“That’s it. Thanks Hank.” He ends the call and leans into my hand. Says nothing as the car screams down the 280.

That night, in bed, the television turned down, his arms wrapped around me, I feel his worry. Feel the moment when his brain works through all of the possibilities the last three years has brought.

“Have I cheated on you?” His voice is low against my neck, a thread of hope in it that I am asleep. I roll, staying close, looking up into his face.

“Never.”

“But… as Lee… I never had…”

I lean forward and kiss him. “You did, but it wasn’t cheating.”

“Don’t justify it, Lana. If I kissed… touched other women… I was unfaithful to you.”

“I did some pretty despicable things to win you over,” I say. “Things I’m not proud of.”

He frowns. “With men?”

I slap his chest. “No!” The dark leaves his eyes and it is his turn to steal a kiss, this one deeper, his hands pulling me atop him as he rolls us over. “God,” he whispers, his hands sliding down my back and cupping the meat of my ass, squeezing it so hard it hurts. “There were so many nights I watched you sleep and wondered if you were cheating. Wondered what you were keeping from me.”

I pull back, sat up on him, the flickering light from the television illuminating the torture of his face. “What? You never said anything to me.”

“What would I have said? Accused you of cheating?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what you should have done. I can’t believe you didn’t confront me.” I frown, unsure why exactly my feelings are a little hurt over the omission. We have always been so forthright. So honest. At least about everything except the previous giant hole of deception.

“I didn’t want to lose you, Lana.” He reaches up, running the fingers of one hand up into my hair, his brow furrowed as he pulls me almost to his lips, his other hand pulling me tightly to him, his need hard against me. “I was worried,” he whispers, “that you might—”

“Never be worried.” I breathe, taking his kiss when he forces it on me, the crush of his lips as his hand grounds me hard, my hips moving underneath his push, rocking me back and forth against the heat of his cock, my panties sticking to me, the extra friction maddening in its delicious rub. I pant against his mouth. “You will have me forever. You always have.”

He rolls us as a unit, his hand rough between our bodies, pulling my panties aside and the top of his underwear down, until the barriers between us are removed and the push of him is suddenly inside me. Oh my God. It is a first, Brant giving me himself bare. Even though I’d had it with Lee, it is different. Everything has always been different between them. Their kiss, their touch, their f**k. Brant shoves inside, I open my legs, pull him into me with greedy hands, and cry out his name as he thrusts in every bit of his possession with strokes that reprint his name on my soul.

Without the lies, without the secrets… it is better than it has ever been. I break beneath his body and sign away the last bit of my heart to this man. This complicated, layered, brilliant man. Owner of my soul.

Chapter 67

WEDNESDAY

Dr. Terra, the specialist, flies in to San Francisco from Dallas, arriving in the afternoon. Brant had spoken to him yesterday, stressing the need for an immediate meeting. The man has cleared his schedule for the entire week upon Brant’s mention of generous compensation. I guess DID billionaires are few and far between.

We are waiting at the private airport when Dr. Terra lands, Brant’s frame rising at the sight of the jet. I can feel his nerves, the jump on his skin when touched, the shake of his knees that indicates an abundance of jitters. He is different off the medication. Reacts in new, unexpected ways. Talks more. Smiles more. Even on a day when we’ve had little to smile about. I loop my hand through his and we wait, watching a short black man limp toward us, his mouth curving into a smile as we make eye contact.

“Good afternoon.” He beams. “Brant Sharp, I presume?”

“Yes. This is my fiancée, Layana Fairmont.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming out on such short notice.”

He nods quickly, rubbing his hands together. “I’m anxious to speak to you both.”

“My car’s out front,” Brant said. “Let’s head to the house. We can dive into everything on the way.”

“My primary concern is fixing this,” Brant says the moment the car doors close and privacy is established. He yanks the car into drive, the Aston jumping to attention, the doctor quickly reaching for his seat belt.

“Fixing… by fixing you mean removing excess personalities?”

I stifle a grin, biting the inside of my cheek as Brant comes to a rough stop at the exit of the airport, waiting impatiently as the gate slowly opens. Patience is Brant’s weak point, in all areas of study. He will be frustrated with the need to catch this man up on the clusterfuck of our situation. He will be frustrated with gates and traffic and the inconveniences of taking care of things Jillian previously handled. Money will help. It always does. More employees can be hired; the situation will iron itself out. But money can’t walk Dr. Terra through Brant’s past. Money can’t massage the fact that, right now, my man feels broken.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder is not an easily fixed affliction. While other psychiatric disorders can be controlled by medication, DID is not a ‘curable’ disease. The original medication you were given as a child, I have to assume, was depressants, given to a level that would have dulled any personalities to a point where they were undistinguishable. Obviously, that is not a solution worth exploring.”