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It sounded like freedom.
It sounded like trust.
“I love you,” I told him honestly.
“I couldn’t love anyone more,” he returned with eyes as bright as stars.
Before I could say another word, he got up onto his knees, then bent down and swept me up in his arms like he really was the gallant hero from countless novels.
Except this wasn’t fiction.
This was one hundred percent real.
“And I need you more than I ever fucking have,” he informed me.
Well, maybe not so genteel.
I couldn’t have cared less.
He carried me through the living room and into the sole bedroom that had little more than a king-sized bed, a rack bearing Xavier’s clothes, and a small roller suitcase in the corner that obviously got consistent use as he flew back and forth between New York and London.
But that was it. The entire downstairs, I realized, had hardly any personal effects beyond the heavy bag. No art on the walls beyond a picture or two of Sofia and the rental-quality prints Matthew had gotten from Target. No books or magazines or any of the other bits of detritus associated with a normal human life.
“I see you really made yourself at home here,” I joked.
Xavier looked around with me, apparently seeing things anew.
“It was never going to be home,” he said before pressing another eager kiss to my lips. “It was just a place to bide my time until you let me return to the one I have with you.”
I frowned. “You think upstairs is home with me? You’ve never even lived there.”
Xavier just snorted. “Home would be with you even if you were still sleeping on a single bed on the landing. Under a bridge, in a field, or in a castle. It’s you, babe. You’re home to me.”
He set my feet on the floor. Then, with hands on my shoulders, he turned me around so he could cup my face and deliver yet another deep kiss. It went on and on, slowly this time, ever so reverently as he peeled my shirt over my head, then moved to unbutton my pants.
“I can do it,” I said, reaching down to help him. It was a little embarrassing how tight my normal clothes had gotten.
“Don’t,” he said gruffly, batting my hands away. “I want to unwrap you myself.”
“Because I’m, what, a package?” I joked nervously.
“Because you’re a fucking treasure.”
There wasn’t much to say to that. He removed all my clothes, and I did the same for him until we both stood in front of each other in little more than our underwear. Xavier sat on the edge of the mattress, then pulled me roughly onto his lap so I was straddling his waist. He reached behind my back and undid my bra, letting the simple cotton fall to the floor so that I was nearly naked, with nothing more than my hair to shelter me from his heated gaze.
“There’s no going back now,” he told me seriously. “I tried to give you space. I tried to give you time to figure out what the rest of us already know. But I’m not letting you go again, Francesca. Not now, not ever.”
I was the one to smile now. “I know,” I said. “I never left you. Not really.”
I slid my hands over his shoulders, delighting in the feel of his broad shape, the silkiness of his skin golden like the color of wheat in the sun.
“You’re so beautiful,” I informed him.
With a smile, Xavier brushed my hair over my shoulders, baring my breasts and the slope of my stomach to him. His eyes darted all over my changing shape, like he was expecting me to morph in front of his eyes. For a moment, they rested on my lips, and he looked like he was going to kiss me again, but then they tracked down as he teased his fingertips over one aching nipple.
“God, they’re beautiful,” he murmured as he moved to touch the other one in turn. “Different, you know that?”
“Tell me about it. About two cup sizes different.”
