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I loop my arms around his neck and tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “Then what do you think of? What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see a strong woman who refused to let some asshole treat her like she didn’t matter and is finally taking back control of her life.”

“I’m not sure about that.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh, averting my gaze.

“Hey.” He tips my chin up until my eyes meet his again. “You asked what I see. You may not believe it yet. But hopefully in time, you’ll see yourself the way I do.”

I bite my lower lip, trying to reel in my smile.

I can’t remember the last time anyone’s made me smile like this.

Can’t remember the last time I had a reason to smile.

But with Joshua, it’s easy. Effortless.

“What else?” I ask, toying with a few strands of his hair that have fallen over his collar.

“Fishing for compliments now, are you?”

“After being married to someone who couldn’t say anything positive unless it was about his players, it’s sort of nice to hear. But don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.”

“Well, you should let it go to your head.” His expression hardens slightly, his jaw tensing. “And your ex is a fucking idiot. He should have told you how beautiful you are every single day.”

“I’m not even sure if he called me beautiful on our wedding day,” I muse.

“Listen to me, Wynter…” He takes my face between both hands. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

I stare into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception or pretense. A sign he’s only saying this in the hopes of getting laid.

But I don’t find it.

All I see staring back at me is the same honesty I’ve always seen from him. Only now there’s something else mixed in.

Heat. Hunger. And something softer I’m afraid to name.

I swallow hard, unsure what to do with all these strange feelings crowding my chest.

So I do the only thing that feels right.

I pull his face down to mine and kiss him. It’s messy and desperate, full of everything I can’t even begin to explain.

The years I’ve spent sacrificing my dreams.

The years I’ve spent trying to be enough.

The years I’ve spent changing who I am to suit someone else.

But with Joshua, I can finally let it all go. All the hurt. All the sacrifices. All the feelings of inadequacy.

None of it matters right now.

Maybe it never did.

Joshua slides a hand to my hip and guides me backward, his mouth moving against mine, slowing, deepening, like he’s trying to memorize me. With each stroke of his tongue and brush of his hand, my pulse climbs. Everywhere he touches me comes alive with an unrelenting ache I doubt will ever go away.

When the backs of my legs hit the bed, he starts to lower me onto it. But before he can, I tear my mouth from his and press a palm to his chest, easing him back a step.

“Wait,” I say, struggling to catch my breath.