Page 40 of Devlin (Lighthouse Security Investigations Montana #4)

Mia was so lost in the kiss that she didn't care if she never came up for air, or food, or sleep. Every need her body required could be found in his arms. She would breathe his air, feast upon his mouth, and rest with her body sated by him.

Her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt, fingers splaying over his warm skin as she tugged it free from his waistband and pushed it upward. The fabric bunched against his arms, and she let out a small, impatient sound.

Devlin stilled, his mouth hovering over hers, his breath warm against her lips.

Then with an easy shift, he reached behind his neck, grasped his shirt, and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.

The discarded fabric hit the floor at their feet, forgotten the moment her hands explored the hard planes of his chest.

He was a big man—not sculpted like an airbrushed model’s photograph but powerfully carved from years of discipline and hard work.

There was strength in his frame, a steadiness in the way he held himself, a quiet confidence that made her knees weak.

His body bore the marks of his life. She spied the small scar on his chin from the dirt bike accident he had when he was still in high school.

And now, the raised scar on his upper chest from the enemy fire he’d nearly died from.

She placed a light kiss on the puckered skin, wanting to memorize the place where she now knew had changed his life.

She gazed at the tattoos etched over muscle, stories inked into his skin. Her fingers traced over the new designs, lingering on the lighthouse that stretched across his shoulder, the symbol mirroring the one on the necklace he had given her. The sight sent a wave of emotion crashing through her.

His fingers worked the buttons of her shirt with deliberate slowness, and she clung to his arms, breath catching as the fabric parted.

When his fingertip skimmed along the lace of her bra, following the curve of her breasts, she shivered in anticipation.

Her arms dropped, letting him slide the shirt from her shoulders, the material slipping down her arms to join his on the floor.

His hands spanned her waist, his touch reverent, but his restraint seemed to flee.

With a deft flick, he unsnapped her bra, baring her to him.

His gaze raked over her, darkened with something primal, something possessive.

His hands followed his eyes, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over taut peaks, drawing a gasp from her parted lips.

She wanted to close her eyes, to drown in the sensation of his touch, but she refused to look away.

Not after ten years. Not when she had spent so long dreaming of this moment, aching for it.

She needed to see him—needed to memorize every flicker of emotion across his face, every shift in his expression that told her this was real.

His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his pupils wide, his nostrils flaring as if he were struggling to control himself. His voice was raw. “You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known.”

For a fleeting second, a shadow of doubt crept in—memories of the years apart, the women who might have touched him and whispered his name in the dark. But as the thought surfaced, his expression hardened as though he had read her mind.

“There's no one else in this room besides us, Mia. No one from my past. No one from yours. Everything we are starts right now.”

Her breath hitched. She nodded, the weight of his words sinking into her soul, grounding her at this moment. Everything we are starts right now.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle.

His hands covered hers, steady and patient, as he freed the leather strap and let it fall.

She undid the button, dragged the zipper down, and felt his arousal press against her fingers through the fabric.

A spark of satisfaction curled low in her belly.

She started to push his pants down, but he caught her hands, stilling her.

“This would work if I was barefoot, sweetheart," he murmured, a teasing glint in his eyes. "But if we’re going to do what I hope we are on that small bed over there, I need to get my boots off first. Otherwise, I’m going to be tripping with my pants around my ankles and my ass hanging out while I bend you over your desk.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her, unexpected but welcome. The tension cracked, and she shook her head, grinning. “If that's a threat, it's not working. The idea of you doing that to me is a turn-on. But I take your point. Shoes off… at least for tonight.”

His deep chuckle rumbled between them, rich and warm, melting her a little more. As she toed off her shoes, he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging off his boots. The moment he was free of them, there was no hesitation.

Pants. Gone. Underwear. Gone.

And then it was just them, skin against skin, standing in the dim light of her small room, nothing between them but the years they refused to let define them.

She hesitated for the first time. Not out of shyness but out of overwhelming emotion. Jim Devlin—her first love, the man she had never stopped loving—was in front of her, offering everything. A piece of himself she thought had been lost forever.

Her throat tightened, her eyes burning as tears welled, unbidden.

He stepped closer, his knuckles brushing her cheek, gentle despite the callouses. “What’s wrong, my Mia?”

She swallowed, shaking her head slowly. “It’s as though everything I wanted but never admitted how much I needed stands before me.”

A rough sound escaped him, something close to a groan.

“I feel the same way. Almost as though you’re a mirage, and if I blink, you’ll disappear.

” He framed her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing over her cheekbones with aching tenderness.

“Everything I thought was lost is now found. I’m waking up from a long fucking dream and realizing that what’s in my arms is the only thing I ever want to wake up to. ”

Emotion surged, tightening her chest. She clutched his face, bringing their mouths together in a slow, searching kiss.

The touch of lips was tentative at first as if making sure this was real.

But then the dam broke, and everything they had held back for a decade—the longing, the ache, and the love was poured into the kiss, consuming them both.

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies pressed together, heat merging. Laying her gently on the bed, he let his weight settle over her, grounding them both. Her legs stayed locked around his back, heels digging into his skin as if she feared he'd vanish.

He knew he wouldn’t last long. Slipping a hand between them, he found her ready, slick with need. Her body arched beneath him, pleading without words.

“Take me now, Jim. Make me yours once again. I’m ready. I don’t want to waste another minute.” Her voice was breathless and urgent. “All the other fun stuff we can do later. Right now, I just want you.”

With her plea, all rational thought left him. He lined himself at her entrance, feeling the heat of her body welcoming him home. In one firm thrust, he was buried deep inside her, filling every empty space as if he had never left.

She gasped, back arching, breasts pressing against him, and he bit back a groan. Afraid he might lose control too soon, he bent his head, capturing a taut nipple in his mouth, teasing and tugging until she writhed beneath him, breath coming in desperate pants.

“I should’ve taken care of you first,” he rasped, barely able to form words.

“You are taking care of me,” she gasped. “I feel every inch of you inside me. Your body on mine, your kisses… I feel—” A sharp cry ripped from her throat as her nails sank into his shoulders, her body clenching around him, shattering as he drove her over the edge.

He swallowed her cries with his mouth, desperate to be as close to her as possible. As she trembled beneath him, he thrust harder, faster, until the bed rattled beneath them.

His release barreled into him like a freight train. He buried himself as deep as he could, a deep groan escaping his lips as pleasure crashed through him, leaving him breathless and undone.

One thought eclipsed everything else—he loved Mia Duff. He always had. He always would.

Still joined, he slowed his movements, savoring every last moment, every lingering connection. He laced their fingers together, pressing her hands into the mattress, and when he looked down, she was staring up at him, love shining in her eyes.

Call it providence, serendipity, luck, fate, the stars aligning—whatever it was, they had been given a second chance. And he wasn’t going to waste a single minute. Not ever again.