Somehow, she managed to make herself look presentable by the time Harry arrived to pick her up. When he rang the bell, she let him inside. He wore his usual faded jeans and cotton button-down shirt, with a baseball cap on his head. He looked familiar and comfortable and she didn’t know how on earth she could break his heart.
With her own heart hammering, she struggled to make small talk. She knew she should tell him now, instead of in a crowded restaurant, but struggled to find the right words.
“What’s wrong?” Harry finally asked, his sharp gray-green gaze missing nothing.
“Micha’s alive,” she blurted, inwardly wincing as she braced for Harry’s reaction. He simply stared at her for a moment, clearly trying to assess the situation.
“Could you, er, elaborate?” he asked in what she’d come to think of as his professional police officer tone.
She nodded. “Maybe you’d better sit down?”
“Sure.” With a wry smile, he walked into her living room and took a seat on the couch. “Go ahead,” he said, once he’d gotten settled. Gaze watchful, he appeared calm and merely curious. His rock-steadiness had always been one of the things she’d liked about him. Harry would never abandon her and pretend to be dead for two years.
She told him everything, starting with the constant feeling of being watched all the way through ending up in bed with Micha. “He had no explanation for where he’s been these past twenty-four months,” she finished weakly, even though she guessed that detail wouldn’t be what Harry would be focused on.
Instead of the hurt or even anger that she’d expected, Harry continued to regard her soberly. “During the time we’ve been together, we’ve talked a lot about the people we’ve lost,” he said. “I know how much you loved Micha and how deeply you grieved his passing.”
Confused, she frowned. “Yes, but he wasn’t really dead.”
Harry pushed to his feet. “You’ve been given a great gift, Carly. A second chance.”
“What are you saying? That you think I should get back together with him?” Which defied comprehension. “After what he did?”
“Yes.” Expression fierce, Harry swallowed hard. “Do you know what I’d give if Marie and Emily could walk back in my front door?” Anguish twisted his handsome features. “I’d give anything, forgive everything, if I could have a second chance like the one you’ve been given. Give Micha a shot.”
“But—”
“I wish you nothing but the best, Carly.” He kissed her cheek. “I hope the two of you can work things out. You deserve that kind of happiness.”
On that note, Harry left, leaving Carly to stare after him, more bewildered than before.
Harry’s easy acquiescence, while surprising, told her one thing she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t lost him. She’d never had him to begin with.
Micha coming back to life might seem like a miracle, but after two years she wasn’t the same trusting woman she’d been before. Despite her overwhelming physical reaction to him, she couldn’t simply pick up where they’d left off, pretending he hadn’t done something so unquestionably horrible. If only he had been able to see her, doubled over with the pain of his loss. How long she had grieved, how changed her life had become. While he’d done what? Gotten the military to deliver a fake death notice? Or had they, too, actually believed him to be deceased, which seemed much more likely?
Either way, clearly Micha hadn’t been the ordinary soldier he’d pretended to be.
So how many lies had there been? How could she take back a man she couldn’t trust?
Her head began to hurt, almost as much as her heart. While part of what Harry had said rang true, she wasn’t sure she could ever get past what Micha had done. Heck, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to. Because, honestly, if Micha could do something like that to her, she very much doubted he’d ever loved her. At least, not the way she’d loved him.
But then why had he returned? Why now, when she’d thought she might finally be able to settle into some sort of normal existence? Sure, Harry hadn’t made her feel even one tenth of the joy, pleasure and fulfillment she’d experienced with Micha. Music had seemed sweeter, colors brighter, and even food had tasted better. Life had been vibrant then and she’d honestly thought she’d found that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
Now she just needed to figure out how to deal with Micha’s presence back in her life.
CHAPTER 2
Micha Harrison had made love with his Carly. Still reeling, he tried to process a real-life scenario where his former fiancée not only welcomed him back with open arms but kissed him and touched him as if she’d been as starved for him as he’d been for her. He hadn’t let himself think, only feel. And he had to admit, sex with Carly felt better than damn good.
Then, once they’d slaked their passion, she’d done an immediate about-face.
In his military training as intelligence gatherer—aka spy—Micha Harrison had learned how to not react to just about any scenario. He’d developed a hell of a poker face, a skill that had served him well in every single situation he’d found himself in while serving his country. In addition, he’d taught himself to clamp down on his emotions, to never give in to impulse or panic and, most important, not to be swayed by pain. The latter had been what had almost cost him his life. Most men, when captured by the enemy, eventually gave in to the agony of torture. Micha had not. Because of that, they’d almost killed him.
Micha was good, damn good. He could retreat inside himself to an untouchable place, no matter what hell rained down upon him.
Yet despite all of his training, all of his skills, Carly proved to be the exception. His Carly.
He hadn’t meant to let her see him. Now healed and finally healthy, though scarred, he’d returned to Chicago with
