I glance at Evelyn, who is grinning. “To be honest, I think Mr. Stark got off easy. If he wants a second nude portrait, he’ll have to pay me two million dollars. At least.”

Near me, the reporter nods encouragingly. “As of this morning, the gossip about me has shifted. Apparently now I’m a woman who would sleep with a murderer to get ahead. Let’s think about that. Do I sleep with Damien Stark? I do, and gladly, but not to get ahead. Instead, I am honored and humbled that he wants me in his life and in his bed.”

I realize suddenly that I am not nervous at all. I feel strong. This—these words—feel right. “As for the allegation that Damien Stark is a murderer, I can only say that I do not believe it. The evidence will acquit him. But if by some horrific fault in the universe he is convicted, then that will change nothing. I will not and would not leave his side.”

I draw a breath and move on to my wrap-up. “I do not intend to make any more statements to the press, so I will add one final thing for the record. I am in love with Damien Stark, and I am leaving for Germany in an hour to support him through his trial. He is an innocent man, and he has been wrongly accused. Thank you.”

I stand in front of the presidential suite at the scarily luxurious Kempinski hotel in Munich and draw in a breath. I owe a huge debt to Sylvia, who could lose her job if Damien decides to be angry that his assistant told me where he was staying.

I’m not sure how he’s going to react to seeing me here, and I have no way of knowing if he saw my interview. And even if he did, I have no way of knowing if it moved him.

As for that interview, when I was in the taxi from the airport to my hotel, I read through Jamie’s half-dozen emails describing how the press was going wild. Apparently I am no longer a harlot and Damien is no longer a murderer. Now we are star-crossed lovers.

The press is nothing if not fickle. This time, at least, we’re on the warm, fuzzy side of the press.

More important, phase one of my plan worked. And knowing that gives me courage. Surely the next part will work, too. Because I really don’t want to have to call Sylvia and ask her to book me into the Munich equivalent of a Motel 6.

Enough stalling.

I draw a deep breath, knock firmly on the door, and wait.

A moment later, I hear Damien’s voice. “One minute!” And then I hear the lock turning and I’m holding my breath as the door is pulled inward.

And there he is. He’s wearing black trousers and his shirt hangs open. He looks both dashing and distracted. He’s got his arm up as he attempts to fasten the cuff, and when he sees me, he freezes.

“Nikki.”

“Do you want me to get that for you?” I ask.

Wordlessly, he holds out his arm. I button the cuff from my position in the hallway, then step inside and do the other one. Then, without speaking, I start to work on the line of buttons on the shirt.

His body is tense and wary, and I can’t tell if he’s happy to see me, angry, or uncertain that I am real.

“I saw your press conference,” he finally says.

“Oh?” I try to sound light and encouraging, but inside my heart is breaking. If he saw it and wanted me here, wouldn’t he have pulled me into his arms?

“I didn’t expect you here so quickly.”

“When you know you want to be with someone you love, you want to get there as fast as you can.” My smile wavers, and I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to cry. I hadn’t even let myself admit until now how much I wanted to hear those three little words from him. But I did—I do. And not only is he not saying them back, but he’s probably going to send me away, too.

“Oh, Nikki.” There are too many emotions packed into my name, and I cannot sort them out. “No matter what you tell the press, you deserve better than a relationship with a man behind bars.”

“I deserve you,” I say. “But if you think I can’t handle all of this, then you’re right. I can’t. Not without you. Damien, don’t you get it? I can’t just sit on the sidelines and watch them try you for murder. I need to be here. I have to be here. I need you.” I pause to draw a breath, and then tilt my head to look him in his eyes. “And I think you need me, too.”

The weight of eternity seems to hang in the second that passes before he answers.

“I do,” he says, and then, “God, Nikki, I do.” It is as if a glass wall around him has shattered. The life returns to his eyes, the smile to his face. Suddenly his arms are around me and he’s holding me close and I’m soaking up the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing in the scent of this man I love so deeply.

“Then it’s okay that I came?” My words are tentative, uncertain.

“Oh, baby, yes,” he says, and the emotion in his voice almost brings me to tears. “You are my blood; without you, I’m nothing but a shell.”

“You should never have walked away,” I say.

“No,” he says firmly. “I had to. I had to give you that one fair chance to get free of me. Because you will be drawn into hell, Nikki, and though you may think I’m strong, where you are concerned I am weak. I am selfish. I walked away once to protect you, but I won’t do it again. If you want to go, do it now. Otherwise, I will keep you here beside me, because that is where I want you. By my side, Nikki. Always.”

I am trembling with relief from his words, and can only nod stupidly.

“I’ve been in hell without you,” he says. “Every minute was a fight against temptation. I wanted to send a plane for you. To say to hell with whatever was best for you and scoop you up for my own selfish needs.”

I lick my lips. “I think I would have been okay with that.”

“No,” he says, with an awed shake of his head. “I was so proud of you. Those things you said. The risks you took. You exorcised the demons, Nikki. The press may be an irritation, but you’ve taken their power away. They can’t destroy you. Not about that. Maybe not about anything.”

“It was easy. I just remembered how strong you’re always telling me I am.”

He brushes his fingertips across my cheek. Then he closes his mouth over mine in a long, deep welcoming kiss that makes my knees go weak and the rest of my body tingle in anticipation of his touch.

“I want to make love to you,” he says.

“Thank God,” I reply, which makes him laugh.

“But we can’t.”

I look up at him, suddenly afraid that I’ve been wrong and that he’s going to kick me out after all.

“I have to go meet with my attorneys.”

“Oh. Well, later?”

“Most definitely later. And for a very long time. But right now, would you come with me? I want you beside me when I meet with the lawyers.”

“Of course,” I say. “So does this mean I can stay?”

“You damn well better.” He slowly smiles, his eyes bright.

“What?” I say.

“I’m just hoping that you’re not a mirage.”

My smile widens. “I’m real.”

“Prove it,” he says, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the emerald ankle bracelet. I gasp. “Put it on,” he says.

“But how—”

“I went back,” he says, bending to fasten it around my ankle, the light brush of his finger against my skin sending shockwaves rippling through me. “I had to have you with me … even if only a talisman.”