Maverick stepped into the guest room with furrowed brows.
Right on the bed, Valencia was curled up in a fetal position, fast asleep. Dry tears hung on her petite and exquisite face, stabbing Maverick's heart deeply.
Maverick extended his hand towards Valencia’s cheeks and gently wiped the tears from her face; his expression unexpectedly very patient and caring.
Maverick's lips drew into a thin line. Is his presence hurting Valencia so much that she will silently cry to herself? Hasn’t she always put him first? Did she truly like him no more and now care for Corbyn more?
Maverick’s left hand subconsciously balled into a fist. Still, he will never let her go. She ran away the first time; he won’t let her do the same the second time.
Maverick lowered his head to kiss her enticing lips.
