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This marriage, it’s going to be a problem. She is going to be a problem.
“She’s my—” Lowe’s hand jerks up to clutch Max’s jaw. “Apologize to my wife.”
“Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”
“Above all, I won’t take her freedom. Not when so many others have already done so.”
“You can do what you want with me,” he says, and it feels like he means more than just his blood.
“Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.”
Lowe may have a mate, but she’s not Gabi.
“In fact, I think I might be in love with one.”
He shakes his head, eyes burning into mine. “You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege.”
