Page 44 of Miles

He knelt in front of me, on the floor by my feet while I sat on the bed. “And there’s the matter of nobody having forced that bastard to come back here for you. I’m sorry I gave you away today. He was right—I was too interested. It must’ve shown that I cared so much about you already. But you didn’t make him do it. He walked in here with those gunmen, and they got what was coming to them.”

“Like I said before: I get it up here.” I tapped my head. “But not here.” I placed my hand over my heart.

“You will, in time. When it isn’t so fresh.” He covered the hand on my chest with his. “There are so many other things I want you to feel in this heart of yours. I want you to know you’re always safe. I want you to feel cherished and respected. I want you to know you’re mine, but not because I want to own you or force my will on you. I just want to love you. I need to.”

“Oh, Miles…” I reached out to stroke his cheek.

He was so handsome, with a face I could look at for the rest of my life. He had saved me. He had killed to keep me safe. He loved me. It was all so improbable, but there it was. The plain, hard truth.

And I loved him. It was as natural and necessary as the air I needed to stay alive. I didn’t even have to think about it. I had no choice in the matter—and I couldn’t have been happier about it.

When he leaned in, I whispered, “I love you, too. But I’m so tired.”

He burst out laughing—a little wry, a little frustrated, but understanding.

“There’s plenty of time for that. I’ll stay here with you, then.”

“Please, do.” I worked my way back until I could rest my head on the pillows, lying on my side.

He slid in behind me, curling his body protectively around mine and sliding his arms around me.

I was smiling as I drifted off to sleep, and remembered to thank whoever was in charge of such things for bringing Miles to me. Or vice versa.

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