.

The birthday dinner.

Her grandfather at the head of the table. His cronies flanking him. Her father there too — worthless piece of human garbage that he was.

And there was cake.

A large square one, iced in white. Thirteen candles burning bright.

And vodka. Lots of vodka.

And her.

Just her with a room full of lascivious men.

Her older sister had left the compound two months earlier. Tatiana was married now. To an important man. Living a life high above the streets of New York.

Nessa was too young to join the festivities.

But the two of them had celebrated earlier.

Cook had made cupcakes, and they’d slipped out to the back garden, sat side by side on the swings, eating their treats and dreaming of a life far, far away. Across the ocean. Free from … obligation.

“Tati says it’s not so bad,” she’d told her little sister, the sun warm on their faces, birds darting through the trees.

Nessa had snorted.

Even three years younger, Inessa had known she was talking nonsense.

Because it was bad.