He cupped her face in his dirt-speckled hands and stared into her amber eyes. He leaned in, his lips hovering above the corner of her mouth, so ready to lose himself when the hum of a helicopter rumbled through the air.
Good old Briggs got it done.
Libby gasped as the sound intensified. “Why is there a helicopter landing in the front yard?”
He smiled against her lips. “The kiss will have to wait. This, plum, is the part where you trust me.”
Twenty-Seven
Libby
“Plum, it’s time to wake up. We’re here.”
Libby sighed and nuzzled into the warmth of Erasmus Cress’s embrace. She wasn’t ready to open her eyes—not yet. She curled into Raz, and he stroked her cheek. “I had the craziest dream,” she murmured, sliding her hand beneath his T-shirt.
“Did you?” he purred.
She loved his morning voice. That sexy British rasp with a touch of gravelly gruffness made every inch of her body hungry for his touch and desperate for his kisses.
She drew lazy circles across his hard abdominal muscles. “I dreamed that I was whisked away on a helicopter, had a delicious dinner waiting for me in Aspen, then strutted my stuff onto a private jet.”
“That sounds like some dream. Do you remember anything else?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“I do. The jet had a section in the back that turned into a bedroom.”
He hummed a satisfying little sound. “Was anyone with you in this bedroom on a private jet?”
She continued making lazy circles, slowly working her way down toward the waistband of his track pants. “There sure was. A man.”
“I see,” he breathed. “Did anything exciting happen in the bedroom with this dashing specimen of male perfection?”
Someone woke up cocky as hell.
She smiled against the crook of his neck. “Define exciting?”
“Did you join the Mile High Club?” he replied, twisting a lock of her hair between his fingers.
“I already belong,” she teased with an indifferent shrug.
“You do?” he asked, that possessive growliness coming through.
“I was born in Denver—the Mile High City. I’ve been in the Mile High Club since birth.”
Her beefcake chuckled, and the spike of his domineering alpha energy dropped a few notches. “I was referring to a different Mile High Club, or maybe it should be renamed Mile High Club O.”
Oh, there were Os in this club—the man got that right.
The sweet ache between her thighs was a testament to it.
“It’s funny you bring that up,” she purred. “In this very dream, I got up to some very naughty things.”
“I take it you enjoyed it,” he rasped, and his panty-melter of a voice had her ready to shimmy out of her clothes again. But she wasn’t done teasing him.
“It was…nice.” She couldn’t let her boxer get too full of himself. While this man was most certainly the giver of Os, he owed her some answers.
“Nice,” he echoed with a hint of agitation that made her toes curl.
“Do you want to know what was really amazing about my dream?” she cooed.
“Tell me, plum.”
“The jet had bowls of candy—so many different types of candy. And it was all for me.”
He tensed, and she could picture the indignation on her beefcake’s beautiful face.
“That was the really amazing part of your dream?” he grumped. “The bowls of blooming jet candy?”
“I’m not sure if it was the most amazing part, but it was pretty great.”
Hello, free candy.
She might be all about fitness ninety-nine percent of the time, but who could turn down private jet candy?
“Come to think of it,” he said, shifting his body. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then smiled against her skin. “I had a very similar dream.”
“Is that so?”
“You were in it,” he continued.
“Was I? And what about the candy? Was it there, too?” she teased.
“It was. In my dream, I lined up Gummy Bears between your breasts, devoured them, and then I devoured you.”
Swoon.
And that was just what they did with the Gummy Bears. Things got scorching hot with the licorice.
Her nipples hardened into taut pearls. “Sounds like quite a treat,” she replied, playing coy and doing her best not to get too hot and bothered.
He slid his hand into her hair. “I like the idea of dreams becoming a reality.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“You’re not curious about where we are, Libby Lamb?” he asked, propping up onto his elbow.
She exhaled a wistful breath as her pulse thrummed. She didn’t want to open her eyes—not yet. She wanted to remain in this perfect in-between world where it was just the two of them. “I’m more than curious. I don’t want this to end.” Her teasing tone had disappeared. Whatever this was, wherever they were, she couldn’t remember ever being this blissfully happy.
“Open your eyes, plum,” he whispered against her lips.
She complied, blinking a few times. But it wasn’t hard for her eyes to adjust. It was still dim in the jet’s cabin. She slid her gaze to the window and was met with a veil of darkness. Wherever they were in the world, the sun hadn’t risen.
“Look at me, Libby,” he coaxed.
A ripple of trepidation passed through her as she turned toward the man.
He dusted her lips with butterfly kisses. “It’s not going to end, plum.”
She pulled back a fraction, stared into his gray eyes, and traced her fingertips down the scruff of his chin. He was a gloriously beautiful man, so much more complex than she’d ever imagined, and she wanted to believe him more than anything. For the first time, she wanted to put her trust in a man.
No, not any man.
This man. Her beefcake of a boxer who happened to be a driven athlete, a devoted father, son, and grandson, and possibly the man who’d protect her heart.
But what had sparked his change of heart? Was it the thought of her with another man, or was he telling the truth? Did he sincerely want her beyond their sixty-day arrangement?
Had the pendulum swung from enjoying a temporary lust to desiring a lasting love?
Love.
He hadn’t dropped the L-word, but when she’d peered out the window of the Victorian and saw him rooting around, pulling wildflowers out of the earth like a deranged gardener, her heart had swelled in her chest.
He loved her.
She’d sensed that immediately.
And in those few seconds, clarity had taken over.
It was as if the universe were pointing her toward the future—her future. As if it needed her to see that she had a choice, and that choice was whether she would take the chance to trust her heart with the sexy beefcake of a boxer who could tear up a patch of wildflowers like nobody’s business.
She’d never seen Raz so earnest, and when she’d walked out onto the back porch and called out to him, a cataclysmic jolt fired through her. Every chakra in her body recalibrated to balance with the man holding a slew of flowers, scraggly roots and all, and covered in bits of earth and flower petals. The frenzied energy pulsing between them had made her both lightheaded and completely grounded.