his room. He glanced at the clock—six-thirty.
But was it morning or evening?
And what bloody day was it?
He flopped back against the mattress, taking deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. It was just a dream.
A really bad dream.
Mia was safe. Brian was safe. They were all safe.
Mia … he’d lost track of her in the whirlwind that had descended on them the minute they’d set foot on the helipad at The Harbour. Whisked away for tests and debriefing and questions from all kinds of different official people and dozens of people dropping by to wish them well. When he’d finally been told he could go, there’d been no sign of Mia and Evie had told him that she’d taken Mia home and tucked her into bed.
His first instinct had been to go to her. But he’d checked it. She needed to sleep. Just because she’d opened up to him, didn’t negate that they’d both been through a trauma and been up most of the night.
So he’d headed for his bed too. And despite his conviction that his speeding mind wouldn’t allow him respite, the combination of the jet-lag and adrenaline had him out for the count within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
But now he was awake. Wide awake. And he knew why. He knew why with every thud of fear still echoing in each heartbeat. He knew why he was dreaming about Mia. Why the overwhelming panic and despair at losing her—in the crash, in his dream—had woken him from deep and utter exhaustion.
He was in love with her.
He’d foolishly thought that they were just a casual thing. That they were having a bit of fun. Some great sex, a distracting flirtation.
But obviously his brain hadn’t been listening.
Because while his body had been enjoying itself he hadn’t realised his emotions had become involved. That their entire relationship had been based on a series of emotional connections—interlocking, weaving them together.
Stan and the emotional tumult of his case—for both of them—had been the first connection. Being held at knifepoint had been the catalyst for their initial sexual liaison. Sure, he’d dismissed it as a very nice, very surprising turn of events. But it hadn’t been the uncomplicated one-off he’d been fooling himself it was.
It had occurred after a highly charged emotional incident.
And then later, when they’d worked together to save Stan’s life, they’d forged an even deeper bond.
His grandmother’s death had ramped it up a little more. Forced them to an even deeper level of emotional intimacy without him even knowing it. She’d been there to comfort him. To hold him. To tell him to get his butt on a plane and go to her funeral.
That had been more than just sex, no matter what she’d said.
For heaven’s sake, she’d stayed the night. She never stayed the night. She didn’t even cuddle.
And then there was last night. Sharing that near-death experience and then opening up to her, like he’d never done before. Unburdening all the ugly things about his past he never spoke about. Listening to her as she’d unburdened hers.
He’d been pretending it was casual. Having a great time with hard and fast sex, indulging in the physical to override anything deeper. But somewhere along the way it had become more than that.
For him anyway.
He loved her. And it didn’t frighten him. He didn’t want to run from it like he had in the past. Maybe returning to Sicily had laid some ghosts to rest. Maybe it was almost dying in that helicopter crash. Maybe it was Mia almost dying in that helicopter crash.
But he wanted to live. He wanted that grand love poets had written about. And he wanted it with Mia. His scarred, scared Mia.
He didn’t want to live another day without it.
Mia woke to a terrible racket. She’d been so tired when Evie had finally dragged her home and pushed her into the shower, not even thoughts of Luca had been enough to keep her awake as she’d collapsed naked into bed.
It took her a moment to realise the racket was coming from the front door. ‘Go away,’ she groaned as she dragged the pillow over her head and shut her eyes again.
‘Mia? Mia! Open up!’
Mia sat up as the voice registered. Luca?
‘Mia!’
Luca’s urgent tone penetrated the fog of fatigue. She was throwing back the covers and pulling on a robe before her sluggish brain even registered her purpose.
‘Mia!’
‘Coming!’ she called as she hurried out of her bedroom, tying the robe firmly at her waist, half