His head fell into his hands. “Áine, I’m sorry. How many times do you need to hear? I’m sorry.”

“What was I to think, Patrick? The very thing he’d warned me about happened. I ran. I couldn’t hurt you, but I didn’t trust you anymore.”

An edge of dark laughter touched his voice. “It’s a miracle the old man hasn’t killed me in my sleep.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me. You’re still my mate.”

Murphy shook his head. “Why?”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why? You and me.” He waved a hand between them. “This isn’t normal. Our bond should have died decades ago. And it didn’t. Don’t you wonder why?”

She pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. “I don’t—”

“I’ve thought about it. So many nights. When no woman would satisfy me. When no one was clever enough. No one could make me laugh or touch my heart. And we both know I tried, don’t we?”

Anne felt her fangs drop, this time in anger. “If you’re trying to prove some kind of point—”

“I tried to forget you, Anne. Not because I didn’t love you, but because I loved you so damn much. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”

She tipped her chin up. “You did without me in the end. Dublin is yours. Your fortune is made. No rival opposes you. Isn’t that better? You did it on your own. No one can take that victory from you.”

The smooth facade was gone. Murphy’s face was as open as a boy’s.

“But I didn’t want to do it on my own. I never did.”

“Patrick—”

“I had Tom and Dec and Josie. I had Jack… at least I did then. But mostly, I had you. I never wanted to rule without you.”

Anne shook her head, her heart broken open, her walls demolished by his words.

“We’re meant, Anne. You know we are. We were so good together.” He crawled to her, drawing the silken sheet away. “We were young and stupid. Or at least I was. I’m not anymore.”

Anne shook her head, but he stopped her, cupping her cheeks between hands that had never grown soft. His knuckles still carried the scars of his human life. No matter what suit he wore, Murphy had fighter’s hands. His thumb rubbed softly against her cheek. He brushed away an errant strand of dark hair that had fallen into her eyes.

“Let me prove it to you.”

“Patrick—”

“I want you back, Anne O’Dea.”

Her mouth dropped. Her heart beat once. “Just like that?”

“Exactly like that. Is that enough honesty for the famous vampire therapist? I want you to tell me your stories. I want you to hold me accountable for my arrogance. I want to prove that we belong together. That we can be better now.”

“I have a life in the west.”

“You have a shadow of a life. We both do. I say all the right things and charm all the right people, but I’ve been dancing around life for seventy years. I became exactly the man I thought you would want. I wore the right things and listened to the correct music. Business and politics became my life. I am so fecking polite I bore myself. And I don’t have you anyway.”

She shook her head. “I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.”

“I realized that thirty years ago, but by then proper manners were a habit.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. He tilted her chin up and forced her eyes to his laughing gaze.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he whispered. “So beautiful. You were the heart of me. The best part. Is it any wonder I went a little mad when I lost you?”

It was the “going mad” part she was worried about.

“I don’t know if I can do this again, Patrick.”

“Give us a chance. We’re going to London. I need you there. Give me a chance to prove we can be better than we were. There’s no one better for me than you.”

The other corner of her mouth quirked up. “Oh, I know. But what do I get out of it?”

He pressed forward, taunting her lips with his own. “Drop the sheet and let me show you.” His tongue darted out, teasing her lower lip. “I’m still your mate, Anne. It’s my duty to meet your needs.”

She turned her head so his lips only brushed the corner of her mouth. “And who’s meeting yours?”

Petty. Jealous. Small. She’d turned him away. What did she expect?

He pressed small kisses along her cheek, nibbling his way to her ear while she tried to remain calm.

“No one but you anymore. I’m done pretending.”

“Really?” She knew better than anyone what kind of appetites Patrick Murphy had.

“Ask Brigid,” he said, playing with her earlobe like it was his fascinating new toy. “The word went out as soon as you arrived in town. You still smell so good. Have you been up to Donegal? You smell like the roses there. I swear it’s in your skin.”

“Mary and I…” She let him nudge her head to the side. “We met there before I came here.”

“You were angry, weren’t you?” He chuckled. “When she told you what she wanted.”

“I assume this was all some scheme of yours.”

“Of course it was. It’s a good plan, you have to admit.” His hand was light on her skin. Touching her softly on her shoulder. Her waist. Her hip and thigh. “I do value your input, and we need your sister’s cooperation if we’re going to present a united front in London.”