Guiding his mouth to hers, she kissed him. Tasted herself. Didn’t care.
He moaned against her lips. “I just came, and I’m still so hard I could pound nails. I might walk around with a Chloe-inspired erection for the rest of my life.”
“I like the sound of that.” Except he’d get even more female attention, and that was already at a highly annoying level. “And why am I totally naked while you’re still wearing jeans?”
“Had to get inside you. Not enough time to take my pants off.”
“Well, that won’t do,” she said, pushing his jeans down a few inches to cup his tight buns. “I need to see skin.”
“We need a bed so I can fuck you properly.”
She laughed, licking a line down his delicious neck toward the tattoo on his collar bone. “If that wasn’t you fucking me properly, I don’t know what would be. That was the best ever.”
“Each time is the best ever, cupcake.” His whisper tickled her ear, and he sucked on the sensitive patch of skin just below. “Now, a bed.”
Banding one arm around her waist, the other under her bare backside, he carried her toward the daybed on the back porch.
“Wait, the champagne,” she said, and he shifted so she could reach it, grabbing the bottle while her legs were still wrapped around his waist. “Hey, what are we celebrating, by the way? You never said.”
He smiled. And it was dreamy. “Us. And I’ll drink mine off your body.”
Chloe murmured her agreement, needing that physical connection to solidify the emotional one.
“Get back inside me,” she ordered after he laid her on the bed, stripped off his jeans, and came down over the top of her. “I need you again. Now.”
“Soon,” he murmured, rising to his knees.
Showing her gloriously toned, tanned skin, his muscles defined as he roamed her needy body, stroking and plucking.
He grabbed the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Poured overflowing droplets of bubbling liquid into the hollow of her stomach. And made good on his promise to drink champagne from her body.
Made good on his promise to get back inside her.
Made good on his promise to fuck her properly. No different this time than any other time he fucked her, now or ten years ago.
An hour later, both exhausted and utterly satisfied, they stared at the ceiling of the screened-in porch, wrapped up in each other’s arms.
Holding on.
“You said, last week, the Navy was my dream and you wanted me to have it,” he murmured, his mouth nuzzling her hair. “But it wasn’t always my dream. I had another one. A better one.”
“What?” she whispered, her stomach sinking. “Swimming with the sharks? Because you can do that right here, you know.”
Please Lord, whatever that dream is, let it be within reasonable driving distance of East Hampton, New York.
“I’m holding it,” he said, his arms flexing, tightening around her. “It’s right here in my arms.”
She smiled into the darkness. “Don’t let go. Ever.”
“Don’t plan to, cupcake.” He kissed the top of her head, sealing his response with a sweetly simple gesture after an hour of raw, emotional sex.
She took that gesture as a non-verbalized commitment. And fell asleep within the circle of his strong arms, believing the words she’d never heard him say. Not today, nor last week, nor a decade ago.
I’ll stay.
The sun was shining.
Birds were chirping.
War was ending.
Because Jameson and Chloe were beginning again, and this time, they were determined to get it right.
She snuggled into him, having slept peacefully wrapped within his arms, all night long. As if he never abandoned her ten years ago.
As if she was never forced to retaliate in kind, abandoning her baby.
“Good morning,” he mumbled against her throat, his voice hoarse as he came slowly, lazily awake.
“Mmm . . . yes, it is.”
Nuzzling into her, his heavy stubble grazed the tender skin on her neck, leaving razor burn and a trail of his kisses behind. It was the best feeling in the world.
He slid his hand down her stomach, over the precious stretch mark he finally noticed and kissed lovingly last night, toward her tingling center.
Okay, that was the best feeling in the world.
And then he said, “I love you.”
That did it. A trifecta of best feelings in the world.
“I love you, too.” Running her fingers through his dark tousled hair, she smiled. “But I have to go to work. I have a bride at eight a.m. sharp.”
He groaned, his mouth ever so close to her bared nipple. “Me, too.”
After a quick lash that made her breath catch, he heaved himself up, sitting on the edge of the daybed.
Stretching like a lion overlooking his pride after a long nap, his muscles bulged and danced as he yawned and stared out over the water.
Rolling to her side, she propped her head on her elbow. “You missed your middle of the night swim.”
He grinned. “Early morning. And I’ll catch up tomorrow.” Stiffening suddenly, he tilted his head, and she could see him thinking.
“What’s wrong?” Sitting up, she held the sheet over her naked body and traced the tattoo wrapping his bicep.
“Do you . . .” He hesitated, averting his gaze. Then he looked at her and broke her heart. “Do you know if . . . Does he like the ocean?”
Johnny.
I don’t know. Just like nearly everything about her son and his life—their son and his life—she didn’t know. But she couldn’t break his heart too. Not again. The burden they already carried was enough.
So, she fibbed.
“I bet so, Jameson. I bet he’s more comfortable in water than he is on land. Not afraid of sharks whatsoever.”
He smiled. The same proud smile she saw on Johnny whenever he hit a double or scored a goal.
And Chloe melted.
God, the love she felt for this man was never-ending. Just when she thought she couldn’t fall deeper, harder, he did something that only compounded it.
“Thanks,” he said simply, somehow knowing she’d say anything to make him feel better, and leaned down to kiss her. “I need a shower. I have to be at the hardware store in twenty.”
Then he was up and headed inside the house, his naked backside a feast for her senses.
“Your pants are beeping,” she called out when his phone, tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, buzzed.
“Grab it,” he called out from deep inside the house. “It could be Cade.”
His footfalls sounded on the stairs as he took them two at a time, and the water in the upstairs hall bath turned on a few seconds later.
Reaching for his jeans crumpled on the porch floor, she grabbed the phone and looked at the display.
“It’s not Cade. It’s someone named Nico.”
He couldn’t hear her from that distance, of course, but now she was curious. And after the phone stopped ringing, a text popped up seconds later. Right there on the screen.
She didn’t have to read it, but then again, he pretty much gave her permission, right? Grab it.
Tucking the sheet around her naked body, she walked inside the house, intending to take him the phone. While scrolling freely.