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She let him pull her down beside him on the couch, even if she was still horrified by the fact she was wearing a robe, with nothing on underneath, and she was wearing a wet towel on her head, for God’s sake.

But when she looked at him, she promptly forgot all that. All she knew was that she loved this man, and she’d do anything to make things right between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low, shaky voice.

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. I don’t want to hear that word cross your lips. It’s me who is sorry. I was an ass. I said despicable things to you.”

Her eyes widened, and she felt the ridiculous urge to cry again, as if she hadn’t done enough of that in the last few days.

“First, I want to talk about this,” he said as he drew out the dreaded newspaper clipping from his pocket.

She froze, her stomach seizing with dread.

“Don’t look like that. I don’t believe a word of it. But it’s obviously an important part of your past. It hurt you and it’s affected a good portion of our re