She doesn’t ask for clarification. It’s as if she understands the weight of my words through the language barrier.
“I devote myself to you, Isla.” I interpret anyway. “You have my heart. My soul. My love in this life and the next.”
She shakes her head, placing a hand to my chest.
I feel her slip away, despite her hips still pressed against mine. “Come home with me.”
She swallows. Anxiously moistens those fucking delectable lips. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I disagree. You’ll want for nothing—physically, financially, emotionally. Give me the chance to prove it to you.”
Her brow furrows, her eyes imploring,beggingme to stop.
“This isn’t about me wanting to fuck you.” I brace a hand against the wall behind her to keep myself steady. “I’ll deny myself however long it takes to make this right.”
Someone clears their throat in the distance.
Fucking lobby security.
I ignore them and hold Isla’s stare, silently demanding she do the same. “We mean more than sex.”
She blinks back at me in silence, in torment, her brow pinching, nose scrunching.
“You know I won’t give up.” I grab her hand and bring her knuckles to my lips, the kiss reverent. Worshipping. “I’ll win you over or die trying.”
She whimpers. “Raffael…”
“Give me the grace to love you,la mia rovina,and earn your love in return.” I stand before her, stripped of pride, devoid of shame, and all the better for it. “Admit you’re mine. Come home with me. And let us have the life we should’ve started years ago.”
Epilogue
ISLA
Three weeks later
I didn’t takeRaffael up on his offer.
Not immediately.
I insisted I needed more time, even though my heart was in my throat, my life already rewritten to revolve around him.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t crowd me, interject, or negotiate.
He digested the rejection with composure, revealing the return of his control. That admirable, obnoxiously sexy restraint that never ceases to make my toes curl.
But I also saw the cost. Witnessed the straightening of his shoulders and the steely rise of his chin that announced the punishment I’d inflicted.
I soothed the sting by caving to his insistence to drive me home—the ride painstaking, my request for time coming back to bite me because all I wanted was to set fire to caution and indulge in what felt right.
He’d pulled to the curb in front of my building, gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding him back fromdragging me onto his lap, and told me to “sleep well” while looking at me as if trying to memorize my face in case he never saw me again.
Sleep. Well.
As if sleep were at all possible with the heat still in my veins and the longing that ate at my chest.
The fact he’d been willing to let me walk, given his aversion to defeat, only made me want him more. So I don’t exactly blame myself for unclasping my belt, climbing across the center console, and instigating what will forever be known as the spectacularly ill-advised and overly indulgent reconciliation that laughed in the face of self-preservation.
Was there potential for being charged with public indecency? Yes.