Page 67 of His Ruthless Claim

That touches me more than I can put into words. I think for a moment, finding my answer. "I need honesty. Even when it's ugly. Even when you think it'll make me run." I reach across theisland, taking his hand. "I chose this life - chose you. Let me make informed decisions."

His fingers tighten around mine. "I'm not good at... sharing information. Control keeps people alive."

"Then we'll work on it. Together." I squeeze his hand. "But no more manipulation. No more deciding what's best for me without including me in those decisions."

He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking for."

Uncertainty spreads across his face. "Then I have a request."

I raise a brow. "What is it?"

"Stay." Luca's fingers trace idle patterns on my wrist. "Not because I'm forcing you. Not because it's safer." His ice-blue eyes lock with mine. "Because you want to."

The request hangs between us, weighted with meaning. This isn't about protection anymore - it's about choice. About trust. The distinction makes my heart skip.

"You mean actually move in? Not just camping out until the threat passes?" I arch an eyebrow, studying his impossibly composed features for any crack in that perfect mask.

"Skye, I can't stand going another day without you." His thumb brushes over my pulse point. "You are mine and you should be here. Where you belong."

I bite back a smile. "That's awfully possessive for someone claiming to give me a choice."

"I never claimed not to be possessive." The corner of his mouth ticks up - that barely-there expression that passes for a smile with him. "Just that the choice is yours."

His calm facade doesn't fool me. There's tension in the set of his broad shoulders, in the way his other hand grips the edge of the marble counter. This matters to him more than he'll admit.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes." I lean forward, pressing a kiss to that perfect mouth. "I'll move in. For real this time."

The tension bleeds from his frame, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His hand slides into my hair, gripping just shy of painful as he deepens the kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are heated.

"Good." His voice carries that edge of authority that makes my knees weak. "Because I wasn't looking forward to convincing you."

I laugh against his lips. "Liar. You love convincing me of things."

"True." His fingers tighten in my hair. "But I prefer when you choose me on your own."

His arms cage me against the counter, his broad frame radiating that lethal grace that first drew me to him. Morning sunlight catches the silver of his Rolex, the only piece of softness he allows himself to wear. I trace the defined muscles of his forearm, feeling the way they flex under my touch.

"We need to stop by the boutique today." I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. "The new collection arrived."

"After lunch." He presses a kiss to my temple, oddly gentle for a man who can order deaths between business meetings. "I have meetings until noon."

"You don't need to escort me everywhere." But even as I say it, I lean into his warmth. "Your men are perfectly capable."

His fingers trail down my spine, possessive. "I want to."

The words carry weight - Luca Mantione doesn't do anything he doesn't want to. Every move is calculated, precise. Except when it comes to me. I've watched him systematically dismantle his own rigid control, piece by piece, just to let me in.

"Fine." I turn in his arms, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his black henley. "But I'm choosing where we eat."

That ghost of a smile plays at his lips. "As long as it's somewhere private."

"Still worried someone might see you have actual emotions?"

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