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Her nails bit into my back and her hips pistoned back and forth, short and sharp, and that need to release slammed into me. I clenched my jaw and stole one hand between us, my thumb finding the ridge of her clit and I held it there, letting her ride it out on me. Use me.
She bucked against me, kissing my neck, licking my ear, her hot breath a brand against my skin.
She lost her grace and became mindless, nearly awkward, as I felt her orgasm building. Her skin turned red as every muscle went fiercely taut.
Finally. Finally.
I bent my head to her breast and cried out, arching and shaking and shuddering against her.
I rolled to my side, taking her with me, not willing to let an inch of air come between us. I faced the ceiling, my throat thick and full of impossible emotion. It was too soon, I tried to tell myself.
Don’t be an idiot. Don’t ruin this moment.
But the words wouldn’t stay buried. Like untrained dogs, they ran out of control.
“I love you,” I said, and she jerked in surprise.
“What?” she breathed, lifting herself up to her elbow, her hair curling over my chest.
“I love you.” My smile was sweet. Tender. “I’ve always loved you and I always will.” She only stared at me, and that wasn’t entirely what I wanted, but I was down this road.
“I think I’ve only shown you the worst of myself,” I said. “And I really want a chance to show you the best. Because you make me feel like a better man, like there are things I have to offer. To you.”
“You already—”
I shook my head. “I’m not talking about sex.”
“Neither am I.”
“I understand if you haven’t forgiven me, or even if you can’t. Because I hurt you—I hurt you more than anyone should be hurt.”
“I forgive you,” she said.
I shook my head, unable to believe her.
“Do not tell me how I should feel, Tyler. That’s what got us into this mess last time.” She brushed the hair back from my forehead, her fingers framing my face.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping for years and now I’m awake, and it feels so good. I don’t want to go back.” Her eyes were liquid and huge in the moonlight. “I don’t want to go back to missing you.”
“I’m right here,” I said, pulling her closer. I was getting hard again and I shifted, sliding into her, making her gasp. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Two hours later, I pulled a sheet up over Juliette’s back as she slept face-first in her pillow. I smiled, trailing a finger across her skin. She slept like she did everything—wholeheartedly.
One of the many things I loved about her.
I loved her.
Watching her, my heart so big it felt as though it might beat right out of my chest, I loved her so much it hurt.
I set the box of Girl Scout cookies I’d grabbed from my car on her bedside table along with a note that she should call me as soon as she woke up.
According to my watch, I had about five hours before a morning meeting with some roofing suppliers for the build. Juliette sighed and shifted in her sleep, rolling slightly to reveal her breasts.
Man, responsibility really sucked.
“Tyler?” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
“I need to go,” I said. “I have a meeting in a few hours. I should maybe get a few minutes of sleep.”
She pulled hair out of her eyes and pouted. “You want to sleep?” she asked, twisting in the sheets. “Really?”
It required no thought.
“No,” I said, and threw off my clothes.
An hour later I opened the front door of The Manor and my father’s laugh boomed through the empty foyer. Another voice, mumbled and quieter, joined in, and the short hairs on the back of my neck stirred from their sex-induced slumber.
No way. No freaking way.
I found them in the kitchen. Richard and Miguel, sitting at the table, cards in their hands, as if it was all no big deal. As if they’d been doing it every night I went out to Remy’s.
Little clues started coming together and it occurred to me that they probably had.
“When you’ve got a queen in the flop—” my father was saying, as if I was some kind of gambling professor.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.
Miguel had the good sense to put down the cards and look ashamed. But not Dad. No, not Richard Bonavie.
“Hey, son, come on in. We’re just playing a little Texas hold ’em.”
“I can see what you’re doing,” I spat.
“Don’t be mad at your dad,” Miguel said, standing up. “It was my idea.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to teach you cards!” I said.
“And you’re not.” Richard stepped in, all smiles. “I am.”
I had to look away, take a step back. A deep breath.
