“Mila.” His hand slid up my spine then cupped the back of my neck.
“I love you.” The words broke loose, quiet but sure.
His breath punched out of him. For a heartbeat, I thought maybe I’d broken him.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I rushed, pulse racing.
“Too late.” His mouth curved then crashed against mine, and he kissed me with the kind of intent that left no doubt. We were already home.
Heat sparked low in my chest, spreading fast. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that stole my breath, but it wasn’t just urgent—it was steady, claiming, sure. My hands slid up his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie until I fisted it tight.
Luke groaned softly, the sound vibrating against my mouth. His arms tightened around me, pulling me flush against him. His palms at my back, the press of his thighs against mine. His breath caught when I tilted my head and deepened the kiss.
I’d kissed him before. I’d missed him before. But this was different. This was years of want and anger and forgiveness burning down to one undeniable truth: he was mine.
The star charm pressed between us, cool metal tapping against my skin with every shift. Luke noticed. I felt the moment his chest rose harder, the kiss roughening as his thumb brushed the chain where it dipped along my collarbone.
My knees went weak. He caught me, steady and unrelenting. His mouth gentled for half a heartbeat—sweet, coaxing—before it turned fierce again.
I broke away only when air became impossible, my forehead resting against his. His lashes were dark, his eyes blazing in the dim light of my room.
“Say it again,” he rasped.
My lips curved, trembling, but sure. “I love you.”
His jaw clenched. His grip flexed on my waist, as if he was holding the words inside himself until they broke out. “I love you too.”
Then his mouth found mine again, fiercer, deeper, a promise inked into every movement. His hands slid beneath the hem of my sweater, palms hot against my skin, anchoring me in place.My own hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer until there was no space left between us.
We tipped backward onto the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping beneath our weight. He braced himself on one arm, careful, but the heat between us pulsed wild. His teeth grazed my bottom lip; I gasped.
The murmur of the TV downstairs drifted up, laughter too bright, too out of place. Reality pressed in.
Luke tore his mouth from mine with a groan, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. His chest heaved against me, every breath ragged.
“Not tonight,” he muttered, voice rough with want.
My heart pounded erratically. “I know.”
His lips brushed the side of my neck, lingering there like a brand, before he pushed himself upright, dragging me with him so I was sitting in his lap. His hands cupped my face, thumbs stroking once across my cheekbones.
“But soon,” he said, eyes locking on mine. “Soon, Mila.”
I nodded, throat too tight for words. I kissed him again, softer this time—a promise we couldn’t keep yet but both wanted more than anything.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LUKE
The house was quiet when I pulled into the drive. Too quiet. I killed the engine, the headlights washing out the garage door before darkness snapped back in. For a minute I just sat there, phone heavy in my palm, my PI’s voicemail replaying in my head.
“Luke, it’s Marcus. I’ve dug up a few things. Sending over an encrypted file—should hit your inbox soon. Darren Langley’s logs don’t add up. Travel records don’t match. There’s footage too, blurry as hell, but it might be something. Call me back.”
I hadn’t called him back yet.
Instead, I got out and leaned against the hood of my SUV, the chill of the metal bleeding through my jeans, and opened the attachment.
Falsified logs. Fake travel records. Dates bent to fit an agenda, not reality. And the photo—a grainy shot of a figure leaving King Enterprises the night Darren Langley disappeared.
