“I can dictate these terms,” he said in a voice that was little more than a growl. “He has taken something of mine for the last time.” “I am not something of yours,” I reminded him, scalding him with the scorn in my voice. “I don’t care what bad blood there is between you, you do not get to tell me whom I see. You are not my husband!” I pressed my hands flat to his chest and heaved, but he did not move. His hands came up to grasp my wrists hard, and for an instant I saw something like hurt flicker in his gaze. “No,” he said slowly. “I am better than a husband. I am your friend.”
