Page 193 of Claimed At First Sight

I hold his gaze. I like this version of Maximo Marco.

Silence stretches comfortably between us while the storm continues to rage somewhere beyond the walls of the penthouse. The occasional gust still rattles against the windows and makes the tower sway ever so slightly, but it no longer sends my pulse racing.

At some point, the fear slipped away. In its place is something I hadn’t expected to find tonight.

Contentment.

If someone had told me this morning that I’d end the day happily tucked against Maximo in front of a fireplace, I’d have suggested they seek professional help.

Maximo glances toward the windows before looking back at me.

“It’s getting late. You need some rest.”

He isn’t wrong.

“We might as well stay here,” he says, gesturing toward our nest of blankets. “The fire is warmer than any guest room.”

“Yes.” I’m quick to agree. The thought of spending the rest of the night in a strange bed alone during this storm makes me forget how relaxed I’ve been.

Maximo shifts onto his back, looking over at me. Without a word, he lifts the blanket, keeping it open for me.

Before I can overthink it, I move to him and settle against his side, resting my head on his chest as though I’ve done it a hundred times before.

His arm settles around me, and after adjusting the blanket over us, his hand begins moving in slow, unhurried strokes along my back.

The gentle rhythm is impossibly soothing.

My eyelids grow heavy as the adrenaline that carried me through the evening finally ebbs. Maximo’s heartbeat is slow and steady beneath my cheek, each stroke of his hand drawing me closer to sleep.

I let out a contented sigh and burrow just a fraction closer.

Feeling safe in Maximo’s arms, I let my eyes drift closed.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Maximo

The storm continues to rage beyond the windows, but beside the fire, with Mia tucked against me, the chaos outside seems distant.

Since she built this nest of blankets and I drew her against me, she’s calmed considerably. While we were chatting, her shaking stopped, warmth returned to her body, and she no longer went rigid every time the tower shifted beneath us.

Now she’s cuddled against me, tired and worn out, yet fighting the pull of slumber as the silence makes her aware of the tower’s slight swaying again.

Still, her head grows heavier against my chest, and her eyelids remain closed longer each time they drift shut.

I press my mouth to the top of her head and bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in.

Stubborn little rebel, trying to cling to consciousness. I continue running my hand slowly up and down her back, willing the soothing motion to ease her into sleep.

I like having her in my arms, her body curled into mine.

It’s been a long time since I held a woman like this.

Not since…

My hand stops midway down Mia’s back. My stomach drops, and every part of me turns rigid.

What am I doing?