Page 96 of The Mountain Echoes

“I was angry. I was twenty. I was hurt. Papa said if I didn’t behave I could leave. So…I left.”

“Jesus.”

She exhales like it’s a cleanse. “Papa never asked me to come back. I’d call—on his birthday, mine, Christmas. We’d talk for five minutes, tops. Just the basics. Never once did he say, ‘Come home, Aria.’” Her voice is barelyabove a whisper now, her words laced with grief. “If he had, I would’ve.”

Beneath the strength she wears like armor, there’s still a small girl.

Behind the grit is a child whose shoulders are slumped in defeat because she wasn’t chosen.

“I was afraid to come without him asking. I was afraid he’d reject me. I’m such a coward.”

“No.” I take her chin in my hand so she has to look at me. “You’re not a coward. You’re a warrior. You’re smart. You’re strong. You’re not scared of hard work. I’m proud of you. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for my hurtful words.”

Her lower lip wobbles, and she indeed looks like Joy used to when she was a kid, right before she burst into tears.

“You are doin’ somethinghard,and you’re doin’ it with heart. You’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

Disbelief flickers in her gaze.

“They were all fools,” I continue, softly. “Your father was wrong. He suffered for it. His will is evidence of that. And Hudson? That guy has the integrity of slime.”

“I always feel like I’m not enough.”

“You are more than enough. For anyone.”For me!

I dip my mouth to hers.

“Maverick,” she whispers.

“Let me taste you.”

She grabs the front of my shirt and crashes her lips into mine.

Her tongue is in my mouth before I can even think, hot and wet and demanding.

I groan into her, my hands sliding up her sides, feeling the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts under her button-down.

When I pull away, my hands stay on her breasts. “I want to see.”

She nods and, slowly, as she watches me, unbuttons her shirt.

Fuck!

Her bra is the color of her skin. I flick the front clasp open. She gasps.

Her tits are perfect—full and round, her nipples hard and begging for my mouth.

I don’t make her wait.

I latch onto one, sucking hard. She moans like a siren, her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Maverick,” she breathes, her voice husky and broken.

I lift my head and look at her nipple, wet and puckered. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Me too,” she whimpers.

“Yeah?” I growl, my teeth grazing her nipple.