43
Tavish MacCraig’s apartment
1:01 p.m.
“My Little Elf.”
His deep voice entered the haze of hurt that was tearing her heart apart, and Laetitia blinked in the shadowed room.
He was standing by the bed. Dressed all in black, even in a comfortable cotton T-shirt and sweatpants, he looked like he could kill someone.
And yet, there was something unsure in the way he had called her.
“Tavish.” She lowered her lashes; her fingers stirred in his direction and retreated in the same way.
“Can I lie down with you?” he asked softly.
“Ah…yes…if you so wish,” she whispered.
For a moment, her hesitant answer baffled Tavish. Then he understood, and fury sizzled inside him at the possibility she could be feeling ashamed—or worse, dirty—by what had been done to her.
“I do and always will. Having
