"I'm supposed to keep her safe," she whispers."That's my one job, and I let her slip away in a crowd like some amateur tourist babysitter."
The self-recrimination in her voice hits me squarely in the chest.
"Hey," I say softly, reaching for her hand."She's safe.She's happy.And she thinks you hung the moon."
She looks up at me then, almond brown eyes bright with unshed tears, and the shift is instant—like the air between us changes weight.
My chest feels too tight, my grip on control too thin.
Her face is inches from mine, and every detail imprints into my brain.
Her tanned skin.The damp fringe of her dark lashes.
The tiny tremor in her pink bottom lip she’s trying to hide.
My hand moves before I can stop it, cupping her jaw, the soft give of her skin under my calloused palm.
“Mia,” I say quietly.
Not a warning.Not a question.
Just her name, the way it tastes when I’m not holding it back.
Her breath catches.“Roarke…”
And I’m done.
I close the distance, pressing my mouth to hers.It’s not careful.Careful isn’t possible with her.
It’s heat and relief and everything I didn’t let myself feel thirty minutes ago when I thought we’d lost Isla.
Her lips are soft and taste faintly of tea and salt air, and when she exhales into the kiss, I swear I feel it all the way to my spine.
She fists her hands in the front of my shirt, and I slide my thumb along the curve of her cheek, my other hand finding the small of her back and urging her forward until she’s flush against me.
She makes a sound—low, involuntary—that I feel in my gut, and my control nearly snaps.
My lips angle over hers, deepening the kiss until there’s no space between us, until the heat spirals low and fast.
And just like that, the logical voice in my head is gone.
There’s only this.
Mia’s scent—warm and clean.Sun-soaked, dark hair brushing my jaw.
The subtle shiver that runs through her when my thumb strokes just below her ear.
Her knees press lightly into mine as if she’s unconsciously seeking even more contact, and I want to give it to her—every inch of me.
I want to anchor her here so she never pulls away.
The shrill ring of my phone slices through the moment like a blade.
We break apart, breathing hard, eyes locked in the charged space between us.
Her lips are kiss-swollen, her hair slightly mussed from my fingers, and she looks… undone.
Which is dangerous…
