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I rise onto my toes. He meets me halfway.

We fall into each other—seeking, searching, clinging, kissing like neither of us can get close enough.

And this time, something is different.

At least for me.

This isn't only desire.

I'm not hiding behind heat anymore.

Every kiss means too much. Every touch reaches too deep.

I feel his hands on me, but I also feel the kiss in the library. His fingers threaded through mine. The way he looked across that room and found me first. Mama Paola greeting him like family. Carolina telling me she'd never seen him like this with anyone.

You must be special.

I want to be.

God, I want to be.

Mitchell pulls back just enough to look at me. I almost wish he wouldn't.

Because there's nowhere to hide when he does this.

His forehead rests against mine. Our breathing tangles. His hand cups my face.

Not demanding.

Not possessive.

Just there.

Holding me.

“Layla.”

My heart hurts. He says my name differently when we're alone.

Softer. Like it belongs somewhere inside him.

I touch his face.

His eyes close for half a second.

That tiny surrender nearly destroys me.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

Those blue eyes open. And he does.

He looks at me while I let myself feel every terrifying thing I've been trying not to feel.

Longing.

Trust.

Hope.