There was fear there, too. Always fear, of what he could do. Of what he'd done before. That Warren would wake up one day and realize just who and what he was in bed with. That Warren didn't know the worst of it. The lives he'd taken knowingly. Purposefully.
That the full knowledge of him would burst the bubble of happiness they were floating in.
He pulled on his leather pants and shrugged into his silk shirt. Earring in, just one, shirt half unbuttoned. He added a touch of eyeliner, something to draw eyes to his. Nothing too elaborate. Nothing like what he'd paraded around in the years of Glam. But a touch. He was tousling his hair, adding in gel when his cell rang.
He glanced at the number and sighed. He almost didn't answer, but he finally did. He wondered how she'd known he was in town.
"Devin, darling," her voice was always so chipper and yet refined. "You naughty boy, you didn't call and tell me you were in town."
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