“You must be Julianna,” I say.
“And you must be the man my sister pretends not to check her phone for.”She steps aside.“She’s in the living room.Packing.”
The apartment smells faintly of burned garlic, sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains over half-packed boxes.
And then—her.
Cross-legged on the floor.Dark hair in a messy knot.Wearing worn jeans and a striped tee that’s slipping off one shoulder.
Her bare feet are tucked under her, toes painted that deep red I remember from Cannes.
A streak of packing tape decorates her left cheek.
She’s rumpled.And still manages to knock the air out of my lungs.
Granted, I’ve seen her polished and dolled up.
But this?
This is Mia unguarded—and, holy Hell, I want her so badly my hands curl into fists just to keep from crossing the room.
She looks up, those soft, almond brown eyes widening in my direction.
“Roarke?What—what are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you home.”
Her brows knit together.“Home?”
“The yacht.With me.Isla.Captain Feathers.That’s your home now—if you want it.”
Her laugh is soft, disbelieving.“You can’t just?—”
“I can.And I am.”I step closer.“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”
She crosses her arms.“Which things?”
Hell, all of them, I want to say.
Instead, I say the one thing I’ve never wanted to admit.The one thing Daniel has never been.
That I’ve always been.
I inhale.“Mia, trust me when I tell you that I was…” My teeth grind in my mouth.“Scared.Fucking terrified, actually.Of way too many damn things.Scared of being unprofessional.Of wanting you too much.Of losing control.”
She rises to her feet, gaze lowered.“And now?”
“Now I’m scared of what happens if I let you go.”I take her hands, forcing her to look at me.“I’m crazy about you, Mia Rossi.Absolutely gone.I love that you make Isla laugh.That you made my grandmother break her pasta-for-one rule.That you taught a parakeet to tango.You make me want to take risks again.”
Her eyes shine.“Roarke, I’m crazy about you too.”She releases my hold on her.“But I can't go back to being just the nanny who you sleep with when it’s convenient."
“You’re not a convenience.Outside of my family, Mia Rossi,” I scoff, my head shaking, “you…are the most inconvenient, impossible,irreplaceablething in my life.And I’ve never wanted anything more.”
"What are you saying?"
“I’m saying I want us—both of us—to have something a hell of a lot more permanent.”
“Like?”
