Page 82 of His Enemy's Daughter
“Home.” The word catches in my throat, emotion warring with physical need. “I never had one before you.”
“You do now.” His thrusts deepen, claiming me with a possessiveness that still thrills me even after months. “You have me. This. Whatever we’re building—it’s ours.”
Pleasure builds, coiling tight and hot as his thumb finds my clit, circling with focused pressure that makes my vision blur. I’m close—so close—and when his mouth finds that sensitive spotbelow my ear, teeth grazing skin, I shatter with his name on my lips.
He follows me over with a hoarse cry, his release flooding me as we hold each other in the cooling water, both breathing hard, both thoroughly wrecked.
We stay like that for a long time—tangled together in the quiet afternoon, the gentle lapping of the pool the only sound. Peace surrounds us. It feels like a warm and thick blanket. It’s fragile but real.
“I could get used to this,” I murmur against his skin. It tastes like salt and chlorine and contentment.
“Three months in and you’re still not used to it?” His hand traces lazy patterns down my spine, mapping territory he’s explored countless times but never seems to tire of.
“I’m used to the sex.” I lift my head to meet his eyes, finding them soft with something that looks like forever. “I’m still getting used to the peace. The normalcy. Waking up without wondering if today’s the day someone tries to kill us.”
“No one’s trying to kill us.” His correction is gentle. “Sabino’s dead, his organization dismantled, the bounties expired. We’re just two people running a legitimate business in a country that doesn’t care about our history.”
“Two people who occasionally have sex in their pool on Saturday afternoons.” I trail my fingers through the water, watching light fracture into rainbows. “Very normal. Very domestic.”
“Exactly.” But there’s something shifting in his expression—nerves, maybe, or anticipation that makes my pulse quicken despite the languid satisfaction.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He starts to move us toward the shallow end, but I catch his face, forcing him to look at me directly.
“Mauricio. What?”
He exhales slowly, and I see him make a decision—that moment when calculation gives way to vulnerability. “I have something for you. Was going to wait until dinner, make it romantic with candles, wine, and proper presentation. But then I got you in the pool and now seems... right.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Something for me?”
“Stay here.” He lifts me onto the pool’s edge with ease, water sluicing off both of us onto warm stone. “Don’t move.”
I watch him climb out and disappear into the villa, dripping water and purpose in equal measure. My mind races through possibilities—a gift, obviously, but what kind? We’ve beenbuying things for the villa, for the business, practical items that build our life here. This feels different. Personal.
He returns carrying a small velvet box that makes my breath catch and my thoughts scatter.
“Mauricio...”
“Let me do this.” He settles beside me on the pool’s edge, both of us sun-warmed and water-logged and decidedly not dressed for whatever moment this is becoming. “I had a whole speech planned. Something about building empires and choosing futures and how you make me want things I never thought I could have.”
“That’s a good start.” My voice comes out rough, emotional in ways I didn’t expect.
“But the truth is simpler than speeches.” He opens the box, revealing a ring that catches afternoon light and throws it back transformed—diamond surrounded by emeralds that match my eyes, set in platinum that speaks of quality without ostentation. “I love you. I want to build this life with you. Not just the business or the villa or the respectable facade we’re constructing. I want mornings and arguments and lazy Saturdays in the pool. I want you. Every day. Always and forever.”
“Mauricio.” Tears prick my eyes, unwelcome but unstoppable.
“Marry me, Regina.” He takes my hand, the gesture surprisingly tentative for a man who’s never shown doubt. “Marry me because you want to. Because what we have is worth making official.”
I stare at the ring, at his face, at the life we’ve built in three short months that feels more real than twenty-eight years of pretending. Mauricio Barone—dangerous, loyal, arrogant, brilliant—asking me to choose him permanently. To take a name that’s earned rather than inherited, to build a future that’s ours instead of stolen or forced.
“Yes.” The word comes out before I fully process speaking, pure instinct overriding careful thought. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His smile transforms his face—joy replacing calculation, vulnerability showing through the careful control he usually maintains. He slides the ring onto my finger with hands that aren’t quite steady, and it fits perfectly because of course it does. He’s meticulous in everything.
“You’re sure?” He needs the confirmation, needs to know this isn’t just aftermath euphoria or post-sex endorphins.
“I’m sure.” I frame his face with both hands, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I survived twenty-eight years waiting to be free. Now I want to spend the rest of my life choosing you, choosing this, choosing us. So yes, Mauricio. I’ll marry you.”
