“Oh my God.”
For a moment she just stares at me like she’s trying to understand what that means for the world outside this room. Then she crosses the space between us without hesitation.
Darling has never been afraid of walking straight into the fire.
Her hands press against my chest, fingers spreading across the leather of my cut as she studies my face.
“You’re shaking,” she murmurs.
I hadn’t noticed.
Her fingertips slide up along my jaw, gentle and steady like she’s checking to make sure I’m still here.
That small touch cracks something open inside my chest.
I grab her.
The movement is sudden enough that she gasps as I pull her into my arms and bury my face against the curve of her neck.
She smells like coconut and salt air. Like home.
For two years this woman has been the only place in the world where the noise in my head ever goes quiet.
Her arms wrap around my shoulders instantly.
“It’s okay,” she whispers against my ear. “You’re okay.”
The words are soft and certain in a way that makes my chest tighten.
She believes that.
She believes I’m still something worth saving.
My hands slide into her hair and tilt her face up toward mine.
“Darling.”
The way I say her name makes her breath catch.
Her eyes darken immediately.
She knows that tone.
She always has.
“You look like you’re about to burn the city down,” she murmurs.
“I probably am.”
Her mouth curves faintly.
“Then come here first.”
The invitation hits like gasoline on a fire that’s already burning.
I kiss her.
Hard.
