Page 103 of When I Had You

His arm tightens around my shoulders, and he kisses the side of my head, making me feel so much like no time has passed. I snuggle in, wanting to be as close as I can. He says, “Not now that you’re here again.”

I tilt my head up from his chest and lift onto my elbow. “Your side?”

Staring deep into my eyes, he doesn’t blink when he replies, “My heart. My soul. My everything is better with you in my life.”

My heart feels bigger than it has since I left. It’s odd, though. It’s as if I didn’t have a heart while we were apart. It was steeped in a slumber that makes me realize I was breathing but not living. Not truly living. I went on autopilot, drowning myself in work and business, sidetracking my mind with anything that didn’t make me think about him, which wasn’t much. Grinning, I ask, “Are you feeding me a line or trying to charm me, Mr. Ryatt?”

“Warren.” He lifts on his elbows to kiss me and whispers against my lips, “Always Warren with you, babe.”

Babe. My heart beats harder in my chest for this man and his nickname for me. I didn’t expect him to run the length of Manhattan to be with me again, but I know he would have. He ran half of it. He would have done whatever he could to get to me. I just shortened the journey back to our reunion.

I was always his, like he is to me—my heart, my soul, my everything. Nothing exists without him.

I lean down to kiss his shoulder and then a little higher to the crook of his neck. Rubbing shamelessly against his leg, I find the hot and heavy foreplay that landed us in bed has subsided as we start to rediscover each other. One kiss here, a gentle touch there, and ending with us talking. I don’t mind slowing down because hearing him whisper, telling me how much he missed me, is an opportunity I’ll never pass up.

“I never,” I start, almost too choked up. I clear my throat. “Not for a moment did I ever stop loving you. I just . . . I just had to find my own way back.” A smile overcomes me as I remember how all my hopes and dreams were wrapped up in those minutes of waiting. “Apparently, standing on the corner of 42nd seemed like a solid plan. I stood there worried you wouldn’t come that far for me.”

Running his fingertips over my temple, he studies me as if memorizing every newly developed freckle. “I’ll travel as far as it takes to reach you.” He cups my cheek as he looks into my eyes with a hunger that only I can satisfy. Intoxicating. “Never doubt that I’ll always come for you. Always.” His hand slides to the back of my head, and he encourages me closer. I move down, never wanting to cause his injury to flare, but even more, him to doubt that I’ll travel any distance to get to him as well.

I reach his lips again, the urge beginning to drown the patience I thought I had. Before we kiss, he says, “I’m not a perfect man, but I want to be everything you need. I want to make you happy, Marina.”

My emotions get the better of me. Reuniting with him is more beautiful and more consuming than I imagined. I dreamed of this since the day I set my hurt feelings aside and saw why I walked away for what it was—one of the worst days for both of us. The turmoil he must have held inside since the accident came out in ways it shouldn’t have. I refuse to hold his worst against him when he puts in the effort to show me his best.

We’re all flawed people.

After a major failure, I had accepted less than I deserved—personally and professionally. I believed the critics. I believed my ex and an agent who didn’t have my best interests at heart. I believed in everyone except myself. So I understand when fear gets the better of you. I understand why Cash acted out of character and so unlike the man I knew so well. “You’re not responsible for my happiness,” I reply. “You’re responsible for yours.”

“I hear what you’re saying.” As he shifts gently under me, his groan is slight but noticed. I readjust to the side, so careful. “I will support you however I can. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

We have mountains to climb in our careers, and physical and emotional healing, but being in his arms again means nothing matters more than our lives together. We’re two people who have changed in ways that make coming back together so much sweeter. “You showed up for me. That’s enough.”

“That’s the least someone should do for you.”

Shrugging, I laugh so softly that I barely even hear it. “I don’t need much to make me happy. You and maybe a Tootsie Pop or some chocolate.”

His grin extends, carving into his cheeks as his eyes stay steady on mine. “I’m going to give you the world, Marina Westcott. I’ll buy you a whole candy shop just to see your smile.”

“It’s not for me that I want it.” Too subtle?

A roguish grin takes over, and his hands lower to my hips, pulling me on top of him. He’s already hard when he shifts my hips forward and back again over his length. “I’m going to spoil you rotten, my love.”

The teasing gets the better of me, and I finally kiss him, briefly losing myself in the headiness of being together again. “Good thing I love to be spoiled.” Slipping lower, I take hold of his erection and add, “But I want to go first.” I spoil him with every ounce of my being, making love and making him come so hard, first with my mouth and then with my body. I take every inch of him and savor the night until the early hours of the next day.

Morning comes too fast after only a few hours of sleep, shining through a crack in the curtains like it’s trying to set the world on fire. I know the feeling. Although I didn’t get as much sleep as I’d like, I’m in his arms, so that’s all that matters.

Cash is still asleep when I slip out from under the heaviness of his arm and into the shower. The water is warm, like the comfort of the man in bed. I run the body wash scented like him over parts he touched, cognizant of the delicious soreness he evokes.

“Good morning,” he says, opening the door. “May I join you?”

He’s already stepping in like he did my life, crashing into my world with his full intentions and all in from the get-go. Secretly, I love how he consumes a room with his presence and how he consumes me with his love. “I was hoping you would but didn’t want to wake you,” I reply, taking my sweet time to appreciate him. Even with the wound covering his left side, the man is a masterpiece. “Is the water too hot?”

“It’s just right.” A smirk angles his mouth to one side as he steps under the shower, drenching his hair. His eyes close, but as the water runs over his injury, I notice a slight wince strike his face.

I hate how powerless I feel to heal him. I’m gentle when I touch his arm, whispering when I ask, “How can I help you?”

Opening his eyes again, he cradles my sides and runs his hands from my ribs to the swell of my hips, pulling me closer under the spray of the water. “I was hoping to help you. That’s what I want.”

Maybe he doesn’t need to be reminded of the accident. Instead, I should be the reprieve he needs. With his eyes set on mine, one hand slides over my hip again and lowers to caress my inner thigh.

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