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He didn’t even protest when my mother asked. I think they’ve both known this was going to happen. And I’m sure Tate redeemed himself in their eyes with last night’s performance.
I exit the plane, carefully walking down the steps, and I’m surprised to see a sleek black sports car waiting for me. The driver’s door swings open and Tate steps out, tall and handsome, clad in all black with sunglasses covering his eyes. He whips them off and our gazes connect, a giant smile curling his lips.
I drop the bag I was carrying on the tarmac and run toward him, throwing my arms out at the last second just as he swings me into his embrace. I cling to him, pressing my face against his chest and closing my eyes. Breathing in his familiar delicious smell, absorbing his heat and strength.
When I pull back slightly, he kisses me, stealing my breath. My thoughts.
My heart.
His hand shifts to cup my face as he stares into my eyes, never looking away as he murmurs, “Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
He kisses me again, like he can’t help himself. “You’re beautiful.”
“I missed you.”
“I love you,” he returns, the words so much more meaningful in person. When I’m staring into his eyes. Hearing his voice.
I’m smiling and crying at the same time. “I love you too.”
“Come on tour with me?” He raises his brows, his expression expectant.
Please. As if I could ever turn him down.
“Yes.” I nod, sniffing. His thumbs streak across my cheeks, wiping the tears away, his touch gentle. “I would love to.”
“We’re really going to do this, huh?” His smile is bright and blinding. Like the sun.
“Yes,” I whisper, leaning my cheek into his palm and closing my eyes for the briefest moment before I open them again, loving the way he looks at me. “We really are.”
