Page 37 of His Enemy's Daughter
“That’s a promise.” I pull her close again, mouth finding hers in a kiss that’s somehow gentler and more devastating than before. “You’re mine now, Regina. Whatever happens, whoever threatens you, whatever future we’re trying to build—you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
“Even if protecting me means destroying everything?” Her voice is barely a whisper against my lips.
“Especially then.”
We stand there in the safe house shadows, two broken people trying to figure out how to be something other than shattered. The intelligence she brought sits forgotten on the table, and outside the city continues its normal rhythm, unaware that somewhere in this room, two people just made decisions that will either save them or destroy them completely.
Probably both.
11
Regina
“We should stop.”
Mauricio’s words contradict everything his body is telling me—the way his hands tighten on my hips, how his breathing has gone ragged, the heat in his storm-gray eyes that suggests stopping is the last thing he wants to do.
“You’ve said that three times now.” I trace the scar along his jaw, feeling his pulse jump beneath my fingertips. “And yet here we are, still not stopping.”
“Because you make it impossible.” His mouth finds that sensitive spot below my ear, and I gasp. “Because every time Itry to be smart about this, you look at me like I’m the answer to questions you haven’t asked yet.”
“Maybe you are.” My hands slide beneath his shirt, exploring lean muscle and prison-hardened edges. “Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong questions my entire life, and you’re the first person who makes me want different answers.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the vulnerability I see there—raw and unguarded—makes my chest ache.
“I’m not who you think I am, Regina.” His voice carries warning. “I’m not some noble savior. I’m a man who’s made terrible choices and hurt people and spent years learning to be someone you probably shouldn’t want.”
“Good thing I’ve never been very good at wanting appropriate things.” I rise on my toes, bringing my lips close to his. “Besides, I think you’ve spent years learning to survive. There’s a difference between becoming someone terrible and learning how to protect yourself in terrible circumstances.”
“Philosophy now?” But there’s warmth beneath his sarcasm. “You trying to justify wanting to sleep with me?”
“I’m trying to make you understand that I see you. Not the man you think you’ve become. Not the convenient ally or the dangerous criminal. I see the person who took a bullet for someone he loved. Who spent years refusing to break. Who looks at me like I matter instead of like I’m merchandise.”
His hands frame my face with devastating gentleness. “You do matter. That’s the problem.”
“Then stop treating it like a problem.” I lean into his touch. “Stop calculating risks and just be with me. Right now. In this moment. Before the world demands we go back to being strategic.”
His expression transforms—predatory, possessive, all pretense of restraint burning away. When he kisses me this time, it’s with the desperation of a man who’s stopped fighting what he wants. That legendary control doesn’t just break—it detonates.
“Last chance to walk away,” he murmurs against my mouth, even as his hands slide lower, pulling me tighter against him.
“I don’t want to walk away.” My fingers work at his shirt buttons with trembling determination. “I want to feel alive. I want to be seen. I want—”
“What?” His voice is rough velvet. “Tell me what you want, Regina.”
“You.” The admission comes out breathless. “Just you. All of you. No more holding back.”
He makes a sound low in his throat—part growl, part surrender—and suddenly we’re moving. His hands map every curve while mine explore the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle, the places where prison left its mark.
“You’re shaking,” he observes, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
“So are you.” I catch his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “Maybe we’re both terrified of what this means.”
“I know exactly what this means.” He backs me toward the table, lifting me onto it with effortless strength. “It means I’m about to cross a line I can’t uncross. It means whatever happens next, you’re mine. It means—”
“Stop thinking.” I pull him closer, legs wrapping around his waist. “For once in your calculated, strategic life, just stop thinking and feel.”
His laugh is dark, dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
