Page 68 of Thief of my Heart

That I was his. He was mine.

There was no running from this connection. There never had been.

Michael swallowed. “I—Lea…”

Suddenly, all I wanted was for him to let go the way he’d allowed me to. Michael Scarrone had never had a safe place to land his entire life. I wanted to be that for him more than I’d ever wanted anything.

“Say it,” I said, reaching out to caress his face. “Whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

He swallowed, his hard, dark eyes dancing over my face.

“I love you,” he whispered thickly. “Is that crazy? I mean, I know we just met. I know we’ve barely—but you’ve done things no one—I’ve told you things that no one—shit. I’m not very good at this.”

The broad hand around my thighs gripped even harder. He was so tough, so impermeable on the outside. But the vulnerability etched over those strong features broke my heart.

I cupped his face and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“It’s not crazy,” I told him. “It’s not crazy because I love you too.”

His eyes widened, and for a moment, his expression turned to shock. But then it softened into relief, and that bashful smile I adored so much pulled at the corner of his lips. “I knew it. I knew it the moment we met.”

My fingers traced the edge of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard. “It’s not crazy because we were always meant to be together. You said you felt like you were home with me. I feel the same way.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine for the truth. “I want to be yours. I want to give you everything you deserve, Lea, everything you need. But I don’t know if I can.”

My hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. The connection between us was undeniable, powerful, and everything I’d ever wanted.

“Right now, what I need is for you to take me upstairs,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, the words barely leaving my lips before being kissed away by his eager mouth. “Second floor, bedroom on the right. Mine’s the bed in the corner.”

His body quivered—with need or anticipation, I didn’t know. But I was shivering too as he gathered me in his arms. Carefully, he carried me up the stairs of my childhood home and into my bedroom, where he laid me atop the faded comforter before stepping back to remove his boots and coveralls.

When I looked up at him, he was only in his boxers and undershirt, staring down at me with eyes filled with love and desire. He leaned down and kissed me gently at first, then tasting me as if he was trying to memorize my flavor. I wrapped my arms around his and pulled him closer, feeling his body pressed against me, his erection hard and urgent.

I felt his hand on my thigh, sliding up my dress slowly, teasingly, making me wet. I hissed when his fingers traced the inside of my legs before slipping my entire dress up and over my head.

“You too,” I murmured, pulling at his clothes.

I watched, utterly rapt, as he yanked his undershirt over his head, revealing a tightly muscled torso completely covered with art. He took a deep breath, watching me, and then pulled down his black boxers, revealing the full length of his arousal. His need for me.

My breath was ragged as my thighs clenched together.

“Are you ready?” he asked, pulling a foil from his coveralls. Then he frowned. “What is it?”

I reached out, and he came to me immediately.

“What is it?” he wondered. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I—I’m a virgin.” I bit out the words. Maybe he would change his mind. Maybe he’d think I was only a kid.

But instead, he smiled and kissed my nose. “Pretty sure we’ve been over that a few times now.”

I flushed. “I’m making sure you know what you’re getting.”

Michael’s body quivered over me, shaking with contained mirth.

“Stop it!” I hissed, batting his shoulder. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s fuckin’ hilarious,” he practically hooted. “Oh shit, my girlfriend is the cutest fuckin’ thing!”

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