And then she told him about losing her father when she was ten, to cancer, watching the strongest man she’d ever known fade away until he finally disappeared. She talked about her mother’s aimless wandering, living in an RV and being homeschooled as a teen, about boys who thought she was too shy to bother, about a chaotic world filled with pain and insanity and constant choices, about never knowing which one was the Lady or the Tiger.

She talked about becoming a librarian, about finding routine and order and, finally, quiet. She talked to him while tears ran down her face and soaked her coat and she didn’t care, she had to make him understand that this thing that she’d only read about in books, this crazy, kinky, twisted thing, had made her feel alive in ways she didn’t understand, but wanted- needed — to experience.

“Shh,” he said finally, reaching over and sliding a hand behind her neck, massaging gently, as if he could cut her racing thoughts off with a gentle squeeze. “It’s enough, Katie.”

She swallowed her tears and pointed at her exit without a word, directing him silently to her house. Liam pulled into the snow-covered driveway, taking her hand as she reached for her purse sitting on the console between them. His was more paw than hand, swallowing hers as he caught her attention with his eyes, holding her with them. She felt awful-looked awful, she knew, red-nosed and red-faced from crying. She wanted to hide, turn away, but he held her with just the heat of his gaze.

“Show me.” It was more whisper than words.

She looked at him, confused, staring at the hand holding hers, and then she did the first thing that came to her head. She took his hand in both of hers-his was big, tanned, well-manicured, a silver ring on his middle finger-and turned it over, palm up. Katie sobbed silently, pressing her lips to the middle of his hand, head bent, tears falling onto his wrist.