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“Before last Christmas, she and I were talking, and she devised a three-step plan, which I thought was totally ridiculous, but she promised me if I followed it, it would work.”
His hands stop moving, his lips press into a flat line, and he raises an eyebrow with aGet on with itmessage.
“Right. First step was to penetrate the wall.” I wiggle a little closer and realize these leggings are super thin. I can feel him underneath me, and he feels so good.
He smirks, and his hands pull my hips tighter against his.
“I didn’t happen to be at the lake for New Year’s by chance. I knew you were here.”
“Are you telling me you caused the damage to the pipes?” he asks in disbelief.
“Oh, no. That was a complete and fortunate coincidence. Once I got to the lake, I had no idea how I was going to get your attention, but I’d like to think we have fate on our side. You have no idea how happy I was to see you on the other side of that sliding glass door. My heart physically leapt in my chest.”
His expression smooths out, and he tilts his head a little. “What was step two?”
“Be friends with you. Things happened so fast between us before, and although we were friends, we really weren’t. We hadn’t built that foundation yet to hold us should there be a problem. The text messages, the funny deliveries, surprising you in Nashville, accompanying you on stage—all these things were a priority to me because I wanted you to know I wanted to be your friend and I’m here for you. I put you first, and I’d like to think we slowly became friends.”
“Step three?”
“Make you fall in love with me of course.” I can’t help the huge smile that overtakes my face. “Did it work?”
He smiles back, but it’s tinted with wariness. “Emma, I’ve always loved you. Always. That was never the problem.”
He loves me.
“What was?” My gaze bounces back and forth between his eyes.
“Trust—”
“I’ll earn it,” I say, cutting him off.
“Feeling second choice,” he says, voice just above a whisper.
“I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life making sure you never feel less than what you are.”
“And what am I?”
“Mine. You are the sun, the moon, the stars, my past, my present, my future, the most important person to me in the whole world, my home. You are home.” I wrap my hands around his face. “I want to be with you. I want to make you so deliriously happy that you die one day a very long time from now knowing you have no regrets choosing me. Every morning, when you wake and see that tattoo, I want you to know and believe that before all else, I love you more than anything and anyone ever. You are so loved.”
“Okay.” His eyes widen just a tiny bit, the muscles in his face relaxing in relief and wonder.
“Okay?”
He nods his head then tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear.
“Ernest Hemingway said, ‘The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them,’ and I do. Emma, I trust you implicitly. I don’t want you to doubt that anymore. I love you. I also don’t care where we live. I did hear you, too. The things you want, the things that are important to you—they’re important to me too. And I don’t want you to be anything like Avery. That wasn’t what I meant when I said that. You are perfect just the way you are. I wouldn’t change one hair on your head. I might want to mess it up a little”—he threads his fingers through it as he wraps his hands around my head—“but you are my home, too. Mine.”
I pull his face to mine, and this time when our lips collide, there is nothing between us left unsaid. Relief radiates through me as we’re clinging to each other, as he angles my head and deepens the kiss so thoroughly I don’t know where I end and he begins. Heat rushes through me and builds hotter and hotter with every touch of his lips, every graze of his tongue against mine and his body as it wraps around mine.
“Closer,” I whisper, and it’s like he couldn’t agree more.
We twist around, my back lands on the couch, and his weight settles on top of me. I love the feeling of him over me, settling between my thighs and making me feel like the most cherished, wanted person in the world.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips, and I tug on his shirt to pull it off. It slips over his head, down his arms, and lands on the floor. His skin is hot and smooth as I run my hands over him. I’m greedy for whatever I can get as he props himself up to look down at me. His eyes are heated, hooded, and his cheeks are flushed, but there’s no missing the fact that he adores me. Correction: loves me. “Off. All of it,” he says, and he doesn’t have to ask me twice.
My sweatshirt. His pants. My leggings. His boxers. My sports bra and underwear. His socks. All of it is gone in seconds, and he again settles on top while his hands run from my feet, up my legs, over my butt, ribcage, and stop just under my breasts. His fingers brush the outsides, and an ache for him pulses through me.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get enough of you,” he says. His lips fall to my sternum, and he licks a path from one breast to the other, taking his time. My back arches and my hands find where his hips are, and I pull him fully against me. He’s thick, hard, and as ready for me as I am for him.
