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“Eh,” he waved a hand, “I don’t care.”
“But I do,” I hissed. I’d been with Trace long enough to know and respect the fact that he had no filter. But when he started saying certain things in very public places it became a bit difficult for me to handle.
“Ah, there it is,” he grinned.
“What?” I asked.
“Your ears are turning red,” he chortled, gazing down at me. Someone bumped into me, pushing me further into his body.
“Are not,” I groaned, self-consciously reaching up to touch my ears. Sure enough I could feel the heat infusing them.
Trace chu
ckled in reply. Shaking his head he stepped in front of me, holding out a hand as he bowed dramatically. “May I have this dance?”
I let my hands drop from my ears and placed one in his. “You should know by now that you don’t need to ask.”
He wet his lips. “I’m a gentleman, and a gentleman always asks for permission,” he winked, leading me out onto the dance floor.
I wrapped one arm around his lean shoulders while he held my other hand. We swayed back and forth to the romantic music, while my mom and Nick danced nearby along with other couples.
“In case I haven’t told you today, you look beautiful, Olivia,” he whispered huskily in my ear and my stomach rolled. God, how was it still possible for him to turn me on with a few words?
“You’ve mentioned it a few times already,” I smiled up at him.
He bent down so his lips were beside my ear. “Olivia,” he whispered, “you deserve to be told your beautiful every second, of every day, because it’s true.”
I blushed, leaning my face against his chest where his heart beat proudly. “You’re such a flatterer.”
“I’m no such thing,” he murmured. “I’m honest.”
My eyes flutter closed. “I love you.” Three words had never been more true. I loved Trace Wentworth with every fiber of my being.
“I love you too,” his chest rumbled beneath my ear with his words, “so much.”
I knew he did. He told me and showed me every single day how much he loved me. I often wondered how I got so lucky finding Trace…or maybe he found me. Regardless, Trace was it for me. I hadn’t had to suffer through tear-filled breakups. It had only ever been Trace and that’s all it ever would be.
He gently grabbed my right arm and pulled it away from his shoulder, placing a light kiss on the tattoo that emblazoned my wrist. It was a fairly new tattoo and spelled out his name.
“You really like my tattoo, don’t you?” I laughed.
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I love it. It lets all the other guys know you’re taken.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sound like a dog marking his territory.”
He chuckled. “I have your name close to my junk, so you’ve taken my man-hood,” he reasoned.
“You’re the one that wanted it there,” I glared.
“But your name looks so good there, peeking out of the top of my pants,” his eyes were playful, holding back laughter.
“You-you-ugh!” I stuttered.
He continued, “This way, guys know you’re taken, girls know I’m off the market and that my—”
“Trace! We’re at a wedding!” I cut him off.
“—cock belongs to you,” he smirked.
