Page 101 of Twisted Shot
He smirks. “Should I ask?”
“No. Just trust me. I’m scary when I want to be.”
He hums in agreement, and she adds, “I met your mother also. She, uh…introduced herself.”
Theo’s expression darkens slightly. “How’d that go?”
“She’s terrifying,” Mila says honestly. “Elegant…but terrifying. Made me want to stand up straighter and apologize for slouching. And I wasn’t even slouching.”
He huffs out a laugh, but she can feel the tension in his shoulders return.
Mila looks up at him, earnest. “I don’t like them.”
He studies her.
“I don’t like how they talk to you. Or about you.” Her voice drops. “You deserve better. They’re not even in the same league.”
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Then Theo tugs her a little closer, burying his face in her neck like he wants to hide there.
Mila wraps her arms around him—fierce and unyielding—because she might not be able to rewrite his past, but she sure as hell can protect his future.
“Can I say something without sounding like a complete asshole?” she asks.
He raises his head a fraction and lifts a brow in invitation.
“I talk enough for the both of us.”
That gets a real laugh out of him, rich and low in his chest. “Yeah. I figured that out.”
She grins. “Seriously. If you ever need a translator, or a buffer, or someone to talk nonsense while you regroup—I’m your girl.”
Theo cups her cheek. “You don’t make me nervous anymore.”
Her heart does a little somersault.
She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she leans in and kisses him, slow and tender. And when she pulls back, her voice is barely more than a whisper.
“Good. Because I really like this version of you.”
His thumb brushes her jaw, gaze steady. “This is me.”
And she knows he’s right.
No more masks. Just the two of them, bare in every way that matters.
And she wants a hundred more nights like this one.
CHAPTER 37
THEO
Theo lies still, one hand trailing idle patterns across the bare skin of Mila’s back, the other curled protectively around her hip. Mila is draped over him, her breath warm against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles near his collarbone. The room smells like her now—heat and perfume and sex—and he never wants to leave.
He shifts slightly beneath her, the sheets tangled at their waists, and a rush of satisfaction spreads through him, thick and potent, settling deep like heat poured into cold metal.
Damn.
