Page 113 of Against the Clock

“It was low-hanging fruit, but you grabbed it and squeezed.” I nod sincerely, and she erupts into more laughter. “Truly admirable, your commitment to the bit.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she says. “But seriously, you don’t have to read it.”

“You think I’m a chicken?” I brush the tip of my nose against hers, then stand back up, knowing if I don’t put some space between us, I’m liable to throw her over my shoulder and into my truck.

“Of course not,” she scoffs. Her gaze skates over my body and my hand flexes on the glass of water. “I love a good cock, but you’re definitely no chicken.”

I tip my head back and laugh. “Are you done yet?”

“Nah. I’ll let you know when I am, though.” She glances around and presses closer to me as the crowd at the bar grows. “There are more people here than I expected.”

“You nervous?” I ask her, surprised. She’s always so self-possessed, so poised, and I wonder how much of the filthy humor is her way of coping.

“A little,” she admits, and I reach for her, unable to stop myself. My palm skates over the silky material of her dress, her hip warm beneath it.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the room. In the whole damned state. You are brilliant, and clever, and funny.”

She tilts her chin up, staring at me with round eyes.

I press a soft kiss to her lips, brief and gentle.

“I love you, Daniel Harrison.”

The sound of chatter and the low undertone of jazz music die. My heart pounds in my ears, and my fingers squeeze her hip.

I blink, completely taken off guard.

I’ve spent my entire fucking life with armor around my body, getting slammed to the ground by guys twice my weight.

And all it takes to completely blindside me is a small woman in a dress the color of morning sunlight telling me she loves me.

“I love you,” she repeats, her gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes.

Turning away, she grabs her glass of sparkling water, her shimmering purse dangling from her other hand, and takes a long sip.

“Kelsey,” I finally manage, my heart so full it might burst. I lean down, her waving hair tickling my nose as I press my lips against her ear. “Kelsey Cole, I love you too.”

She laughs, and the sound is pure magic. Pure joy.

“Do we have to stay?” I ask her. “I have some ideas about how to show you I love you.”

“Yes, you have to stay,” she says, lacing her fingers into mine. “You are giving a speech. Not the speech I wrote, for the record, but a speech nonetheless.”

“No one really cares about what I have to say.” It’s true. None of these people care about anything other than a tax write-off and the fleeting sense they’ve done something good. They care more about getting dressed up and showing off.

“I care,” she says. “I want to see you shine. You’re great at this.” She gestures broadly, and I wonder what she means.

I must look like it too, because she puts her small hand on my cheek. “You’re good with people. You’re good at making people feel good, at leading them. You look like you belong here.”

“I belong with you, Kelsey,” I say. “Wherever you go, I want to be with you.”

She beams up at me, so goddamned pretty it makes my heart hurt.

“Then we’ll make it happen.”

It’s all I need to hear.

It’s all I ever want to hear again.

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