Maybe because yes, she’d said that before, but this time — “I never again want to look out into the dark sky and wonder where you are, and if you’re alive. Never want to be more than a phone call away from you. Never want to think that you might…might think that I don’t love you.”

He blinked. Then, finally, finally, he smiled.

And it was sunshine, right to her soul.

“Do you…do you still have my ring?”

He nodded and reached into the front pocket of his jeans.

How it remained untarnished, she hadn’t a clue, but there it was, still gorgeous. A beautiful vintage two carat white gold solitaire, with tiny diamonds in the cradle.

“York —”

“Just put it on your finger and keep it there.”

“You’re so bossy.” But she held out her hand for him to put it on her finger.

“I should put a tracker in it.”

She looked at him. “No need. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled again, a softness in his eyes that made her want to weep. “Not without me, you’re not.”

Then he kissed her again. Sweetly. Firmly.

Because yes, they were back.

“Now,” he said, as he let her go, and took her by the hand. “I could use a nap.”

So maybe he’d overreacted, just a little.

Twenty-four hours after his epic taken down of Mr. Beautiful, York could still feel it in his bones. Sure, he ached a little, but really, the rush of fury, the taste of justice kept him terribly aware of how easily he could reach into the person he’d been.

Revive the Bird.

The thought could catch him up, wrap around him, tighten his breath.

No. He was going home. With RJ.

To the life he’d planned for them.

He just needed to make sure he didn’t bring the Bratva’s bounty with him to their tiny, safe town of Shelly, Washington, a tidbit he’d also left out on his account of their car accident. Sure, they’d been run off the road, but they didn’t know why and yes, it was a lie, a big lie. But the last thing he wanted RJ to worry about was money on his head.

A bounty. Which meant assassins stalking them. And yes, it was selfish, but he just needed a whole minute to get his feet under him.

To figure it out, pivot and attack it head on.

He would tell her the truth—really. As soon as he had answers.

And until then, he was just fine letting himself breathe a little, take in the fresh air of the Tuscan countryside, the crisp piney scent of the towering cypress, the earthy fragrance of the grapes, the scent of roses that climbed up outside his window.