“Don’t feel guilt for being happy, baby,” Jensen murmured in her ear.

She swung her gaze upward, her mouth gaping. “How the hell do you do that?”

He chuckled. “Do what? Read your mind? It didn’t take ESP to figure out what you were thinking. One minute you looked like you swallowed sunshine and as soon as you saw Chessy, your mouth drooped, you lost the smile and you looked guilty. Don’t be, baby. You deserve to be happy and Chessy would be the first one to say so. She’d never trade your happiness for her own.”

Kylie shook her head in amazement. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said with a smile.

Still shaking her head, Kylie went over to plop down beside Chessy. She wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulders and hugged her fiercely.

“Chin up, girlfriend. Isn’t that what you always tell me? You always have such wonderful advice, so I’m going to give you back some of what you’ve always given me so freely. Don’t let this get you down. You’ll kick Tate’s ass and then he’ll grovel for your forgiveness, and you being you will forgive him and y’all will live happily ever after.”

Chessy grinned. Some of the shadows lifted from her eyes and the sparkle was back. Kylie’s heart surged with relief. This was Chessy. Not the shell of herself she’d become lately. Chessy just . . . sparkled. But it was as Joss had said. She only sparkled when she was happy. Damn Tate’s thick skull for not seeing his wife’s unhappiness.

“I swear you fall in love and then you become positively arrogant. I like it! It’s so . . . you.”

“It’s the new me,” Kylie said blithely. “The old me? Not so much. But she’s gone now and I like the new me much better.”

“I love you both,” Chessy said. “There was nothing wrong with the old you except you weren’t happy. Now you are. That’s the only difference.”

“It’s not, but I love you for saying so,” Kylie said.

Joss came sailing in and handed Chessy a plate with a huge piece of caramel pie. Dash appeared with two glasses of wine for Chessy and Kylie, and Chessy clinked her glass to Kylie’s.

“Here’s to kicking ass. Regardless of whose.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Kylie said.

TWENTY-FIVE

KYLIE’S heart was a little heavier on the way home than when they’d driven to Dash’s and Joss’s for dinner. But even concern for her friend couldn’t dissipate her optimistic outlook on her future.

She slid her hand into Jensen’s and rested them on the center console as he drove back to his—their—home. When had she started considering his home her own? She hadn’t been back to her house more than a handful of times since Jensen had all but moved her into his house. Only to get clothes and other items she needed.

There had been absolutely no mention of her returning to her house. But neither had they directly addressed the issue of her moving in. Jensen had just hauled her into his house and informed her she was staying.

Wow, she really was mellowing with age and experience. Amusement gripped her as she imagined someone telling her a month ago that she and Jensen would be an item and that he’d hauled her out of her office caveman-style and told her she wasn’t going anywhere.

She would have laughed herself silly.

And yet, here she was, in love. Happy. Living with Jensen. Having sex.

She winced over the word sex. True, it was sex but it seemed a crass description of their lovemaking. She’d never fully considered the difference between sex and “making love.” She’d never had any reason to. And she certainly hadn’t imagined herself having sex. With any man, but especially a man like Jensen.

While her experience might be limited, she did know the difference between mindless sex and actually making love. It was silly of her to be having this argument, or rather, discussion with herself. The old Kylie wasn’t into self-reflection or analysis and she certainly had never entertained the idea of making love.

And yet that was absolutely the right description for the intimacy she and Jensen had created. Sex was . . . Well, it was sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Making love involved so much more. Trust. Mutual respect. And well, love.

“You’re quiet, baby.”

She glanced over to see Jensen give her a sideways glance as he turned into their neighborhood.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said with a wry smile. “I was pondering the differences between having sex and making love.”

One of his eyebrows went up. “Do tell. This sounds like an interesting conversation you were having with yourself.”

She laughed. “I’m being silly and philosophical all at the same time.”

“And? Are you going to enlighten me or leave me ignorant of this epiphany you had?”

She squeezed his hand, enjoying just . . . being with him. Happy. She’d never used the word happy so much in her entire life as she had these last weeks with Jensen.

“I was thinking that sex was not the right word for what we do,” she said, a little embarrassed to get all “girly” with him.

But he didn’t laugh, nor did he indicate she was in any way being silly. He squeezed her hand back and stroked his thumb over the back of her knuckles.

“For the first time in my life I truly recognize the difference between having sex and making love.”

Even as she said it, she wished she would have kept her mouth shut. She couldn’t imagine him agreeing with her when both times he’d been tied to the bed. Hardly the hallmark of traditional lovemaking. She was embarrassed and suddenly ashamed by the fact that she acknowledged her love for a man when she didn’t trust him to make love to her.

“Baby, what is that look for?” Jensen said quietly as he pulled into the drive and turned off the engine.

“I wish I hadn’t said anything,” she replied honestly.

“Why?”

There was obvious incredulity in his voice. He’d turned sideways in his seat so he could see her more fully.

She closed her eyes. “Because for all my declarations of love and trust, I haven’t shown you either. Actions speak far louder than words and I doubt most people would consider you being tied to a bed ‘making love.’”

“Now you’re just pissing me off,” he said in a near growl.

She blinked, returning her gaze to him. He’d never gotten angry with her. Oh, it was inevitable. What couple didn’t argue or get pissed off at each other occasionally? But indeed he did look . . . pissed.

“I’m not having this conversation in the fucking car,” he said, opening his door. “But we are having it. Inside.”

She hesitantly opened her door, instant agitation buzzing through her mind. Her heart fluttered and her pulse jumped up. As she got out, she swallowed back the fear that gripped her by the throat.

She was being an idiot. No matter how angry Jensen became with her, he’d never hurt her. She knew that. And yet at the first sign of his anger, her reaction had been one of wariness. Anger equaled violence in her world. The two had always gone hand in hand during her childhood. She hated arguing. Hated confrontations even though her prickly, bitchy persona would indicate differently.

Jensen waited for her in front of the car and she curled her fingers into her palms, wondering if she should reach for his hand. It’s what she would have done anytime they’d gone out and returned home. Only now she wasn’t so certain even as she admonished herself for being such nitwit.

Jensen put his hand on her shoulder, his gaze intent as he stared down at her. “Are you afraid of me?”

There was such shocked recognition in his eyes that she flinched. She was making matters worse with every passing second.

“No. Yes. No, damn it, I’m not!”

She shook her head for emphasis but he didn’t move. Didn’t look at all like he believed her. Who could blame him? She’d contradicted herself in just those few words she’d spoken.

She closed her eyes and exhaled in a long rush.

“I’m not afraid of you, Jensen. I’m afraid of anger. The repercussions of anger. It took me off guard. I haven’t pissed you off yet, certainly not for lack of trying on my part,” she said in disgust. “So I wasn’t expecting it. Had no time to steel myself or tell myself what an idiot I’m being. Fear was my natural, instinctive reaction. I hate arguing. I hate confrontations. I’d normally do anything at all to avoid them. And I know we’ll argue. I don’t expect us to be perfect. I don’t even know why fear struck me the way it did. Well, I do know,” she said, her voice trailing off.

“Come inside with me, Kylie,” he said, his voice quiet but also tender.

She glanced back up at him to see the warmth in his eyes. His sincerity. His love for her and his understanding.

He tugged her hand and guided her to the front door. Once inside, he directed her toward the bedroom.

“Get undressed for bed,” he said. “We’ll talk while I’m holding you.”

Relief fluttered through her throat and chest. They were okay. She was okay.

She changed into a pair of pajamas while he stripped down to his boxers. Then he climbed into bed, pulling back the covers and patting the spot beside him.

She went readily, snuggling up against his body. Her self-admonishment from earlier still rang in her mind. It was time to back her words with action. Prove to him that she did trust him. She could start by being more openly affectionate and willing to get close to him without coaxing.

“Now, I want you to listen to me,” he said in a firm voice.