Page 72 of Austen

“Because when Grandma collapsed, the doctor found her cancer, and they were able to treat it.She ended up living for five more years, much longer than she would have if they hadn’t found it.Her collapse prolonged her life.”

She looked over at him.“That was the first time I heard my mom say that sometimes God leads us into a place where we can’t fix it so that he will.He lets us get in over our heads.”

“Like Paul being shipwrecked.”

“Yep.‘Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand.Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.’”

“That sounds like a Bible verse,” he said.

“It is,” she said.“I need to remember that a lot more.”

“To be clear, Austen—it’s not that I don’t believe in God.I do.But somehow, I just can’t help but think that I messed up somewhere long ago and He said, ‘Declan, you’re on your own now.’”He hated how his throat burned at the admission.

She looked up at him.“But you don’t have to be.”

Wow, he hoped that she was talking about the two of them.He stopped, and when she did too and turned to him, he took her other hand.“Austen, you are good for me.You have a fresh perspective on life, and that’s something I desperately need.I know the last forty-eight hours haven’t gone quite like we’d planned, but I would really like to get to know you better, and frankly, let you get to knowmebetter—preferably in less challenging, pirate-enhanced situations.”

She laughed then, and he smiled as he ran his gaze over her face.“Can I...?”

She stepped up to him, closing the gap.“Yes.”

So he kissed her, keeping it slow, trying for perfection, cradling her face, angling his mouth to press against hers.She tasted of the sweetness of her smile, smelled of the allure of the night as she returned the kiss, her lips softening, receiving, giving.Oh, the woman was goodness and light, and he just wanted more of her.Maybe she felt that way too, because she wound her arms up around his shoulders and stepped closer.The sense of her rushed over him, andfine—he let himself just a little off his rein.And maybe this wasn’t the right place for this kind of ardor, but it was a dark street in the middle of sultry Havana, and he didn’t care that the chauffeur was watching every second of it.

At least that meant they were probably safe.

He made a sound, deep inside, and felt her relax.He could stay here all night, holding her.

Finally, he lifted his head.“I do know that I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.

“Oh,” she said, “don’t be so sure.”Then she smiled.“I might be more trouble than I look like I’d be.”

He laughed then, and she smiled, and light poured into his soul.For the first time in years, he felt that maybe, yes, everything was going to be just fine.

* * *

It wasn’t a date.Really, it wasn’t.But tell that to her heart as Austen walked hand in hand with Declan through the Plaza Vieja, the stars sprinkling down from overhead.The scent of the sea layered the air, and coconut trees rustled in the scant wind, lifting the heat from the air.

Streetlamps lit the plaza, puddling light on the cobblestones, and a fountain in the center cast mist into the air.Spanish-style buildings from blue to pastel pink ringed the square on each side with ground-floor arched porticos.A number of patrons sat at the cafés and restaurants, drinking coffee or late-night cocktails, while buskers sang folk songs and people dropped coins into upturned hats.

The taste of Declan’s kiss still lingered on her lips.Really, through her entire body, the way he’d woven himself into her senses, perfectly, gently, the sense of him overtaking her.

As if he knew she needed time and protection, he had waited for her to step in, to deepen the kiss.And then he’d kissed her with a sort of depth and need that had her bones turning to liquid as she clung to him, needing him right back.

No, she’d never been kissed by anyone the way Declan Stone kissed her.And now he walked beside her as if he hadn’t shattered her defenses and staked a place in her heart.

Oh boy.

Please, let him be a good man.Because she believed it, despite the words of Phoenix and even Steinbeck.And it was more than justwantingto believe.His dark-gray eyes possessed an earnestness, and his explanations about their accusations made sense.

It didn’t hurt that the man looked like his billionaire self, in a pair of black linen pants and a light-gray linen shirt and leather loafers.Smelling of aftershave and a shower.The Declan Stone who made deals and ruled a kingdom.

“Would you like some coffee?”he asked as they passed a café.

“Oh, I won’t sleep for a week if I have coffee at this time of night,” she said, “but maybe some ice cream?”She pointed to a gelato shop, and he nodded.

“Good call.”

They’d passed their hotel on their way to the square, and he’d suggested the stroll.She felt pretty and even safe with his hand in hers.She’d turned into Cinderella at some tropical ball, the velvety night overhead, the music of romance in her heart.

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