Page 66 of His Ruthless Claim

"I love you, Skye." This time the words come easier, like surrender doesn't have to mean defeat. "Every sharp word, every challenge, every moment you refuse to let me hide behind cold logic."

Her words ghost across my lips, three syllables that shatter what's left of my control. "I love you, too."

I drink them in, memorizing the cadence, storing away every detail of this moment. The way her amber eyes shine in the low light, how her fingers tremble against my chest, the slight catch in her breath.

"I see you trying," she whispers, nails scraping lightly through my hair. "How hard you're fighting against everythingyou've been taught. The way you catch yourself reaching for that watch when you're anxious now."

My hands slide up her back, pressing her closer until there's no space between us. The silk of her dress feels cool beneath my palms, but her skin burns through the fabric. "You make me want to be better. Different."

"Not different." She shakes her head, those black waves brushing my jaw. "Just more yourself. Less walls. Less calculation."

Her lips find mine and the world stops. The kiss tastes like her signature red wine and promises I never thought I'd make. My fingers thread through her hair, angling her head to deepen the connection. She matches my intensity, challenging as always, teeth grazing my lower lip in that way she knows drives me wild.

I growl against her mouth, backing her toward the darkened alcove near the bar. Her breath hitches as I cage her against the wall, one hand braced beside her head. "Careful. I'm sorely lacking in control when it comes to you."

"Maybe I want you to lose it." Her amber eyes flash with that defiance I crave. She rises on her toes, lips brushing my ear. "Take me home, Luca. Show me how much you've missed me."

The words ignite something primal in my chest. Three weeks without her in my bed, in my life, have left me raw and desperate. But I force myself to pause, to give her one last chance. "You're sure?"

She answers by pulling me down for another kiss, this one deeper, darker. When she breaks away, those perfect red lips curve into a knowing smile. "Always so controlled, even now. Take me home before I decide to test exactly how much restraint you have left."

I nearly carry her out of there.

32

SKYE

Sunlight spills across Luca's dark wood floors, painting golden stripes through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My eyes flutter open to find ice blue ones already studying me, accompanied by something I've never seen before - a genuine smile curving those perfect lips.

"You're staring." I stretch, relishing the delicious ache in my muscles from our night together.

"And you're beautiful." His voice carries none of its usual calculated edge.

I prop myself up on an elbow, taking in how the morning light softens his sharp features. His perfectly styled hair is tousled from sleep and my fingers, making him look younger, almost innocent - if I didn't know better. The small scar above his right eyebrow catches the light, a reminder of the violence that shaped him.

"Who are you and what have you done with the emotionless bastard I fell in love with?"

His smile widens a fraction. "Still here. Just..." He pauses, searching for words in a way the always-composed Luca Mantione never does. "Processing."

I reach out, cupping his face in my palm, and he leans into my touch. The stubble beneath my fingers is rough, real, grounding. His features are so open, so unguarded, it makes my chest tight. This is a side of him no one else gets to see.

"I love you." The words fill me with such joy as I whisper them, seeing his face light up.

He turns his head, pressing a kiss to my palm with a gentleness that steals my breath. It's such a stark contrast to the man who efficiently runs Chicago's underground, who can order deaths without blinking.

"I love you too," he murmurs against my skin, the words still new and precious between us. "Even if it terrifies me."

That admission, that vulnerability, means more from him than flowery declarations would from anyone else. I know what it costs him to voice it.

I follow Luca down to his pristine kitchen, where the scent of coffee and something sweet fills the air. He's traded his usual tailored suits for dark jeans and a black henley that does nothing to hide his lethal frame. The sight of him moving with practiced efficiency through his kitchen, plating fresh croissants and fruit, strikes me as surreal.

"You cook?" I settle onto one of the high-backed chairs at his marble island.

"When it matters." He slides a plate in front of me, his fingers lingering on the edge. "We need to talk."

"About?"

"I'm not good at this." I gesture between us. "And I know that I'm going to fuck up again. So, I want to get ahead of it. I want to understand your boundaries."

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