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Derek comes to stand beside me, glass of champagne in hand. I didn’t even hear the cork pop. He offers it to me and I accept, holding it at my side, unwilling to move. I can’t come to grips with the fact that I just exploded like that in the middle of a restaurant. I want to trade lives with that lady down there in the park, walking her dog. I bet she’s never caused a scene like I just did.
“For the record, I think what you did was incredibly brave.”
My laugh is laden with sarcasm. “Thank you, but it was mostly gibberish. I doubt I even made sense.”
“Sure you did.”
My forehead hits the glass. My eyes pinch closed.
“It was twenty years in the making,” I confess.
“I could tell.”
“Did I sound crazy?”
He rubs the back of my arm gently with his knuckle, just above my elbow.
“No, not at all.”
“Think they hate me now?”
“Of course not.”
I’m not sure how long we stay like that. On the street, a siren grows loud, louder, loudest then disappears. My eyes stay closed. He steps closer, enveloping me. The last of my adrenaline and worry evaporate as I settle against him. To love is to settle, to feel calmed by a lover’s embrace. It’s why people often define home as a person, not a place.
Derek is my home now.
I release a soft laugh. “And the musical? Did you like it?”
He chuckles. “It was good…I think.”
“You think?”
“Honestly, I was kind of distracted. Worried about you.”
I lean back and look up at him.
His brow is wrinkled and his eyes are a deep sad brown. He’s frowning down at me, as if everything I’ve carried tonight has been his burden as well.
In an instant, I press up on my toes and kiss him.
God, this man.
I could just…
I kiss him again, and this time he doesn’t let me go so easily. He seeks out my lips again just as I’m pulling away, and there’s an underlying yearning in the way he wraps me up in his arms, in the bite of his grip on my lower back. I’m reminded of where we are, of the twinkling cityscape at our back and the empty bed at our side. I’m reminded that he flew all the way to New York to be with me tonight and I don’t want to waste another second.
The restaurant is forgotten. The city is gone. All of the millions of people below us vanish the moment I kiss him again, harder this time, begging for more. His hands trail up and down my bare arms, teasingly slow. My body comes alive for him, like he’s turning the dial up on the desire that’s lived dormant inside for the last few weeks. He’s unsure of where my head is at—that’s why he’s going slow—but after his tongue sweeps across mine and my stomach clenches tight, I step back to show him I’m ready for more.
My untouched glass of champagne gets placed on the side table. My hands reach for his and I walk us backward toward the bed. He stands at the edge as I climb up and face him. He steals another kiss, a peck. Then he leans back with hooded eyes and keeps his hands to himself as he watches me reach down and finger the hem of my dress. I tug it up an inch on my thigh and then another, bunching the material in my hands to expose more and more skin. I watch him, feeding off of the burning need building in his gaze as my dress reveals my upper thighs and then the very edge of my lace panties. He reaches out to touch me, his palm skimming up the inside of my leg, starting at my knee. My body quakes and a smirk paints his face in devilish light as he continues upward. When he reaches the top of my parted legs, the knuckle of his pointer finger skims the middle of my panties and I hold perfectly still, letting him take his time exploring while I dutifully hold my dress up for him. Back and forth, he brushes. Almost innocently. Almost. My stomach dips and I’m burning up on the inside, barely able to contain myself as he does it yet again, pushing the material against my most sensitive skin.
With a heady breath, I release my dress and reach out for his shirt so I can start unbuttoning it. When the top two buttons are undone, I drop a kiss to his chest, and his low rumble in response encourages me to continue. Down I go, letting my hands roam under the fabric.
His olive skin is one of my favorite things about him. He has the look of someone who’s perpetually returning from a week on the Italian coast. A warm, romantic tan.
