Page 49 of Devlin

Then she moaned, and it nearly broke him.

He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. But he knew they weren’t going to have sex tonight. Not because he didn’t crave it—because he did, with a need so fierce it burned through him—but because this moment deserved more than urgency. It deserved patience.

He wasn’t going to rush this. He wasn’t going to let the weight of the past dictate the choices of the present.

Most of the women he had been with in the past decade had been fleeting. Kisses were just a means to an end, foreplay for something without meaning. But this? This kiss was different. This was an offering, an unspoken promise, a piece of himself that he was handing back to her.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, lost in each other, before reason finally clawed its way back to the surface. With a groan, he pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath.

She winced and shook her head. “Maybe I’m crazy.”

He waited as she lifted her gaze to him. “Why? What makes you say that?”

Shaking her head, a little snort escaped. “I’m well aware that you have no idea what a groveling romance book is, but I feel like I’m in one and skipped ahead a few chapters.”

He blinked, keeping his arms around her but wondering what the hell she was talking about. “I’m going to need you to spell it out, Mia.”

Her lips rolled between her teeth as she inhaled deeply. Letting the air out, she said, “In some stories, the guy does something really bad like cheats or maybe just really stupid?—”

“Like me,” he said with a sigh.

Nodding slowly, she agreed. “Yeah, like you.” She shrugged after another sigh. “A long period of groveling is usually what the woman has the guy do… Readers get pissed if she forgives the guy too soon.”

“So if the guy has spent years being miserable without her but finally connected again and will do anything to have the woman forgive and give him another chance to be in her life… it’s not real unless a long groveling occurs?”

She pressed her lips together again. “When you put it like that, a long groveling seems unnecessary, doesn’t it?”

“All I know is that this isourstory. We do what is right forus. And I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. They don’t know that you’re one of the most giving people in the world. They don’t know that I have groveled inside every day we’ve been separated. And they don’t know that we are now who we need to be for us to come together again.”

“I know it’s crazy, but I really want to ask you to stay,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to their still-clasped hands.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before shaking his head. “It’s killing me, but I’m not going to.”

She didn’t argue. She simply studied him, her expression unreadable.

He bent again, pressing his forehead to hers. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, before he leaned back and met her eyes.

“I want us to be sure,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion. “I know I am, but I want to make sure you have time to make the right decision for you. Because, my Mia, when I have you again, I will never give you up and never let you go.”

They stood, hands still linked, and walked to her door together. At the threshold, she turned, and he pulled her close one last time.

Her lips parted slightly, and then, with infinite tenderness, she reached up, cupping his cheek, her fingers threading lightly through his beard. Their lips met again, and this kiss was different. It wasn’t goodbye. It wasn’t even good night. It was a beginning.

20

The air inside the food distribution center in Sweswe was thick with heat and tension. The shuffle of workers moving crates, the conversations of the refugees gathering for their rations, and the clatter of metal as supplies were stacked created a chaotic symphony. But none of it distracted Mia from the slow-burning anger curling in her gut.

She stood rigid, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, frustration tightening her features as she scanned the dwindling supplies. The lines of refugees had already begun forming, their patient but weary faces a stark reminder of what was at stake. Beside her, Farid stood just as tense, his expression mirroring her own frustration.

“How the hell could we be short again?” she growled, the edge in her voice sharper than she intended.

Farid exhaled heavily. “You know the answer to that as well as I do.” His voice was low, resigned, and filled with the weight of experience. He turned and signaled one of the workers.

“Did you get all the food off the trucks last night?” Farid asked.

The worker shook his head, looking nervous. “I didn’t get here until early this morning when my shift started.”

Farid let out a curt breath, waving the man away with a flick of his hand before turning back to Mia. “I have the night shift on a rotating schedule. Sometimes even a surprise schedule.”

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