“I…” A shiver ran through her.
At his intensity?
At the dire “consequences?”
He had no idea.
“Nikki,” he quietly asserted. “I never considered the backend result to be of no value. Not even to be of lesser value. But I had to obtain that information—that’s my bottom line. That’s my cut-and-dried, my absolute. The rest… It’s not any less relevant, it’s just…subject to being a casualty of war.”
More tears sprang to her eyes.
“Goddamn,” he grumbled again—and leapt swiftly to his feet.
He set his cocktail on the coffee table and took two wide strides to reach her. His fingertips swept her tears away the very second they spilled.
“Hey,” he said as his hands cupped her face. “We could be torturing ourselves for no good reason here.”
Dare he offer her some sort of hope? Take back the extremeness of the situation, and instead attempt to return to her the positive affirmation he’d stolen by even broaching this subject?
And Jesus Christ, the only reason he’d brought it up in the first place was because…
“Nikki, I was just trying to be honest with you earlier. Open. I don’t want to keep anything from you. The unfortunate reality of that honesty is that I ended up hurting you in the process. And robbing you of the optimism you were clinging to. I’m an asshole for—”
“Doing your job?”
She stared up at him, the confusion still clouding her usually vibrant green eyes. He missed how the firelight—or any light—typically caught them and made the rich emerald irises appear multifaceted as they sparkled at all angles.
He missed the glimmer in them. And the spunk in her voice. He missed her radiant smile.
All things he’d taken away from her.
His hands dropped to his sides and he whirled around, scooping up his glass and taking a healthy drink.
“Damen?” she quizzically murmured.
Glancing at her over his shoulder, he said, “I would never intentionally put you through this sort of hell. I don’t expect you to believe that. But… It’s true. I swear it. To the depths of my soul. I swear it on Mads’ life.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. More fat drops tumbled down her flushed cheeks.
Damen was not toying with her or preying on her emotions. He never would. He was one-hundred percent genuine.
And his own emotions were so tightly wound around hers that he’d only jack his program if he deviously tried to manipulate hers.
He earnestly said, “I’m feeling like the biggest piece of shit for what I’m doing to you, but I have an obligation to see through. And all I can tell you, Nikki, is that when all is said and done, I will do whatever the fuck I have to in order to prove to you that none of this was meant to destroy you. I would never—”
His jaw set.
More emotion swelled so fast and furiously within him, even a deep drink of whisky couldn’t help him swallow it down.
She stared at him, unwaveringly.
And breathlessly, intensely asked, “What are you feeling, Damen? Right this very second?”
He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t hide. Not to her, not from her.
He held her gaze as he said, “That I love you, Nikki, and I would never hurt you on purpose and I will do every fucking thing I can to make up for this.”
She sucked in a breath.