Relief––I see it in the way her shoulders relax, the way her fingers brush against my chest.

She relaxes, but my pulse ticks faster.

Tyson McRae is in love with her. And I know him. He might back down for now, but he’s not finished pursuing her.

“I can’t bear to be separated again.”

I bring her hand to my mouth, kissing the top. “We’ll find a way to make this work.”

“Will you stay with me until you go to Dallas?”

“Babe, you couldn’t pry me away from you with a crowbar.”

A small giggle bubbles out of her, bright and unexpected, and something deep in my chest loosens. God, I missed that sound. I’d forgotten how it could light up every dark corner inside me without even trying.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Skip work tomorrow and spend the day with me.”

A regretful smile pulls at her lips. “I can’t. I have a new client coming in for a consultation.”

“Cancel it.”

She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Tempting, but I can’t afford to do that. In case you forgot, I lost my only client.”

Her expression sobers. “Starting a business isn’t easy. I need this client.”

She does. And I hate it. Not because she’s chasing her dream—there’s nothing I admire more about her—but because if it were up to me, she’d never have to worry about another client again. I’d take care of her. Make sure she had every resource, every opportunity, every single thing she needed to make this business thrive.

But Magnolia Steel isn’t a woman who’d ever accept that.

So I just nod. “I get it.”

She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “My meeting’s early. We’ll have the rest of the day together.”

Kiss.

“And the night.”

Kiss.

“And every minute in between.”

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all night.”

She settles cross-legged beside me, knees splayed open, her body relaxed like she’s not on display. Her bare pussy gleams in the low light, tempting me like a fucking siren call. My fists clench against the need to shove her back onto the mattress and feast on her until she’s screaming my name.

“Tell me about your surgery.”

I divert my eyes away, running a hand through my hair. “The surgeon is one of the best—he specializes in reconstructive surgeries on sports injuries like mine. I’ll have to do my physical therapy there for twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks in Dallas? Shit.”

Fear flickers in her face. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’ll be in the U.S., but Dallas is so far away. It isn’t any better than Sydney. Not being together… is not being together, no matter where you are.”