Chapter 37
THEO
Theo lies still, one hand trailing idle patterns across the bare skin of Mila’s back, the other curled protectively around her hip.
Mila is draped over him, her breath warm against his chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles near his collarbone.
The room smells like her now—heat and perfume and sex—and he never wants to leave.
He shifts slightly beneath her, the sheets tangled at their waists, and a rush of satisfaction spreads through him, thick and potent, settling deep like heat poured into cold metal.
Damn.
The way she looked bent over for him when they made love again, moaning into the pillow, her body arching like she needed him more than air. The way she cried out his name when he hit just the right spot. It’s burned into him now. Etched into his bones like scripture.
He wants her like that every day. Every night.
Forever.
The thought is enough to make him hard again, and forces himself to breathe through it. Because now isn’t the time for another round, no matter how badly he wants her.
She’s leaving.
Tomorrow, she flies back to Toronto. Back to her job. Her real life. And even though they’re wrapped up together in the softest moment imaginable, he can already sense the distance settling between them like fog creeping under the door.
Theo presses a kiss into her hair and exhales.
“I should probably go,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Let you get some sleep.”
Mila stirs against him, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to either,” he says honestly. “But you’ve got an early flight.”
She frowns, her fingers drifting over his chest like she’s sketching him into memory. “I could come back. This weekend. I’ll drive down after work. It’s only a few hours.”
His heart vaults at the offer, swelling with a hope so fierce it almost hurts—until the truth slams back into him, cold and merciless.
“I won’t be here.”
A tiny crease etches itself between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Road trip,” he says quietly. “We leave Thursday morning. Gone for a week.”
Mila pulls back slightly, eyes searching his face. Her voice comes out softer, smaller. “I just got you. I don’t want to be apart already.”
The ache in his chest blooms like a bruise beneath the skin.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mila. You’ve got me.”
Her eyes shine in the low light. “You promise?”
“I swear,” he whispers. “You’re mine now.”
He means it. There’s no version of this life now where he lets her go.
Theo dresses slowly.
He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave the warm tangle of sheets or the soft, sleep-heavy shape of Mila curled in bed. But time’s marching forward, indifferent to how badly he wants to stay.
His hands work methodically as he buttons his shirt and slides his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, his thoughts caught in the haze of hours before. In the way she gasped his name, the way her nails dragged down his back, the way her eyes shone when he told her she was his.
He bends over her before he goes, pressing one last kiss to her shoulder. She rolls onto her back, still bare beneath the sheet, her hair mussed, her lips parted in protest.
“You really have to go?” she whispers, eyes glassy with sleep and something like disappointment.
“I do,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “But I’ll text you tomorrow.”
She nods, wordless, then slips from the sheets and pulls on a T-shirt, the hem skimming her thighs as she falls into step beside him. Barefoot, she pads through the hush of the hotel carpet to the door.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispers, and the softness of it carves him open.
His hand grips the handle, pulling the door open, but he can’t make himself leave.
He spins back and claims her mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss, studying the taste, the shape, the fact of her.
His hand cradles her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone, and when their mouths deepen together, when their breath tangles in the quiet hush of the hotel hallway, he feels everything in him settle for one perfect, fleeting second.
He wants to burn her kiss into memory. To keep it safe for the nights he knows are coming, the ones that will be cold and heavy and far too quiet without her.
“Well. Isn’t this cute.”
The moment shatters like glass underfoot.
Mila jerks back, breath caught, and Theo already knows. His whole body goes rigid as he turns, shoulders squared, eyes locked forward.
Fucking Richard.
He’s propped in the doorway across the hall, tie loose, collar undone, smug little sneer curling the edge of his mouth like he just caught them doing something dirty behind the church pews.
What the fuck is it with this guy, Theo thinks, bile rising in his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Richard drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. “But I had to see it for myself. Mila spreading her legs again like butter on—”
Theo doesn’t even think.
His body lunges ahead of thought, vision tunneling, blood roaring like fire in his skull. He steps into Richard’s space, shoulders squared, fists curling tight enough to splinter bone.
“Say another fucking word.”
His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. It scrapes out of his throat like gravel dragged across pavement.
Richard grins wider, eyes glittering, and Theo knows in his bones that the bastard planned this. Timed it. Waited behind that door until he heard the lock turn.
“You know,” he says, eyes on Mila, ignoring Theo entirely, “sleeping with a client is kind of a PR nightmare, don’t you think? Wonder what Jaryd would say.”
Beside him, Mila stiffens. Her arms cross protectively over her chest, her eyes dark with something Theo hates to see. Shame. Pain. Not because she’s done anything wrong, but because this fucker knows exactly where to aim.
Richard clocks it and smiles, shark-like. “Oh right. He hates mess. Especially when it reflects poorly on the firm.”
Theo takes another step forward, forcing Richard to retreat.
“I warned you last time. You keep talking to her like that, and I’ll put you through that wall,” he says, the threat laced with violence he barely bothers to conceal.
Richard raises both hands slowly, mock surrender, eyes gleaming. “Easy, Captain. No need for bloodshed. I’m just saying—it’s a bold move. Let’s hope it doesn’t cost Mila her job.”
Fury crawls up his throat like fire. Theo opens his mouth to tell Richard where to go when his voice catches, words forming on his tongue that won’t come out, choking him.
Not now, he berates himself. Don’t fucking give him this.
He swallows it back and breathes through it. Forces the words into line as he stares Richard down, voice dropping lower.
“You don’t talk to her like that,” he grits out. “Not now. Not ever. You so much as look at her sideways again, and I’ll make sure you’re choking on your own teeth before you hit the ground.”
The grin slips from Richard’s face—only slightly, but it’s enough to satisfy something cold and hard in Theo’s chest.
He turns, barely holding himself together, his hands still trembling with the urge to break something, to break him. Mila is watching him, her eyes wide, glassy with too many emotions, and none of them are ones she should be carrying.
He reaches for her cheek, brushes his thumb there like a promise. Gentle. Steady. Even though he is anything but.
“Go inside,” he says, voice still rough. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
Once she’s safely back in her room, he forces himself to walk away, every muscle in his body pulled so tight it hurts to breathe. His jaw clenches, his fists throb, and the taste of her is still on his lips.
But Richard’s voice stays in his ears like poison, like rot.
Theo knows if it happens again, he won’t walk away next time.