Page 69 of Rescuing Mia

That kiss tempts me to abandon caution and move forward recklessly toward Rigel.

I shouldn’t start something with him, knowing we have no future.

I shouldn’t surrender to the sweetness of his seduction, knowing our stars are stubbornly misaligned.

I shouldn’t stray into the perils of a short-lived romance, defying destiny.

But if I don’t indulge in this passion now, will I regret it forever?

What’s the worst that could happen if I dare to seize this moment?

I know the answer to that.

I’ll have to face the inevitability of a final farewell.

I pause by the porthole, staring at my reflection. My hair’s a mess, and my cheeks are flushed with more than just the heat of the tropical night. I’m not this girl, the one who jumps headfirst into flings, especially when there’s no future.

“Stupid,” I mutter, pressing cool fingers to my burning cheeks. “You’re here to disappear, not get embroiled in a steamy shipboard fling. Focus.”

But oh, those hands of his, strong and sure—every touch ignites a spark, hinting at nights filled with fervent sensation.

And those eyes, sharp with a glint of wildness, promise hours of unrestrained passion.

His lips, adept and artful, are capable of silencing my deepest doubts with a single, purposeful kiss.

That voice, a deep and certain sound that cuts through the silence, promises a delicious descent into desire and carnal pleasure.

It’s madness to even consider acting on this impulse.

A shiver races down my spine, and it’s not from fear—it’s from the memory of his touch.

“Get a grip.” The words are harsh, meant to slap some sense into my sex-addled brain. I glance at the clock beside my bed.

Each tick of the clock pushes me closer to a decision.

A catastrophic crash?

Euphoric ecstasy?

Decadent delight?

This shipboard fling is insanity.

I know it.

But something calls to me, to something primitive within me. I’m tempted to let go.

I’m a woman defined by control and logic, a fortress of restraint, but Rigel makes me question everything.

His unspoken promises and veiled desires tempt me to lower my defenses. I teeter on the edge of reason and entertain the idea of surrender.

Not to him but to the wild, untamed part of myself I’ve kept shackled for most of my adult life. The part that yearns to explore the depths of passion, to drown in the sea of carnal pleasure, if only for a night.

He can give me that.

It’s like he’s challenging me to step into a world where I let my guard down and just feel, even if it’s just for one wild night.

“Damn you,” I whisper into the silence of my room, but it’s not him I’m damning; it’s the part of me that can’t resist him.