The day dawns beautiful. Britta and I drive out to Keeley and Maxon’s new house, which will officially be a bed-and-breakfast next week. They started moving in two days ago, but tonight will be their first night to spend here. Also their first as man and wife.
As I drive closer, I hold Britta’s hand. My pants and shirt swish inside a garment bag hanging in the backseat, along with Britta’s sundress. I’m not wearing a tie. Or a coat. Keeley wants a casual wedding. Hell, she even instituted a no-shoes rule. This will literally be a barefoot wedding.
I would rib my ambitious, traditional, bordering-on-stuffy brother about that, but he seems sublimely happy. I never imagined in a million years when my best friend sought him out to see if he and I could behave like brothers again that they would fall in love. But Keeley completes him, and that made all our lives come together perfectly.
Well, almost. I glance at Britta.
It’s been just over a week since our last serious discussion. The following day was another explosion of work. When do we ever negotiate and sell six listings on the same day? Just insane. On Sunday, Britta and I caught up on paperwork while we took turns entertaining Jamie. Harlow breezed in late afternoon after meeting up with some of the friends from the private high school she once attended on the island. She waved our way, all smiles, then took a call and disappeared upstairs. After that, she glowered like a thunderstorm for the rest of the day and well into the following week.
Jamie got a tummy virus midweek, so that occupied Britta for two days. I offered to spell her, but she insisted I had a full schedule of showings and closings that we couldn’t miss.
It sucks…but sometimes that’s life.
Wedding activities started in earnest on Thursday, and we all began pitching in to get the house set up for the big event. Ditto Friday. We finished less than ten hours ago. Throwing together a last-minute wedding was a mountain of work, but Keeley wants something simple, almost homemade. Maxon just wants to marry her ASAP.
When we pull up, I’m awestruck by how inviting the cheerful house looks sparkling in the morning sunlight. On the lawn, we laid a pair of crisp white sheets, sprinkled them with petals from all kinds of flowers we found on the grounds, and topped that with folding white chairs we managed to rent. Thankfully, we barely need more than a handful. There are white covers on the chairs, tied off with bows that match the ocean waters.
Maxon found a tall lattice archway on the property, all but languishing in the garden. He and I moved it to this spot, overlooking the vast, crystal-blue Pacific that’s calmly rolling onto the white sand. We painted it, then everyone pitched in to decorate the arch with fragrant flowers that Keeley, Britta, and Harlow strung together. It looks perfect, like it’s meant to be here.
If everything works out for me and Britta, I’ll be in this very spot next week, staring down a similar setup, taking a deep breath before I—hopefully—slide my ring on her finger for good.
We park.
Two seconds later, Keeley darts up, makeup half-done, hand out for the punchbowl Britta rummaged from her kitchen this morning. “Thanks. Do you need help unloading the car?”
I snatch the plastic bowl back. “I got this. Go finish getting ready. Maxon and I can do the rest.”
“Oh, please keep him occupied,” she begs. “The ceremony starts in ninety minutes, and he’s asking me why we can’t just start now.”
Laughing at that is unavoidable. My brother has never been patient. For that matter, neither have I, and I can only imagine how I’m going to feel in seven days’ time, surprising Britta with the wedding she envisioned and wondering whether she’ll finally say yes.
Strolling inside, I set the bowl on the island and glance around at the covered dishes. The ladies cooked some last night. Maxon and I catered the rest, and the food in plastic dishes has already arrived. There’s also a cake on a stand waiting in the dining room and champagne chilling for the twenty-five guests.
Everything is heartfelt. And beautifully simple for this momentous occasion.
Maxon marches in, looking at his watch, obviously prepared to do next to nothing to keep busy…and stop himself from beating down Keeley’s door.
“You look awfully impatient. You going to make it, man?” I ask, brow raised.
He scowls at me. “Oh, the things I want to say to you right now…”
But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flips over my shoulder, toward the folding glass doors that have been drawn open, to see Britta coming through, holding Jamie’s hand and wearing a pensive expression. When she realizes my brother is looking her way, it quickly becomes a strained smile.
Somehow, I hold in my grimace. I haven’t asked her if Makaio still thinks she’s marrying him. He doesn’t faze me. She matters. I should find out if she still wants to be the Hawaiian banker’s bride, but I’m afraid to hear her say yes. I still have seven days to convince her to pick me. I’m going to use every moment I can to my advantage.
Despite my brother giving me a hard time about how antsy I am with all the uncertainty in my personal life, I smile. “But you can’t right now. So sorry…”
He sends me a snarky glance. “Fuck you.”
I laugh, then glance around and realize who’s missing. “Thanks for not inviting the parents. I’m sure it was a hard decision for you to get married without either Mom or Dad present.”
“Probably not as much as it should have been. But after Keeley overheard Dad rant at me a couple of weeks ago, despite how peace-loving and forgiving she is, she refused to have him around. And Mom… Apparently Harlow told her I was getting married. She decided to head to Cabo with Marco so she could come back in a few weeks, all refreshed for our little sister’s nuptials.”
I want to say how much her decision completely sucks, though I’m hardly surprised.
“But”—Maxon goes on—“I’ve got the people who are most important to me here. Thanks for standing up with me, man.” He hands me a small, flat box from inside his pants pocket.
I open it to find a sleek brushed-silver keychain with my initials on one side. On the other, he engraved the words MY BROTHER, MY FRIEND.
I’m choked up that, despite my stupidity, we somehow managed to pick up exactly where we left off—very close. We exchange a manly hug, and I know that, regardless of what happens with Britta, I’ll always have Maxon and his lovely wife in my life.
“Thanks, man. I have something for you, too. I was going to give it to you next week but…” This seems like the perfect time.
I pull a business cardholder from my pants pocket. As a good Realtor and broker, I never go anywhere without them. At the back of my stack of cards, I find what I’m looking for, pluck it up, and hand it over.
REED BROTHERS PROPERTY ASSOCIATES is emblazoned across the top. It looks almost exactly like the cards we had back in the day. Updated, of course. I had them made when I ordered the invitations for my wedding. I’ve given this thought and I realize that, three years ago, I was on the right track with life. Then my stupid ass jumped off. Now I’m hoping Maxon thinks I’ve earned his trust back and that he wants to be partners again permanently.
I watch him scan the card, then look at me with a question in his eyes.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“You sure?”
“More than positive. I’m sorry for screwing everything up. I’d love to work with you again, build our business—the way we should have.”
Maxon’s face breaks out in a massive grin. “Hell yeah!”
We hug, slapping backs with manly thumps to disguise the fact we’re both more emotional than our masculinity allows in the moment. “Fantastic. We just need to take that terrible tarp off our sign next week.”
He laughs as he steps back, looking away until he finds his composure. “First thing Monday.”
“Get real, dude. You’re not coming to work on Monday.”
With a sheepish grin, he flashes me something wry and full of white teeth. “Probably not. Maybe Tuesday…”
I’m not holding my breath on that, either.
Before I can call Maxon on it, Harlow strides through the room, wearing a salmon-colored dress that’s almost not okay with me. Sure, it’s high-necked and there’s no cleavage. And technically it covers all the essentials—but barely. It’s so short I worry what I’ll see if there’s a stiff breeze. The waistband is a thick strip of transparent lace that accentuates her small waist. I can’t believe I’m looking at naked skin on my sister’s torso. There’s also no way to miss that she’s got boobs in this getup. I didn’t need the reminder.
“What are you wearing?” I ask.
“A dress.” Harlow looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“Doesn’t she look pretty?” Keeley’s mom, Patty, asks as she starts putting some of the catered food in the bulging refrigerator.
I hate the dress but I keep my mouth shut because I like Patty.
I finally met her and Keeley’s stepdad last night. Instantly, I could tell they were great people, and I see from whom Keeley gets her beauty—and her red hair. They oohed and aahed over Jamie, then looked at their daughter as if the clock is already ticking. When Maxon joined in the chant for babies, I suspect I may have a niece or nephew this time next year.
We all bustle around, trying to get everything ready for incoming guests. Britta might have the softest voice of everyone here, yet she’s organizing the troops, scanning the site for any task that has been overlooked, and efficiently assigning it to the nearest warm body so nothing falls through the cracks.
With thirty minutes to spare, it looks as if we’re finally finished. Harlow and Patty head back to check on Keeley. Britta makes to follow.
I grab her wrist and pull her close. “You did good, angel. I know my brother and his bride appreciate you.”
She gives me a tight smile. “I was happy to help.”
She doesn’t seem happy at all.
I squeeze her hands. “What are you thinking? Do you want to talk about it?”
“I was just realizing…” She pauses and bites her lip. “This could have been us.”
“This? Getting married?” I pull her closer. “Angel, it still can be.”
A little frown worries between her brows. It’s her thinking face. “We’ve been living together for a few weeks, and it’s been good. But I’m—”
“Britta, quick! Keeley needs another opinion.” Harlow sticks her head out the bathroom door and motions my angel into the all-female domain.
“One minute.” She turns back to me with something obviously on her mind.
“Hurry!” my sister shouts.
Britta glances at the ladies, then looks back to me apologetically. “I should go. I guess it’s urgent…”
If the crisis involved anyone but Keeley, and if it weren’t her wedding to my brother, I would gladly tell my sister to zip it until Britta could share her feelings with me. She seems ready to talk—or close to it.
“Just tell me one thing. Are you any closer to saying yes to me?”
She tilts her head and gives my question a long moment of consideration. “Since we moved in together, I’ve had days where I think we can’t try to relive our past. I’ve had other days where I see a possible future for us so clearly it makes me want to cry.”
But neither side has won over her heart and mind for good or we wouldn’t still be having this conversation. “And where are you now?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said when we talked last. It told me so much about you and why you find trust so difficult. I needed that, so thank you for trusting me with your secret. But the reality is, you’ll never be able to control how I make you feel. Are you truly ready to handle that? Or would you eventually push me away again, like you did before?”
It’s a fair question. I’m glad we’re getting to the root of her hesitation. “I’m—”
“Britta!” my sister shouts again. “Hurry! Guests are starting to arrive, and we may have a problem.”
“I have to go,” my angel murmurs.
And just like that, thanks to Harlow’s big mouth, the moment is broken.
“We’ll talk after the ceremony?” I ask, but it’s not really a question.
She hesitates for a moment, like she wants to say something—do something—important right now. But ultimately, she nods, then turns away and disappears into the master bathroom with all the ladies and the cloud of hair spray.
With a curse, I head outside. The officiant is strolling along the edge of the lawn. He’s a tall man with crow’s feet, laugh lines, and the sort of belly that says he likes good food and good times. He’s wearing a big smile, a red-and-beige Hawaiian-print shirt, and a pair of khakis, sans shoes.
“Lono?” I ask.
“Griffin?” He’s clearly guessing, too.
I get a positive vibe right away. Keeley did well.
“Yeah. Just Griff.” Normally, I don’t like when other people call me by my full name. It reminds me of my Dad shouting at me as a kid to do better, be better, crush everyone—even Maxon.
“Is your bride here?”
“With the ladies.” I try not to wince. “She still doesn’t know about our wedding.”
He shoots me a puzzled glance. Yeah, he thinks I’m a crazy bastard. I probably am. But instead of saying that, he cocks his head. “Everything will work out. I have a sense for these things.”
I have no idea what “a sense” means, and it’s probably bullshit meant to calm me. But I still smile, shake his hand, and confirm that he’ll be here next Saturday morning for what I’m hoping is another Reed wedding.
After a little more conversation, guests start milling around the lawn, and Lono says it’s time for the ceremony to begin.
With a nod, I head into the house to round everyone up. Britta, Harlow, and Patty all emerge from the bathroom, looking perfectly coiffed. Jamie looks bored and comes running at me full speed. His expression says he’s hoping I’ll have something more male and amusing to occupy him.
With a laugh, I pick my boy up and hold him close. I ruffle his hair and promise to set him up with toys as soon we finish marrying Uncle Maxon off.
When I look up, Britta is watching, silent. She looks teary-eyed and moved. Love is all over her face, and I hope like hell some of that is for me.
But there’s no time to talk now or to find out what’s rolling through her head. So I grab Maxon, now pacing like a madman, and haul him outside.
Behind the rows of chairs, we pause until Harlow and Britta catch up and take Jamie by the hand. I lead my brother to the altar, then file in behind him, hands clasped in front.
The processional music suddenly sounds over speakers hooked up to Keeley’s wedding playlist. Harlow gives Jamie a little nudge. He’s carrying a ring pillow with the bands tied in a bow at the top. We’ve coached him to walk in slow, measured steps to deliver the goods on a waiting table. But he’s a boy, so he runs to the altar. When he realizes that everyone is looking at him, he tosses the pillow vaguely toward Maxon’s feet and darts to the first familiar face he sees, Keeley’s mom, and buries his head in her skirt.
The small gathering laughs. With a grin of her own, Harlow starts down the aisle, clasping a simple bouquet of lilies, roses, and plumeria. Besides the brief, skin-showing dress, she looks lovely. I wonder if she’s thinking about her own wedding, just a few weeks away.
Britta comes down the aisle next, carrying a similar bouquet. She’s wearing roughly the same soft peachy-pink as Harlow, but her dress sits just off her narrow shoulders and has a thick strip of lace at the bottom. It’s a little shorter than I’d like, and I glance around the gathering to see who among the male attendees might be checking out my woman. Thankfully, I don’t see anyone I’ll have to kill. Just a lot of smiling people and couples holding hands. Happiness floats everywhere.
Finally, a slight breeze kicks up, and the music changes. The familiar strains of Andy Williams’ version of “Ke Kali Nei Au,” also known as “The Hawaiian Wedding Song,” fill the air. Yes, this is the moment. Leave it to Keeley to choose a tune that’s traditional yet offbeat. It’s relaxed and romantic and meaningful because I believe they will love each other longer than forever.
For them, this tune is perfect.
Then Keeley strolls toward us carrying a bouquet centered by a giant stargazer lily, ringed by soft pink plumeria, and surrounded in white blooms. Her pristine, gauzy dress has spaghetti straps and a handkerchief hem that flirts with her shins and flows around her with every step of her bare feet like the most graceful hula dancer’s.
The smile on her face beams with how blessed she feels. It’s more profound than any expression I’ve ever seen on her. Or possibly any bride. She might not have waited long for her day to come, but she knows she’s marrying the right man. A glance at my brother floors me. I’ve rarely seen Maxon emotional about anything, except maybe Super Bowl XLII when the Giants upset the Patriots. But he’s wearing his naked love for Keeley all over his face and looking at her as if he’d make a lei out of stars for her if he could. It might sound sappy, but the devotion flowing between them is a stunning sight to behold.
Lono starts the ceremony quickly. Her mother gives her away. Keeley and Maxon speak their vows, light candles, and stare into each other’s eyes.
It’s funny how a few words can be so meaningful. Those same words spoken in another order, in any other context, would have a totally different meaning. But with a few sounds and syllables, bolstered by the feelings in their hearts, they tie themselves together forever.
I’m really happy for them. And really fucking envious. I glance at Britta, wondering if I’ll be full of joy—or grief—this time next week. I can’t tell from looking at her face…but she’s teary. She’s moved by the ceremony.
When Lono pronounces Maxon and Keeley husband and wife, they pause, stare at each other as if they can hardly believe their dreams have come true, then move in for a soft kiss. They cling together, and the embrace seems to go on and on until Keeley’s stepfather finally clears his throat. When they break apart like guilty teenagers, everyone laughs again.
“Maxon and Keeley Reed, everyone!” Lono shouts to the revelers.
As the gathering claps for them, Maxon takes his wife’s hand and they dash back down the makeshift aisle.
It’s done. They’re married. I’m so happy for them.
Since Rob couldn’t hobble up the aisle to be Maxon’s other groomsman, I do double-duty, escorting both Britta and Harlow away from the altar. I squeeze my angel’s hand, and she looks over at me again with barely repressed emotion haunting her blue eyes.
What is she thinking? Goddamn it, I wish we’d been able to finish our conversation… Does she realize that if she marries Makaio, she won’t be getting the kind of love she saw exchanged today? Or does she think I could never love her this wholly and she should back away from me?
Fuck, I sound like a pubescent girl, running through what-if scenarios and trying to anticipate what my crush is truly thinking. I have to be patient, wait for some privacy. I have to keep believing that we’re building something good.
The sun sets as everyone pitches in to tear down the folding chairs and put away the sheets. In three minutes, we assemble the portable dance floor Maxon rented. Keeley loves to dance, and as much as it makes him cringe, he’ll do it for her.
Soon, the deejay has his space set up. Earlier, the men set up banquet tables around the dining room table and on the attached lanai. We tied floral-print cloths to the legs to dress up the situation. Now, ladies bring out the food and punch, and when the music starts, we have a party.
Through the afternoon, the celebration gears up. Dancing ensues, along with bouquet tossing, garter throwing—I caught it, thank you—and lots of pictures, laughter, and toasts.
Finally, the deejay announces the last song of the night, mostly because we’re losing the sun and didn’t have any lights to string—not to mention the fact that Maxon is losing patience waiting to be alone with Keeley. It’s an Elvis classic, “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” While Harlow is playing tag with Jamie on the lawn, I grab Britta, despite her protests that she intends to clean up this mess for Keeley and Maxon so they can enjoy their wedding night without stress.
I pull her against me. “I’ve missed you all day, angel. And to answer your question, yes. I can handle not controlling how you make me feel because it’s you. I welcome it. The two of us together are stronger than either of us alone. It took me three years to believe that, but now I know it to my core. How can I help you believe that, too?”
“Griff…you’re asking me to take a leap of faith. It’s not that some part of me doesn’t want to jump with both feet, especially today with the wedding and everything. I just… Let me process that for a little while, okay?”
“Sure.” I don’t love it, but I have to respect it.
I’ve done my best not to touch her in any way that pushes her comfort level. I know I can’t force her to be ready to open her heart, and she can’t handle cheating. But I can’t handle not being with her right now. I want to touch her in any way—every way—she’ll let me that will show her how much I love her.
As we sway to the music, I wrap one arm around her waist. My other hand cradles hers. She puts her head on my shoulder. I absorb the moment. Other than sleeping, it’s the closest we’ve been in weeks. I’m loving the hell out of this. I miss her like mad. I want her so badly I can barely stand it.
“Britta?”
When she lifts her head and blinks up at me, lashes fluttering, our gazes fuse. She doesn’t answer me, just stares, as into the moment as I am.
I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her temple.
“You’re pushing me.”
“What’s new?” I joke.
“Nothing. And everything.” When I brush my lips over her bared shoulders—first one, then the other—she shivers. A breathy protest follows. “That’s against the rules.”
“Hmm.” I rub my cheek against hers. “Just showing you how good we are together. Besides, we agreed that it’s not cheating if the intent isn’t arousal or penetration. I just want to worship you. You have to admit, this isn’t sexual.”
“No,” she says softly, painfully. “It’s romantic.”
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t be romantic.” I smile as I turn her around the floor in my arms, then kiss her face again, this time dangerously close to her lips.
She pulls back. “What are you doing to me?”
Her voice is both jagged and pleading, but she doesn’t sound distressed. I’m curious about that. Fascinated, in fact. Something is brewing in her head, in her heart.
“I’m loving you. Is that all right?”
I kiss her jaw. I kiss her neck. I hear her draw in a sharp breath.
“I can’t exactly stop you…”
She can’t. “Would you like me to, angel?
“No.”
Oh, that’s almost victory. My gut tightens. My pulse races. Yeah, you can guess what my cock is doing.
“Then what would you like me to do?” I murmur in her ear.
“I think… Maybe you’re right. We are stronger together.” Her feet stop. Her lips part. She lowers her lashes for a moment, then meets my stare head on again. “You love me?”
Every muscle in my body seizes up. She wants to know for a reason.
“I always have.”
Britta swallows, then lifts her hand over my heart and eases closer. “Then take me home and show me how much.”
Three minutes after Britta softly delivered her bombshell, we’re speeding down the road in my sister’s rental, heading home. Well, to the Stowes’ mansion. Harlow spent last night with Keeley at the house, drinking wine and giggling, so she had her own ride at Keeley and Maxon’s place. Britta joined them for a few hours so they could give my bestie a mellow sort of bachelorette party. Tonight, my sister offered to drive my SUV to the house later and bring Jamie with her. Something about my expression or my urgency to leave the reception must have given my intentions away. Harlow offered to give my son a bath and have a slumber party with him tonight in her room.
I’ll thank her profusely tomorrow.
I clutch the wheel in one hand and clasp Britta’s with the other. Adrenaline roars through my system. And questions are hitting my brain.
The primal part of me wants to forget them until we’ve been as close as two people can be and sated our desire all night. Until we’ve cemented our bond again for good. The logical part of me is aware that probing for answers now could bite me in the ass. But I have to know.
“What changed your mind?”
“A lot of things,” she murmurs. “Mostly time and seeing how different you are. Things you’ve said. How honest you seem now. How willing you’ve been to work through our problems without burying them under sex. But you’re still pushy,” she scolds with a grin.
I send her a wry glance. “I can’t change every part of me, angel. Some things are just too ingrained.”
Her trilling laugh fills the car. “I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you weren’t forever challenging me to step out of my comfort zone. It’s one of those things that both infuriates and excites me. We’re so opposite.”
It’s true. I’m forever fascinated with how considerate and compromising she can be while gently but firmly standing her ground. Not barging and shoving is an art form I simply never mastered. I probably never will.
“And Keeley helped me clarify,” she goes on, confessing. “She gave me this song to listen to last night. Odd that music I’ve never heard could move me so much, but this tune perfectly summed up my situation. It helped me to acknowledge feelings I’ve had but couldn’t put into words. I’ve been playing it over and over since then.”
“Can I hear?”
She nods, then launches the song on her phone and flips the screen in my direction. “Lies” by Trifonic.
It’s sad, haunting, with an air of finality. This woman has been denying how much she wants her man because he left and she’s convinced he’s no good for her. Regardless of all that, she realizes she has to stop lying to herself and embrace her sweetest sin.
Me.
“That’s how you feel?”
“I have for a while. I just…didn’t know how to face it.”
“And now you’re sure about us?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. Triumph spikes. I press my foot down on the accelerator a little more.
“You’re done with Makaio? You’re not marrying him?”
Britta unbuckles her seat belt and crawls across the console, lying over my lap and plastering her chest to mine. She cups my cheek. “He doesn’t belong between us anymore. Now shut up and kiss me.”
Yeah, I’m not turning that down.
As we roll to a red light, I dip my head and seize Britta’s mouth, shoving her lips apart and tasting every corner of her sweetness. It’s like coming home but better. Just being near her turns me on, but this… I hold her tight against me with one arm, wishing like hell I didn’t need the other to drive. My tongue sweeps in, meeting hers, tangling until my heart threatens to thump out of my chest.
Someone honks behind me, and I look up to see the light has turned green. I slam on the accelerator, cursing the few minutes between here and our bedroom.
I half expect Britta to slide back into her seat for the rest of the trip, but no. She glides her plush lips up my neck, brushing them across my jaw, against a spot just below my ear that makes me shudder and the blood rush to my cock. When she unbuttons my shirt enough to skate her fingers along my hair-roughened skin, her mouth follows. Her tongue traces a loving path over my chest that makes my blood jet and my need soar. I want her so bad I almost can’t see straight.
“What are you doing to me?” I groan.
“What you do to me with nothing more than a look,” she murmurs softly in my ear.
My whole body shudders. “Oh, fuck… Angel.”
“Hurry.”
If I drive any faster, I’ll be speeding way too recklessly to stay on the road. “Two minutes.”
“Good.” She tugs at my bottom lip with her teeth as she caresses her way past my chest, to my abdomen…then toward the waistband of my pants. Her fingertips are flirting in dangerous places, and I’m trying to hold myself together. I have not waited over three years for this woman to lose my patience now, pull over on the side of the road, and snatch a quickie in the backseat of a compact. At six foot three, I don’t even think I’d fit. I definitely wouldn’t have the room to make love to her the way I want, to spread her out underneath me and leave her no question how deeply I feel for her.
I groan as Britta’s fingers find their way just inside my boxers. I swear she grazes the head of my cock.
“Griff…” Her voice itself is a seduction as she presses her lips down my neck, then nips her way back up to my mouth, delving into me.
I suck in a breath, try to keep my head on straight. Fuck yes. In every way, yes.
With a jerk of the wheel, I careen into the driveway. I lift my hand and stop steering long enough to raise the garage door. I refuse to let go of Britta.
Once I pull the car inside, I jam on the brakes. The vehicle lurches to a stop.
We bounce back into the seat, and I kill the engine. We stare, breaths coming hot and loud in the small space.
“I’m going to spend all night inside you, angel.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Her answer makes my cock even harder. I didn’t think such a thing was possible.
When Britta cups my face again and leans in like she intends to kiss me, I grab her wrist to stave her off. “Not here. I’m on the edge. It’s been almost fifty days since I’ve had an orgasm—for any reason. I haven’t gone that long without since I was sixteen, and I can’t vouch for my self-restraint. Let’s get inside the house.”
She blinks, frowns. “Why?”
Why haven’t I exercised my sex drive? She really has to ask?
I take her face in my hands and will her to understand. “I was waiting for you. I only want you.”
Britta melts against me softly, sweetly. “I’ve been waiting for you, too.”
I want to know how long it’s been for her. Did she really not have sex with Makaio when they went away for the weekend? But I don’t ask. I refuse to have him in bed with us—in any way—tonight or ever again.
I manage to wedge my hand down enough to release my seat belt, then shove the car door open. Britta eases off my lap and makes it out the passenger’s door. We leave everything else in the trunk. It will wait.
When I hold out my hand, she takes it. I shove open the door to the house, and we enter the dark hallway. There’s a soft light on over the top of the stove and another on a timer in the adjoining family room. I contemplate the sofa for a long minute, but Harlow won’t be far behind us. I stifle my urge to be inside Britta right now in favor of having privacy all night.
But everything between us needs to happen faster. My sanity won’t last otherwise.
Without a word, I turn and lift Britta into my arms, clutching her to my chest. She yelps in surprise, then winds her arms around my neck and locks her gaze with mine as I stomp my way up the heavy stairs. “Griff?”
Is my impatience upsetting her?
I frown. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”
“I know,” she breathes. “I was just going to point out that if you had let me walk, I could have gotten undressed at the same time.”
I love the way her mind works.
I run double time until we’re in the bedroom we’ve been sharing for the last month and kick the door shut. I immediately attack my shirt, unfastening one button after the other and quickly shucking it onto the floor. “You could, but then you’d deprive me of unwrapping the perfect gift. How attached are you to that dress?”
She shakes her head, a slow smile spreading across her face as her eyes eat me up. “Not at all.”
An answering grin curls up my lips. “God, I love you.”
I grab a handful of the garment with my fist and tug her closer, then whirl her around to shove the sleeves down her arms. A moment later, I yank down the zipper while I’m jerking the garment down her hips. I’m hasty. I’m not even trying to be careful. The sounds of ripping fabric fill the air. The primal beast in me rejoices.
Once the little pinkish garment is in a heap on the floor, I glide a palm down Britta’s hip and use it to pull her against me. She must feel my erection prodding her back. She can’t be surprised by the fact I’m aroused as fuck. The only thing that’s keeping her from being completely naked is a pair of lacy, nude-colored panties barely covering her taut ass and a matching bra I can undo with one hand.
“Griff…”
I want her naked. I want that now. I want inside her, too. But I want to make her ache every bit as badly as I do first.
“Yeah, angel,” I murmur in her ear as I wind my hand around her waist, down the flat of her belly, under the waistband of her little panties. I skate my fingers over her bare sex, slick and plump and ready. Touching her again is a beautiful agony. I wouldn’t trade it for a hundred anonymous women.
I was being straight-up honest when I said I only want her.
When I walk my fingers between her folds and settle them over her clit, I have to grit my teeth to bite back a groan. Dragging my lips across her neck, I start rubbing her most sensitive spot slowly enough to ramp her up…but not nearly fast enough to provide relief.
Her entire body stiffens. Her back arches. She tosses her head against my chest and grabs my thighs, fingers digging in.
“Like that?” I croon.
“Yes…”
“Want it? Need it?”
“Yes,” she pants. “God, yes.”
I love hearing the desperation in her voice. She’s always been responsive to me, putty in my bed. But this is sweeter, somehow new all over again. Maybe in the back of my head, where I’m trying not to want to hunt down every guy she’s ever fucked, I’m aware she finally has a point of comparison so she can be sure how good I make her feel and this is what she wants.
“I’ve missed you like hell, angel. One thousand two hundred fifty-four days without you felt like eternity.”
She stiffens in surprise. Yeah, I counted.
Then she seems to melt against me again. “I’ve missed you, too, Griff. No one makes me feel the way you do. No one.”
Her confession pumps my blood, my need. Impatience to get inside her claws at my restraint, and I try to keep it together. This isn’t about me. This isn’t even merely about her. Sure, I could make her come in the next few seconds, then throw her on the bed and tear off those teasing undergarments before affixing my tongue to her sensitive clit and wring another orgasm from her two minutes later. Then I could start the process all over again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned well in the last fifteen years, it’s my way around a woman’s body.
But I don’t simply want to make Britta feel good. I want to make her mine. I want to make the two of us one again.
“You close?”
“Why do you ask when you already know?” Her tone pleads.
She’s reached the end of her restraint. I’ve reached mine, too. It’s been too long. I want her too deeply. We have too much at stake.
I grab the thin strings at the sides of her panties and give a vicious tug. They break apart in my hands. Britta is still gasping as I tear her bra off. It’s probably ruined beyond repair. I don’t give a shit. As I cradle her naked breasts in my hands, I doubt she does, either.
I kiss my way up her neck. Jesus, the smell of her skin mixing with her arousal is making my thoughts hazy, my blood savage. “Get on the bed.”
She turns, looking at me with big eyes like a blue beacon in the shadowy room, lit only by silvery moonbeams filtering through the folding doors. The waves crash, mingling with the sound of her audible breaths as I jerk my pants down and grab a condom from the nightstand.
I planned ahead. I’ve been hoping for days, weeks, that we’d be busier. I’m well equipped since I suspect she’s not on the pill anymore. If I had my preference, I’d go in bare. I’ve never had sex condomless with anyone except Britta, and I can’t deny that I would love the chance to get her pregnant again so we could grow our family and I could see it all this time, be with her from the first little plus on the home test all the way through her final contraction and beyond.
Later. Soon. Hell, maybe even tomorrow. Once I get my ring on her finger, I’ll open the conversation and—
Britta stops all coherent thought when she lies across the bed, props herself on her elbows, throws back her head, and spreads her slender thighs.
I kick off my trousers with a curse. In my haste to tear them off, I think I broke the zipper. Who gives a fuck?
With my teeth, I open the packet and roll it on as I balance my knee on the edge of the bed, catching myself above her, cradled between her legs.
“This is going to go fast. At least the first time…” I growl. My voice sounds like I’ve been on an all-night booze-and-sex binge. “Ready, angel?”
She wraps her arms around my neck, plants her feet on the mattress, and lifts her hips to me as if she can’t wait another second. “Stop talking.”
If I could spare a second or a brain cell for amusement, that would make me smile. But I can’t. Instead, I reach down and line up the crest of my cock against her opening. She’s so fucking wet, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head at the sensation, at the thought that I’m almost inside her again.
I stretch my body out on top of hers, sliding my palms up her arms until I’m curling our fingers together. We’re touching foreheads, bumping noses, tangling breaths. Britta lies beneath me, pinned to the mattress, unmoving, watching, waiting…
I brace my knees for leverage, then thrust inside her with one deep stroke. Instantly, she gasps, twists, arches. I can’t stop my invading surge. Straining and undulating, she squeezes my fingers, gripping hard, and moans my name.
When I’m finally in to the hilt, totally submerged in her tight heat, it’s all I can do not to pummel her like a jackhammer. She feels beyond anything I remembered, everything I’ve ever wanted.
I pause, drag in a breath. I have to keep myself together and make this good for her.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she gasps out.
But she can’t seem to stay still. I’m gritting my teeth, trying not to rock with her yet so she can adjust to the feel of me inside her. And yeah, I’m savoring this hard-won moment.
But she’s killing my control.
“What’s the problem?” I murmur.
She tosses her head, neck arching. All that sensuality I remember awakening once upon a time unfurls for me again. She’s beautiful, graceful, and so much woman I can’t wait another moment.
“Fuck me. Please…” Britta sounds like she’s in pain with wanting.
I’m not rejoicing at her demand. “I used to make you say that when you wanted me, but not anymore. That’s not what this is about. I’m making love to you, Britta. That’s all I’m ever going to do.”
Sure, we’ll get raunchy and desperate and hungry sometimes. We’ll be in the mood to fuck, and there’s no way I’ll say no. But under it all, I’ll be making love to her every single time she’ll let me.
Britta bucks up against me as she squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them to stare, gauge my expression. I feel her in the telltale tingling at the small of my back, which tells me I’m too aroused to hold out much longer. I feel her all the way down to my balls, already aching and full. I definitely feel her in my heart, where she’s filled every corner with herself and the promise of tomorrow.
She’s mine again—body and soul.
I’m going to take her so thoroughly she’ll never forget it.
In the silvery shadows, her eyes soften. “Love me, Griff. Always love me.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, angel.”
Then we don’t need words anymore. I cover her lips with my own and find my way inside even as I fill her with slow, controlled thrusts. Quick withdrawals, unhurried plunges forward. Methodical. Rhythmic. Torturous.
Beneath me, Britta goes wild, heaving and wriggling as she whimpers and pleads wordlessly for more while giving me her all. It was always good with her, every single time. But this pleasure is agonizing, honed like a knife’s edge. It’s excruciating as it opens me up, takes me apart. And with every thrust, I don’t care. I have Britta, so I have everything I need.
Beneath me, she’s fierce as she fights for the ecstasy we’ve worked so hard to share. It’s the bliss I plan to experience with her for the rest of our days.
My senses zero in on her. Concentration narrows until there’s nothing and no one else. My thoughts scatter. My body takes over. Restraint evaporates.
I turn animal.
Propelling inside her with all the force in my body, I hammer her again. Again. Again. The bed sheets bunch. The mattress jumps the frame. Her nails dig into the backs of my hands. Her keening cries split the air. I feel her tightening. It’s getting serious. Dangerous. Inevitable.
“Give everything to me,” I demand. “Give it. Now.”
Her body jolts, freezes, then bucks wildly as I feel her clamp down on me, seizing me, as she shouts out a climax that comes from deep inside her. Sweating, I push through, plunging in, one stroke after another, as desire pools at the base of my cock, heats until I swear she’s burning me, then zips through my body in an explosion that not only staggers my libido but destroys my soul. I’ve just lost everything to this woman—body, head, heart. It’s all hers now. And forever.
That makes me smile.
My thrusts slow, along with our breathing. I finally release my harsh grip on her fingers and gather her up in my arms. I don’t want to move. I just want to stay entwined with Britta, attached and attuned to her.
But I’m probably crushing her.
I prop up on my elbows and look down at her face, caressing the skeins of her fair hair away from her honeyed face, glowing with a supreme look of satisfaction.
“That was…” I don’t even have words to describe it. “Beyond.”
“And more.” She nods with a suddenly shy smile. “It was everything I wanted.”
“I feel so close to you, like we’ve managed to work past the walls dividing us.”
A little frown that bothers me settles between her brows. “I hope so.”
What else could there be? Sure, maybe we’ve both got some details we haven’t shared. But they’re not important now. We’ve taken the risk, found the courage. And held tight to one another again. “I know so, angel. We’ve been through a lot, but it was worth it. I love you.”
She smiles softly at me once more, and my whole heart flips over in my chest. Everything about being with her—minus any of my usual barriers—has scraped me red and raw.
“You’re right. Now…can we do that again?”