Page 145 of Spurred On

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Please, tell me.”

“You know. That one day you’ll see the real me. And realize . . . well . . . you don’t love me after all.” How hard was it to say those words? To dig them up and expose them to the light of day. They had hovered, hidden just beneath the surface, all her life. Festering.

He pulled her into his arms, even though she resisted, and he held her and kissed her. “I promise. I won’t. If you promise not to discover the same horrible truth about me.”

“Hah,” she sputtered. There was no deep dark festering wound in his soul.

Was there?

He forced her to look at him again, but it was with a gentle caress. “I’ll admit it. I’m no choirboy. I’ve been with other women. But not one—not one—since you came back into my life.”

She stared at him. “Not even the Boobsey Twins?”

“Especially not them. God, Sidney. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? You are the one I want. You. No one else.”

She looked away. “I’m . . . nothing special.”

He gave her a little shake. “You are, goddamn it. You are. You are everything to me. I love your sense of humor, your wit, the fact that you don’t take shit off anyone—even me. I love your hair, your eyes, your smile. I love being with you, even when we’re not fucking. Maybe, sometimes, because we’re not. That we can be comfortable without all that passion. Although,” he had to add, “the passion is pretty fucking awesome.”

He seemed buoyed by her smile.

“I can’t promise everything will always go smoothly. We’re both pretty stubborn and impulsive . . .” Her frown made him pause. He sucked in a deep breath and continued anyway. “But I will promise this, if you choose to have me, you will be the only woman in my life, my heart, my bed, so help me God. If I have to install a fucking portcullis on my bedroom door, no other woman shall cross that threshold.”

His whimsy lightened her soul. Made her feel . . . playful again. So she frowned at him. “What about Mrs. Billingsly?”

She loved the way his brow quirked, his dimples blossomed. “What about Mrs. Billingsly?”

“She’ll want to clean your room occasionally.”

“No.” He shook his head sharply and tried to appear grim, though an effervescent joy bubbled in his eyes. “Not even Mrs. Billingsly.”

Sidney sat back and crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not cleaning your room, so you’d better let Mrs. Billingsly in.”

“Are you sure?” He tried to nibble away his grin.

“Yes.” She nodded definitively. “I’m sure I’m not cleaning your room.”

He leaned forward and cupped her cheeks and made her look at him. “I love you, Sidney Stevens. I’ve loved you as long as I can remember. The only reason I dated as many women as I did was because I was searching for something. Something that wasn’t there. When I saw you again, kissed you again, held you again, I realized why none of those other relationships moved me in the least.”

“Why?”

“Simple. Because they weren’t you.”

Well. That was a lovely thought.

He stared at her for a moment longer, and his too-beautiful lips quirked. “So how pathetic are we that we need someone like Porsche to get us to have this conversation?”

She nibbled at her own smile. “Pretty lame.”

“But I’ll be frank. I don’t care. I don’t care what it takes. If we can . . . be together . . . I would be so . . .”

“So what?”

He swallowed. “So happy. So freaking happy, Sidney.”

She touched his cheek. Traced his dimple. “I would be happy too, Cody.” More than happy. It would be a dream come true.