Page 36 of Max Bannon

I reached over and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her cheek.

“Come here,” I whispered.

She slid into my lap without hesitation, arms curling around my shoulders, like we’d done this a hundred times before. I kissed her, slow and deep, her hands threading through my hair, her breath catching when I ran mine down her back.

Everything else—the falls, the breeze, the world—faded.

It was just us.

Her lips. My heartbeat. The way her laugh felt like sunlight when I whispered something stupid against her mouth.

I could’ve stayed like that forever.

“Tessa…”

“Hmm?”

“I have to leave in two days.”

She turned her head toward me, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Frasier got a call. High-profile client. An actress is headed to Italy, and she needs guards. She’s been getting threats, and someone requested us personally.”

“Usas in… you?”

I nodded. “He wants me to go with him.”

She sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest. “How long?”

“A few weeks. Maybe more, depending on how things shake out.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared out at the water again, her jaw tight.

“I didn’t want to tell you that I would have to leave,” I admitted. “This is part of our job, we rescue and guard people.”

“How often do you do this kind of work,” she said softly.of the country at least every other month. I promise I’ll be back in no time.”

She looked at me then, her eyes searching mine like she wasn’t sure what she thought about these jobs.

“I hope you’re careful,” she said.

“I don’t need promises, Max,” she said. “I know you will be back.”

“I love you,” I said, cupping her face. I’m doing my job. And when it’s done, I’m coming home to you.”

She pressed her forehead to mine. “You better.”

18

Tessa

The cabin felt bigger without him.

It wasn’t like Max had lived here permanently—just a string of nights that had somehow stitched themselves into routine. Max, showing up with takeout. Max, stealing my pillow. Max leaving his boots by the door. Max, cooking breakfast.

Now the boots were gone. So was the quiet hum of his voice in the kitchen. So was that low, rumbly laugh I never got tired of hearing.

He’d only been gone three days.

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