Miracle's POV
I was happy to just listen. I kept my own world a secret, and he never pushed, content to tell me about his dreams for his country.
Weeks slipped by. He was always a perfect gentleman—charming, playful, saying all the right things, but always keeping a careful physical distance. We would talk for hours, and every day I hoped he would finally kiss me. He never did.
So I decided to take matters into my own hands.
On my eighteenth birthday, I managed to sneak away from my security team and met him in the park. The evening was perfect, the sky a soft blue, the air sweet. I remember the cheerful chatter of birds. It was a beautiful day.
I crept up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He turned instantly, his face breaking into that soft smile I loved. His beautiful eyes moved all over me.
"Happy birthday, Darling. You're officially an adult," he said. He leaned in. My heart leaped—this is it!—but he only pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek before placing a small box in my hand.
My hope for a real kiss dissolved into disappointment.
Inside the box was a beautiful pair of earrings. "Wow, thanks," I said, my voice a little hollow. Jewelry wasn't really my thing, but because it was from him, it felt magical.
We talked for a while, but I couldn't focus. My whole world had narrowed to the invisible space between us. Finally, I crossed it.
I reached for him. His hands came up in a defensive gesture, which was almost funny given how much bigger he was. I touched his palms, my touch so light it was barely there. I felt his pulse jump under my fingertips.
This. If I never had anything else, I wanted this moment.
"Let go," I whispered, my voice thick.
His breath hitched. He gave a slight, helpless shake of his head. Every nerve in my body was alive, buzzing. We both knew what would happen if he surrendered.
And then, his hands opened.
I moved into him, pressing my body against the solid length of his. I slid my hands up, gripping the tough muscles at the back of his neck, and tugged his head down until his lips found mine.
I thought he might resist. If he had, I would have fought for him. He was worth fighting for. I'd waited my whole life for someone worth fighting for.
But he didn't fight.
His shoulders curved around me, and his arm clamped across my back like he wanted to pull me inside his very skin. He kissed me over and over, a desperate, hungry discovery of how we fit together. His breath was a warm rush against my cheek, and the intimate taste of him made my head spin.
Good Lord, it was everything I imagined. Everything. Single. Goddamn. Thing!
Suddenly, he pried my arms away and pushed me back gently. "Oh, hell," he whispered, shivering.
A thrill went through me. Good. I wasn't the only one completely undone.
He ran a hand through his hair. "Damn."
I felt sleepy and dazed, wobbling without his support. He reached out to steady me.
"I'm too old for you," he said, his voice rough.
"I know."
"It's not right. You're eighteen. I'm twenty-four..."
"I don't care," I said, and it was the truest thing I'd ever felt.
I watched the war in his eyes, saw his resolve crumble. He reached for me.
"Stop me now," he breathed, "or I swear to God, I will kiss you again."
As if anything in heaven or hell could make me stop him. Not a thunderstorm. Not lightning. Nothing.
"Stevie."
"Miracle…" His voice was low, his breathing ragged. "Come here. You taste so good."
I went willingly. I fell instantly.
He looked at me like I was the sun and the moon and every star, all rolled into one. His face said that every single part of me pleased him, that he burned for me. He was my heart. My soul. My entire world, and I disappeared into him without a second thought.
I fell in love, hopelessly and completely.
And now, I am sitting on a rickety bus, with the biggest ache I have ever felt, wondering how the boy who looked at me like I was everything good in his life could stand in a dirty bathroom and tell me without blinking that he was chose someone else.
I wanted to understand what went wrong.
How my prince charming turned into a biblical demon. I thought if I could just figure it out, I might be able to breathe again.
I tried. But I couldn't.
Steve Jackson took my breath away, and good Lord, it wasn't in a good way.