“I am not mortified,” he whispered, burying his face against her neck. “I am… awed. Beyond words. You honor me, Anna Seaton. You honor me unbelievably.”

He should say more, he knew, but his heart was pounding again, and she could probably feel that, so tightly was he clutching her to him. He should say that he loved her, for he certainly did, but he could not speak, could not contain with words the emotions rioting through him.

“Westhaven?” Anna stroked his back, her tone wary. “Are you well?”

“No,” he said, feeling—merciful God—tears thicken in his throat as he held her even tighter. “I am not exactly well. I am…fucked silly.”

And he meant it in every possible way.

“I tell you that was her,” Stull hissed. “I know my girls, Helmsley, and that’s my little Morgan.”