Page 36 of His Enemy's Daughter
She makes a sound low in her throat when I deepen the kiss, her body pressing against mine with the kind of urgency that comes from too long denied. My hands map the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, memorizing the feel of her like I might need to recreate it from memory alone.
“Mauricio.” My name on her lips sounds like salvation and damnation braided together.
I break the kiss only to trail my mouth along her jaw, down the column of her throat, finding the spot where her pulse hammers wildly. She gasps, head falling back to give me better access, and the trust in that gesture—the vulnerability—nearly destroys what remains of my rational thought.
“This is insane,” I murmur against her skin, even as my hands slide lower, pulling her harder against me. “This is the stupidest thing either of us could do.”
“I don’t care.” Her fingers tighten in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp in a way that sends heat straight through me. “I’m so tired of caring about consequences.”
I capture her mouth again, harder this time, swallowing her moan. She kisses like she’s drowning and I’m oxygen—desperate, consuming, holding nothing back. When her hands start working at my shirt buttons, reality crashes back with brutal force.
“Stop.” I catch her wrists, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Regina, stop.”
Hurt flashes across her face before she can hide it. “Why?”
“Because if we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to.” My breathing is ragged, control hanging by the thinnest thread. “And you deserve better than being fucked against a table in a safe house while your father plots your murder.”
“What if I don’t want better?” Her voice carries defiance and need in equal measure. “What if I just want to live in the moment? What if I want you?”
The words hit harder than they should. I rest my forehead against hers, trying to steady breathing that refuses to cooperate.
“You think I don’t want you?” The admission costs me. “You think I haven’t been imagining this since the moment you walked into that coffee shop? But wanting something and being smart enough not to take it are two different things.”
“You keep saying that.” Frustration bleeds into her voice. “But maybe smart is overrated. Maybe sometimes you just need to feel something real.”
“This feels plenty real.” I force myself to release her wrists, to step back before I lose the ability to stop. “Too real. Which is exactly why we can’t do this.”
“Because of strategy? Because of the mission?” Her eyes flash with something dangerous. “Or because you’re terrified of caring about someone again after fifteen years of learning not to?”
The accuracy of her observation makes my chest tight. “All of the above.”
“Coward.” But there’s no real venom in the accusation, just resignation.
“Yes,” I agree simply. “When it comes to you, I’m a complete coward. Because the alternative is letting myself care, and caring gets people killed in this life.”
“I’m already marked for death.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. “Five weeks until I marry Lorenzo. Probably less if Father discovers my betrayal. So what exactly are you protecting me from that isn’t already inevitable?”
“From me making it worse.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “From me adding complications that distract both of us when we need to stay focused. From—”
“From actually living instead of just surviving.” She finishes my thought with devastating insight. “That’s what terrifies you, isn’t it? Not death, Not failure. But the possibility of actually having something worth losing.”
The silence that follows is heavy with truth neither of us wants to acknowledge.
“I’m not a good man, Regina.” The admission tastes like ash. “I’ve killed people. Hurt people. Spent years in a cage learning to be harder, colder, more ruthless. Whatever you think you see in me—whatever you think this could be—you’re wrong.”
“No.” She steps closer again, and I don’t have the strength to retreat. “I see exactly who you are. A man who protected someone he loved at the cost of everything. A man who spent years refusing to break. A man who looks at me like I’m worth saving instead of using. That’s not a monster, Mauricio. That’s someone who understands what it means to survive.”
Her hand finds my face, fingers tracing the scar from temple to jaw with heartbreaking gentleness.
“And if surviving means stealing whatever moments of feeling alive we can?” she continues softly. “Then I’ll take that over safety any day.”
I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm that feels like a promise and an apology combined. “If I do this—if we do this—I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“No one touches you.” The words come out rough, possessive, carrying weight I didn’t intend. “Lorenzo Di Noto, your father’s associates, anyone who looks at you like property. If they so much as lay a hand on you, I’ll kill them. Slowly. And I won’t feel guilty about it.”
Heat flashes in her eyes. “That’s very territorial.”
