Chapter 21
Noah
Having Chiara call out to me like that—right there in front of everyone?
Best. Bloody. Day. Ever.
I’ve been walking around with a stupid grin on my face ever since.
This sneaking around we’ve been doing the past couple weeks?
I’ll admit it’s been exciting in its own way.
Stolen kisses. Quiet doors closing.
The thrill of knowing we’re getting away with something.
But the truth is?
My girl shouldn’t be hidden.
She shouldn’t be someone I slip away to see in corners and empty rooms.
Chiara Giardino deserves to be seen.
Praised.
Admired.
Worshipped.
And I’m more than happy to take on that job.
Starting immediately.
The second we step into the hotel room, I shut the door behind us and scoop her up before she can even set her bag down.
She squeals as I hoist her over my shoulder.
“Hey!” she yelps, thumping my back.
Too late.
I’m already marching toward the bathroom.
Her hair brushes my arm, her laughter bouncing around the small room while she kicks lightly behind me.
And yeah, I give her a playful smack on the arse as I go.
She shrieks.
“NOAH!”
“Remember,” I say, trying and failing to sound stern, “I’m in charge here.”
She snorts from where she’s draped over my shoulder.
“You wish.”
I grin.
Because the truth is I do enjoy pretending to be in charge.
But the other truth?
I love it even more when she pushes back.
When she rolls those brown eyes and takes control of the moment like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Confidence looks ridiculously good on her.
I set her down once we reach the bathroom, but I don’t step away.
The room fills with steam as I turn on the shower, hot water pounding against the tile.
Chiara leans back against the counter, watching me with that curious little smile that always makes my chest tighten.
“What exactly is your plan here, Walker?” she asks.
“Simple.”
I reach forward, hooking my fingers lightly through the waistband of her shorts and tugging her a step closer.
“I just played eighty minutes of brutal rugby.”
“Mm.”
“And you’re a physio.”
Her eyebrow lifts.
“Yes?”
“So I’m thinking,” I murmur, lowering my voice as I brush a curl away from her cheek, “there’s a very good chance I need some hands on recovery.”
She laughs softly.
“Oh, really?”
“Absolutely.”
Her eyes drift toward the shower.
Then back to me.
“And you think that involves dragging me in there with you?”
“Pretty sure that’s the medically recommended treatment.”
She tilts her head, considering me.
“You’re very confident for someone asking a favor.”
“Not a favor,” I say, stepping closer until our bodies nearly touch. “An opportunity.”
Her lips twitch.
“For who?”
“For the two of us, Love.”
For a moment she just studies me, that spark of mischief dancing in her eyes.
Then she reaches past me and pushes the bathroom door shut with a quiet click.
“Well,” she says softly, “I suppose I should make sure my patient doesn’t suffer.”
Christ.
If she keeps looking at me like that, I’m not sure I’ll make it out of here alive.
But honestly? Don’t care.