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"Are you sure?" She stopped just inside her front door to face him. "Are you really ready to give up your life in Frankfurt and move here? I would never expect you to do that, especially this quickly. No one would."
"I've never been more sure." But this wasn't just about him, so he had to ask, even if the answer might not be the one he wanted to hear. "What about you? Earlier today, you said I was moving too fast." He stroked her cheek, needing to touch her. "Do you want me to move here? Do you want me with you? Or do you need some space, some time?"
"Of course I want you here with me," she said, sending a massive rush of relief coursing through him. "But what if you resent me one day for asking you to drop everything in your life and turn on a dime?"
"The only thing I'd resent is getting on an airplane on Monday to fly five thousand miles from the woman I love. I don't want to tell you I love you over Skype. I want to hold you in my arms when I say it." He was glad to see a small smile appear on her lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. When he was barely a breath away, he said, "I love you."
Their kiss was full of passion--and so much love it humbled him.
"You haven't gotten the grape juice off," she said as she ran her tongue over his collarbone. "Why don't I help you with that?"
Without waiting for his reply, she began stripping away his clothes, pulling his T-shirt over his head, then unzipping and shoving his jeans to the floor. Utterly mesmerized by her, before he knew it, she had her own clothes off and then was taking his hand in hers to lead him into the shower.
She turned the water on, then sat him down on the tiled seat at the far end. The warm spray rushed over her skin, rivulets of water streaming over her breasts and stomach as she picked up the soap and lathered up her hands.
Gently, with her palms moving across his skin, she ran soap bubbles over him. First over his face and neck, then down his shoulders and arms. Lifting his hands, she placed them on her stomach as she re-lathered with the soap, then worked on rubbing each finger with the bubbles, one at a time, to wash away the last traces of grape juice.
He loved the care she took with him. He could feel more than desire in her touch--he could feel her love for him in every stroke, every caress, as she made her way down his chest, his stomach muscles jumping beneath the light brush of her fingertips. By the time she started running her hands over his thighs, he didn't think he could handle much more. If she kept touching him like this, he was going to lose it long before he got a chance to reciprocate by lathering up her skin the same way.
"It's your turn now," he said, but when he got up to change places with her, she put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back.
"It is my turn," she agreed, "but I don't need you to clean me up right now. I need you to fill me up."
He groaned at her deliciously filthy words as she reached for one of the condoms that they'd decided to keep stashed in the shower.
Slowly, perfectly, she lowered herself over him, and even as pleasure shot higher and higher, taking them both over the edge together, relief was there too.
Relief that after all these years, her heart was his--and his was hers.
Relief that she had allowed him to take her to the transplant center for the tests and was considering letting him help her.
Relief that she seemed so vibrant and healthy today, despite everything he'd read on her doctors' reports.
Making love with Taylor--and holding her close--was exactly what he needed tonight. All day he'd wanted to be strong for her. He'd wanted to make sure she laughed, rather than cried. He'd wanted her to focus on hopes rather than fears.
But the truth was that by this time of night, pretending he wasn't scared took a hell of a toll on him.
Burying his face against her chest, he let water from the shower cover the tears he suddenly couldn't hold back. And all the while, Taylor held him just as tightly.
Knowing it would be the very best way to build up their reserves of strength, after drying each other off with plush white towels, they slid together beneath the covers and kept on holding each other tight until morning.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As they headed through her garden the next morning, Taylor felt a million times better than she had twenty-four hours ago on their way to the transplant center. All because of Justin, who had made sure to keep them busy enough all afternoon that for once, while her worries still lingered in the background, they hadn't been front and center.
He was so good for her. She'd always known it, but in college, she had been too scared of rejection--and stepping outside of her comfort zone--to try for being more than just his friend. Even earlier this week, if he hadn't boldly taken her in his arms and tempted her to stop hiding from her desires, she likely would have wimped out.
Thankfully, as they walked up the back steps, then opened the kitchen door, she didn't need to worry about that anymore. All those wasted years with her ex were nothing more than a lukewarm memory.
At least, she'd thought the past was firmly in the past...until she saw who was sitting in her kitchen drinking a cup of coffee.
"Bruce?" She blinked hard once, then again. Surely she couldn't be seeing what she thought she was seeing.
Her ex-boyfriend got up, his arms wide as though to hug her, then he stopped short as Justin came inside, the door slamming behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Justin's words were more growled than spoken.
Taylor had an instinctive urge to hold her arms out wide too, to block the two men from going after each other. Bruce had never been a particularly physical guy, but she'd never seen this kind of jealousy in his eyes either.
As for Justin, she could feel the heat of his fury behind her without turning to look.
"Your mother called me," Bruce said. "She told me what you've been going through. She said you needed me." He spoke as though Justin wasn't in the room, focusing only on her. "I took a red-eye to be here for you, baby."
"She isn't your baby." Justin sounded even less civil now, if that was possible. He took a step forward, but she put her hand on his chest.
"Justin." She had to say his name a second time to get him to look at her. "I'll deal with this."
She could see his indecision, knew he wanted to throw her ex out the door personally. But she also knew he trusted her not only to be able to deal with her ex, but also to know that she'd made the right choice in choosing him over Bruce.
At last, he said, "I'll be just outside if you need me."
"Thank you."
But he wouldn't let her go that fast, not without a kiss, one so possessive it should have made the feminist inside her protest. Instead, she went utterly weak in the knees, glad to be his, to know that he didn't just possess her, she possessed him too. In every way--mind, body, heart, soul.
He gave Bruce a look of warning as he passed him in the kitchen, one that promised swift and painful retribution if he hurt her in any way. She appreciated how badly Justin wanted to protect her, but she knew firsthand that Bruce was harmless.
"It's nice to see you," she said in as calm a voice as she could muster given what a huge and not particularly welcome surprise he was. "But I'm afraid I don't understand why you felt you needed to come all the way out here."
"I still love you, Taylor." Her eyes widened. It wasn't like Bruce to be so direct--he'd always tended to meander around whatever it was he was trying to say. "I had no idea you were facing such health struggles. To think that you might d--" His words crumbled in a choked-up throat.
"Everything is going to be okay," she said, rolling out her trusty mantra as she put her hand on his shoulder to guide him back to the stool. She was still irritated with him, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for him too. "I'll fill your cup and get you something to eat. That will make you feel better."
"You've got to give me another chance, baby."
Gritting her teeth at the fact that he obviously didn't know when to quit, she said, "Stop calling me baby."
