Page 92 of Reckless Hearts

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he snarls, shaking me so hard my teeth rattle. He doesn’t even give me time to respond before he does it again. “You could’ve fucking gotten hurt.”

“Me?” I snap, grabbing his forearms. “What about you?”

I try to push him off, but he doesn’t budge. My fingers tighten, and I realize he’s shaking, full-body trembles rolling through him.

He doesn’t stop searching me until he’s satisfied I’m okay.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” His voice cracks, shattered and raw like the words tear straight out of him.

My words are choked off as my ribs constrict, thoughts thrashing around my brain uncontrollably. I’ve never heard him sound like that—I never want to hear it again.

I grab his collar, yanking him forward and crashing my mouth against his.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not tentative.

It’s heat and panic and every raw, unspoken thing that’s been building between us since the second we stopped pretending to hate each other.

Maverick freezes just for a beat. Long enough for my stomach to bottom out, for that flash of terror to grip me.

Then he exhales into me.

And kisses me back like it’s the only way to survive.

His hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer until there’s no space left between us. Until the tension, the adrenaline, the fear, it all combusts into something feral. Our teeth clash. My fingers twist in his hair. I want to feel every part of him, want to mark him, want to brand this moment into something permanent.

Because I almost lost him.

Because I didn’t even realize how badly I wanted him until the thought of him dying nearly tore me in half.

Maverick growls low in his throat, one hand sliding around the back of my neck, the other gripping my waist like he doesn’t trust the ground not to disappear under us. His kiss is all fire and frustration, all unspoken confessions he hasn’t figured out how to say.

I kiss him like I mean it.

His mouth opens under mine, lips slick and demanding. I lose myself in it in him until I’m drunk on the taste of him, on the sound of his breath hitching against my jaw.

When we finally break apart, it’s not because we want to.

It’s because we have to.

We stand there, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together like the only thing holding us upright is each other.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You scared me first,” I whisper back.

He swallows hard, like there’s too much he wants to say, but before he can, there’s a sharp knock on the door, followed by a shout.

“They’re asking for you, Kane. You good?”

Maverick doesn’t answer. He just steps back, still holding my gaze like he doesn’t trust himself to turn away.

I nod. “Go do your job.”

He hesitates, then presses his forehead to mine again for the briefest second before pulling away.

“I’ll come find you after,” he murmurs, voice still rough, still wrecked.

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