Page 48 of The Maverick

He exhaled slowly, still holding her gaze. “You think I didn’t know?”

Vanessa’s brows pulled together. “You said nothing.”

“Because I didn’t want words.” He leaned in. “I wanted you back.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’ve loved you since the first time you rolled your eyes at me across that damn training room,” he said. “I’ve loved you when you fought me, when you walked away, when I wanted to hate you for it. And I sure as hell love you now.”

Something inside her fractured. Not painfully—just a slow cracking of a wall she’d spent years pretending she needed.

“I’m scared you’ll leave again,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“I won’t,” he replied, firm and quiet. “Not unless you want me to. I might have to go, but I will always return and you will always have my heart and soul.”

“I’m scared he’ll take something from me I won’t get back.”

Hawke leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers. “He won’t touch you. He’ll never get that close.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.” He paused. “No one will ever hurt you again, Nessa. Not while I’m breathing.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She hated it. Hated that she felt this soft. This open.

But his thumb caught the tear. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Not with me.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.

He brushed her lips with his. “You’re thinking too much. You’re already doing it.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. She pressed closer, burying her face in his neck, trying to hold on to this place—this strange quiet after the storm where her body still felt electric and her heart wasn’t screaming to run.

“This wasn’t just about dominance for you, was it?” she asked.

“No.” His voice was low. “This was about giving you a place to fall. And knowing you’d get back up stronger.”

She pulled back slightly. “You always make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. But it’s simple.”

Her mouth curved just a little. “That sounds like something you’d say.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because it is.”

She laughed softly and curled into him again, letting the silence stretch now without panic. For once, she didn’t feel the need to fill the space with words or control. He was warm. Solid. Centered. And so was she.

She didn’t know what the next twenty-four hours would bring. Brenner was still out there. Still twisting her words. Still building his story. But tonight, he hadn’t won.

Tonight, she’d taken herself back. With Hawke’s help. With his hands. His voice. His certainty. And the worst part—the best part—was that it hadn’t broken her. It had freed her.

She drifted like that, curled against his side, her breathing slow, his hand drawing lazy patterns on her hip, her pulse finally quiet.

“You’re mine, Vanessa,” he said softly. “Not because I own you. But because you chose it.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect.

She just nodded. “Yes, Master.”

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