She gave me a bland smile. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, of course. You saw my ID. It looked legit, right?”

I sighed. Even her wording was incriminating, and I didn’t think that was an accident. “It did. But it needs to do more than look legit.”

“Quit stressing yourself out, baby. Some things you just need to trust me on.”

That right there riled me faster than just about anything else could.

“Trust you? How about you start telling me the truth about things, start giving me the whole story, and then we can talk about trust.”

“I trust you,” she said quietly. “Always have. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”

“I know you’ve lied to me. My gut tells me that you lie to me more than you tell me the truth. What am I supposed to do with that? How does that add up to any kind of trust? Go ahead, try to tell me you haven’t lied to me.”

“Yes, I’ve lied. I’m a liar.” Her tone was so calm and matter of fact that it had my fists clenching on the steering wheel. “I grew up surrounded by lies, they were something I had to, have to navigate to survive. That doesn’t mean you and I aren’t real. It doesn’t make my I love you any less true.”

I’d been trying hard not to bring that up, but since she had . . . “Bullshit. I can’t believe you said that. You barely know me, certainly not enough to be sure you love me.”

“I do know you, Dair. I know you’re kind. I know you’re good. I know you’re stubborn and more loving, more nurturing than even you realize. I know you, Dair, in every way that counts. And I am sure of you, and how I feel. I think you’re confusing things. It’s you that’s not sure.”

I swallowed hard, flushing at the things that wanted to come out of my mouth. I’d never been good with these kinds of words. “I know you’re giving. I know you’re kind. I know you’re smart, and beautiful, and too good to be true.”

And, of course, that last bit was the whole problem.

“I know nothing about your past,” I added.

“We aren’t defined by our pasts,” she shot back. “We are who we are. You don’t have to know where I grew up, what year I was born, to know the woman in front of you.”

We were at the house, and I pulled into the garage, turning off the car.

We said not a word to each other as we went inside, then up to my room.

We got ready for bed in silence.

We were lying down on our sides, me wrapped around her from behind, before she broke it.

“I love you,” she said, voice quiet and firm.

“You can’t possibly know that yet,” I chastised, though every time she said those words it felt like balm on my bruised heart.

“Fine. I won’t say it again, if it bothers you that much.”

My gut clenched at the finality in her voice, but I knew it was for the best.

“I don’t have good judgement when it comes to you,” I said into the darkness, breaking another long silence that had overtaken us.

She shifted, turning until her face was buried in my chest.

I burrowed my face into her hair, breathing in her scent.

She pulled my head down until she could speak into my ear. “Maybe good judgement is overrated. Maybe it’s time for you to be bad.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

She stayed for three days. It was heaven.

The only hell was knowing that she’d leave again.

It was on the second morning, as I was taking her from behind, bright sunlight streaming over her lovely back, that I noticed an unusual scar on the soft spot just inside of her shoulder blade, a few inches from her spine. It was a small circle, about the size of the tip of my finger. It was very precise.

I finished inside of her, on my knees behind her. She was on all fours.

We were still panting, recovering, when I traced the scar softly.

“What’s this from?” I asked her.

She wiggled a bit, to distract me, I thought.

I pulled out, determined to get answers before I went off the deep end again. “It’s unusual. Tell me how it happened?”

She sighed, and rolled onto her back, her thighs sprawling wide apart.

Another blatant distraction that I had to work hard to overlook.

“You really want to know?” she asked, and just from the light tone of her voice, I didn’t figure she was going to give me the truth.

“Yes,” I said anyway, because even her lies told me something.

“It’s a bullet wound. I was shot. Curiosity killed the cat and all that, but I still have a few lives left.”

My whole body tensed up.

She caught my expression and burst out laughing. “Oh Dair. You should see your face. You’re too much.”

She did such a good job of mixing lies and half-truths that I couldn’t decide what she was using on me just then. “So if that’s a bullet wound, who shot you?”

She shrugged, still smiling. “I was kidding. It was an accident at camp one year. Some kid poked me with a burning stick. Don’t even remember his name.”

I continued to scrutinize her.

The way she operated, one of those was a lie, one the truth, or at least half a truth.

The first one, I decided, the way she’d thrown it out so teasingly, purposely throwing me off.

“It’s a bullet wound,” I said, sure of it now, and sick to my stomach at the thought. “Who shot you?”