Page 116 of Angel

We settled at a seaside bistro, digging into bowls of bouillabaisse packed with red mullet, saffron broth, and garlic crostini.

Sofia leaned across the table, dipping a crusty piece of baguette into her bouillon while eyeing me with a warm grin.

‘You and Angel are glowing, Roxy,’ Sofia said, taking a sip of crisp rosé. ‘You’re burning up every room you walk into together.’

‘It feels so wild it’s terrifying,’ I confessed, tracing the rim of my wine glass. ‘Part of me keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.’

‘Don’t let past scars ruin your present,’ Sofia urged, reaching out to squeeze my hand. ‘Angel deserves a woman who cares for him, especially after -.’

Her voice trailed off as she paused, and I could tell she was not keen to badmouth my sister to me.

‘After she who shall not be named?’ I quipped, eyebrow raised.

Sofia rolled her eyes, a sharp chuckle escaping her lips.

‘You never liked her, did you?’ I said. ‘Well, neither did I. She did me wrong many times, so much that I lost all love for her. It’s strange that we now have this hot passion for one another after years of Angel’s eyes only on her, but it feels right somehow.’

‘Good for you,’ Sofia said, smiling. ‘Keep stoking that fire, babe, because he’s head over heels for you.’

Later, Angel and I headed to a private seaside restaurant for a romantic dinner over seafood and champagne.

When we returned to the hotel, he pulled me into our room, locked the door, and peeled off my dress.

He claimed every inch of my body, his mouth hot on my neck while his hands pinned my hips to the mattress.

We moved together in a fierce, breathless rhythm, losing ourselves in our savage need until our ragged gasps filled the room long into the night.

I couldn’t get enough; hell, I’d waited years for this kind of bliss.

It felt freakin’ amazing, and I slept in his arms, content, because with him I had all I ever dreamed of.

Chapter 22

ANGEL

Two days later, our jet wheels touched down on the tarmac at LAX.

The engine roar died down as white heat radiated off the black asphalt outside.

I grabbed our duffel bags and my guitar case from the overhead rack, slinging them over one shoulder while keeping one arm locked around Roxy’s waist.

The air in Nashville hit us through the open cabin door, thick with exhaust fumes and summer smog.

It felt good to be back home, but for some reason my instincts were on high alert.

On our first night back, after a takeaway dinner, we went to bed early.

However, I refused to let Roxy sleep in the guest suite.

‘Tonight you’re with me in the primary, wifey,’ I growled as we made our way upstairs, lips already on each other.

She paused at the door to my room, placing a finger on my mouth.

‘Really? Wifey? Are you throwing that around or do you mean it?’

I huffed.

‘I adore you, Rox; hell, I’m getting freakin’ obsessed with you, so yes, I’m fuckin’ serious about it.’