And he bursts into tears and reaches out to hug me close.

I have to admit, this is not the way I pictured our reunion. I pat his back awkwardly and give Daisy a helpless glance as Mike hugs me and blubbers on my shoulder. He’s so thankful to see me alive again, he says between gulping sobs. He thought I was dead.

And then he pulls back and tries to kiss me, and I recoil.

“Don’t,” I say. I don’t want to be kissed by him, ever again.

He looks shocked that I pull away from him. “What’s wrong? Baby, are you okay?”

“What’s wrong? Mike, I know you’re with Becca.” I can see her shit on his kitchen counter from where I’m standing.

He shakes his head, and his face is a little paler. I notice that he starts to close the door to his apartment behind him, blocking our view, and I fight the urge to giggle when sweet little Daisy rolls her eyes at this move. “No, baby. That was, you know, a thing. We were comforting each other.”

“Uh-huh,” I say flatly. “How fast did you two start comforting each other? I’m curious. Was it a day or two after I was kidnapped or did you wait a whole week?”

Judging from the ugly flush that crosses his cheeks, I’m not hitting far off the mark. He’s embarrassed. “It’s not like that, Regan. I was . . . so upset when you disappeared.” He squeezes my shoulder and gets choked up again. “I kept drinking, and Becca came over to talk some sense into me. And she . . . kinda never left.”

“You make it sound like Becca hopped onto your dick.”

He shakes his head again and tries to rub my arm, but I bat his hand away. “Baby, you know I love you and only you.” He smiles at me through his tears. “Are you . . . are you okay?”

“Better than you,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that it’s the truth. He’s got snot running down his face, and he’s a mess. His shirt’s filthy, stained with breakfast. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or two, and his hair is greasy. He does look like he’s gone through hell.

Which is ironic since I’m the one that went through hell, not him. But when his eyes tear up again, I find myself patting him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you meant badly by it, Mike,” I say. “I’m sure you were hurting and lonely. And it’s always been all about you.”

“What?” he says, as if he didn’t hear me right.

“Did you even look for me, Mike? Or did you hear I was missing, throw your hands up, and start fucking my old BFF?”

His eyes dart back and forth from my impassive face to Daisy’s, looking for sympathy. He won’t find any here. “Why are you blaming me?” he says in a sad voice. “I did everything I could. The police said they would handle it.”

“I’m sure they did,” I say. And maybe in his mind, Mike thinks that he did do everything. Maybe he can go to sleep at night knowing he placed a few phone calls and was appropriately sad that his girlfriend disappeared. Maybe that’s all that’s required for Mike.

But I think of Daniel. I think of him searching through the hellish streets and digging through brothels for a year and a half, looking for Naomi. I think of all we went through together. And I know if I went missing, he’d tear the world apart to try and find me.

He’d never stop.

And . . . I smile. I’m with the right man. I might have had to go through hell to get to his side, but I’m where I need to be now.

Mike returns my smile tentatively, but he’s clearly confused. “You want to come in, honey?”

“No,” I tell him. “And I’m not your honey anymore. Becca is now.” I clasp his hand. “I hope you two are very happy together.”

“But . . . no,” Mike begins. “Regan, I want you—”

I shake my head. “I’m here to give you closure, Mike.” I give his hand a little squeeze. “You and I are done. I’ve moved on, and you did, too.”

He starts to cry again, and Daisy’s expressive face has gone from scowling to horrified all over again, which I’ll laugh about later when I tell Daniel all about this. “But, Regan, I love you, not Becca.”

“Then I suggest you give her some closure, too,” I say lightly and give him an impulsive hug. I pull away before he can entangle me in his arms again. “Goodbye, Mike.”

I hear his blubbering goodbye as Daisy and I walk down the hall. He doesn’t come after me. Mike’s not the type. And before, I wasn’t the type of girl that thought she needed that kind of guy.

Guess we’ve both changed.

Daniel

REGAN TELLS ME THAT SHE has visited Mike and that he’s happy she’s moved on. I give two shits about Mike’s mental state and still think that I’d be doing the world a favor by putting him down like the diseased worthless dog he is, but I figure Regan would not be okay with that. All that really matters is that she’s happy.

We had a good time visiting her parents again. They still treat me like I’m a god—as if falling in love while she has amnesia is some great accomplishment. The one good thing about visiting her parents is that they give us a ton of food that Regan and I eat for a couple days after. Maybe I should look into a cooking class. Regan’s not the best cook, and neither am I. One of us is going to have to learn to operate the stove for something other than heating up soup.

I did make a mistake of complaining about the cold, which prompted her dad to produce an old jacket that made me look like I was the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Later that night she had us watch Ghostbusters, which was, she said, sort of a horror movie. Regan asked me to put on the jacket, and she stuck two pieces of paper on my head to mimic the creature’s hat. I did so because she was laughing so hard that there were happy tears in her eyes. I would act out mime sketches in the park if it would keep that jaw-dropping smile on her face. But she agreed I needed warmer clothes, so the next day we went to one of the banks where Naomi had deposited the money she stole from the drug dealers. Regan was stunned by the amount. I kind of expected it. Naomi had been treated well primarily because she was so valuable.

“You can be a lady of leisure,” I joke as we leave the bank. I’d just wanted enough cash to buy my own jacket, one that didn’t feel like I was walking around wearing two pillows stitched together, but the amount in this one account leaves me thinking I could buy that island compound.

“That sounds terrible,” she says. “I’d go crazy sitting around doing nothing.”

“On the bright side, it’s a good thing you know about accounting.”

“I don’t think my calculator goes up that high,” she answers with disgruntlement.

Kissing her forehead, I place an arm around her shoulder as we walk to the bus stop. “Just think, you can put a sticker on your backpack that says ‘My other bag is Hermes.’”

She punches me in the gut, but the padding of the coat completely shields me. Huh, maybe this is good for something.

I keep myself busy doing handyman work for Nick. For a guy who could watch a mark for hours without moving, he’s showing surprisingly little patience with the mundane things around the apartment building.

“You really think that being a landlord is the right occupation for you?” I call after Nick’s retreating back as he stomps out of the first floor apartment to turn the water off. We are attempting to hook up the sink, but apparently we’ve done something wrong. I’m pretty good at breaking shit, shooting guns, and running cattle—but wiring and plumbing? That’s like trying to figure out the inner workings of a female mind. It takes time and patience, neither of which Nick is displaying nor am I interested in exerting.

Regan is off at the university trying to argue that she should be allowed to take her tests and get her degree, rather than go through an entire semester’s worth of classes again. One thing about living in a world with rules, you can’t hold a gun to someone’s head and force them to do your will. Or I guess I could, but Regan wouldn’t allow that. I flip the wrench in my hand. It’s heavy and the ratchet end would do a lot of damage. I could kill a man with a well-placed blow to the temple. Definitely incapacitate someone by a strike to the knee or the elbow. I swing out my arm to test the air resistance against the heavy steel tool.

“What are you doing?”

Jerking up, I see Regan at the door left ajar by Nick. “Ah, nothing?” I prevaricate, moving from my lunge position where I was kneecapping an imaginary foe with my new weapon. Guiltily, I set the wrench behind me on the counter and stride toward her.

“Looks like you were practicing some kind of assassin moves.” Skepticism is clear in her face and voice.

Pulling Regan into my arms, I place wet kisses along the column of her throat. “You never know when I’ll need to protect you from a spider or cockroach. I can’t allow my skills to get rusty.”

Tilting her head the side, she allows me greater access to the sensitive skin on her neck. She shudders when I reach the hidden spot behind her ear. Her arms slide around me and thoughts of home repair drop out of my head to be replaced by the feel of her lush body against mine. Regan’s been eating regularly since we've left Brazil, and it looks good on her—not to mention how much I enjoy the feel of her roundness in my palms.

“God, you are so fucking hot. Let's go upstairs.” Without waiting for a response, I lift her over my shoulder and squeeze one delectable ass cheek.

“I’m losing all the blood in my head,” she complains.

“Not to worry. Soon it will be between your legs.” This is a good position because she can’t see my smug expression.

“That’s you, baby boy.”

“I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Huge Dicked Daniel.”

My reward is a few more pummels to my back, but those little punches turn to caresses once we are inside the bedroom and my head is between her legs. Her hands knead my shoulders as I concentrate on the taste and smell of her fantastic pussy.

When I finally do enter her, she rewards me with a dreamy smile and a breathy observation. “You do have a huge cock, Daniel.”

“It’s getting bigger with every compliment,” I grunt, clutching the flesh at her hips and driving hard into her sweet warmth.

“It’s humongous. Bigger than an elephant.”

My quakes are from laughter, and I allow her to flip me over and ride me like I’m a wild mustang. Sex with Regan is glorious—fun, intense, passionate.

After a sweaty bout of bed play, Regan swirls her index finger in the whorls of my chest hair. If I had any sensation left in my body this might have been ticklish, but she has worn me out.

“You seem restless lately.”

“I think we need a bigger bed. Not enough room in here to really do everything that I’ve been fantasizing about.”

She tugs on a few hairs. “I’m serious. I’m worried about you. I don’t think general handyman is what you want to do for the rest of your life.”

I roll her over and pin her arms above her head. “If the rest of my life is spent with you, then it’s all good. That’s the only thing I have going on of any importance.”

“Then you should stick your cock inside me again.” Her voice is playful, but her eyes contain a worry I don’t really know how to dispel. “Do you want to go home?”

“I am home.” I’m not deliberately misunderstanding Regan. It’s the truth. My home is with her. “As long as you love me, I’m complete.” She looks like she wants to protest or argue some more, but I’ve got other ideas. Swinging her up in my arms, I carry her to the shower, where I show her how good home feels. It doesn’t matter that I can’t go home until Naomi is done with her thing in Russia because I wouldn’t leave Regan anyway. Not for all the ranch land in Texas.

The next day, I’m back working on the sink. Nick’s at art class, and I’m getting a lot done without him around to curse in Ukrainian and kick the pipes. The bathroom sinks are connected, and I have to add a U trap and connect the garbage disposal and I’ll be done. Regan is wrong. I’m getting the hang of the fix-it stuff, and I don’t mind it. I’m so caught up in my work that I don’t hear the door open or the footsteps that trample into the apartment. I don’t even realize I’m not alone until I crawl out from underneath the sink to see my old man standing next to Regan, looking like he’s about thirty years older than his actual age.

“Dad,” I say warily, pulling off the leather work gloves and tossing them into the sink. “You’re a long way from the ranch.” I can’t remember the last time my old man left Texas. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

“It was a direct flight from Dallas,” he says shortly and looks around the room at everything but me. I take the opportunity to look quizzically at Regan, but she just smiles mysteriously. “Nice place.”