Page 60 of Promise Me This

Her mouth parts ever so slightly, and she blinks once. Twice. “You remembered when my birthday is?”

An ache like a wildfire spreads through my chest, making the next inhale nearly impossible. How little did she think she mattered to me, that I would forget her birthday? Did I not make it clear how much I cared?

The devil on my shoulder wants to know if that’s why she walked away. If she didn’t think there was anyone she was leaving behind who cared about being left.

With a shiver, all those thoughts splinter and disintegrate. Those days are over and done. What we’re doing now is building something new and precious. Something that cannot be so easily broken. I want to believe it. I have to.

“Of course I remember,” I croak. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, allowing herself to be led out of the bathroom. I pull her toward the stairs, and all the way up to her bedroom, opening the door to let us in. Early morning sunlight has spilled into the room, casting its beams along that atrocious floral wallpaper I never could convince Mam to replace. The bed is rumpled but made, like she set the covers into place and then sat atop them. The wardrobe is open, and I feel the intense urge to cross the room and thumb through each blouse, each pair of pants. The fabrics that get to touch the parts of Leo that I burn for.

She steps past me into the room, crossing over to the wardrobe. As if she can read my thoughts, she runs a hand along the hangers, pausing on each piece before going on to the next. When her hand lands on a baby blue sweater that I know will set her eyes alight, she removes it from the hanger, tossing it onto the bed. Then she does the same with a pair of jeans.

Her gaze finds mine, and it’s twinkling with amusement. Both thumbs hook into the waistband of her shorts, and she raises an eyebrow in question. “I have to change.”

Without breaking eye contact, I reach behind me, push the door shut, and then collapse against it.

She’s pulled the top half of her hair back into a clip, leaving her ears exposed. I watch as the telltale flush creeps up her neck, beneath the diamond studs she’s wearing, all the way to that tiny silver hoop.

The shorts come down painstakingly slow, over the plains of hard muscle that made her thighs my favorite place to grab, a solid anchor to hold on to when I was driving myself deep into her body. They fall into a puddle of fabric around her ankles, and when I finally allow my gaze to rise to what has been revealed, the sight of black lace panties barely covering what they’re meant to sends a rush of blood straight to my dick.

“Leo,” I groan, unable to mask the desire in my tone, “I’m going to have to look away for the next part, or we’ll never make it out of this room.”

Her lower lip pokes out slightly, letting her disappointment show, before a heavy sigh follows the gesture. “You’re probably right.” She turns to face the wardrobe, thinking she’s doing me a favor, and then begins to raise her shirt over her head. All I see is the perfectly round swell of each ass cheek covered by black lace before I force myself to look away.

There’s a writing desk in the corner, and a floral journal resting on its surface. It so closely matches the wallpaper that I find myself chuckling. Between the rustles of fabric being dragged over skin that I’d much prefer she left uncovered, Leo asks, “What are you laughing at?”

“Not you, love.” I shake my head at no one. “Never you. I was just thinking this journal you have matches the decor—”

“My what?” There’s an edge to her voice. Before I can answer, she’s across the room, now fully clothed save for those pink-painted toes. She places herself between me and the desk. “About those sausage rolls…”

I take her narrow hip into my grasp, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what the show she put on does to me. She sucks in a breath of air, eyes going heavy-lidded as she gazes up at me. I want nothing more than to cover her mouth with mine, to taste the air she’ll inevitably breathe out, but I only allow myself the gift of her body pressed against mine. I note every curve and swell and valley, wishing I could imprint the feeling of it on my mind and recall it at any time.

Leaning in close until our lips are nearly touching, I whisper, “No need to be embarrassed about your diary.” Then, before she can reply, I back away. She moves with me at first, a pulse in my direction, but catches herself. I open the door, holding it wide for her to escape through, as heat and something else war in her expression. “Let’s go; the rolls are getting cold.”

She blinks, clearing the fog from her eyes, and then offers me an excited smile, the journal all but forgotten.

“Right,” she says, retrieving her shoes from beneath the desk, “Now where are we off to on this adventure?”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Leona

The marks of civilization slowly fall away as the distance between each cottage fills with fields of rolling hills speckled with grazing sheep. Soon, mountains rise up around us like skyscrapers, their spires reaching into the wisps of cloud cover. Gurgling rivers rush under the stone bridges we drive over, flowing into lochs that might as well be oceans for how far and wide they stretch. I marvel at the sights as they pass, silenced by my unladylike shoveling of two sausage rolls, one after the other, into my growling stomach.

“Hungry, I take it?” Callum asks, chuckling.

I nod, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and crumple the paper wrappers together to dispose of at our destination. Speaking of which…

“Where are you taking me?”

He casts a sidelong glance my way, flicking at the indent of his chin. “You’ve got a little something—”

“Oh,” I interject, swiping at my face. “Did I get it?”

He glances over at me again to check and immediately snorts. “May I?”

I nod, leaning toward him. His eyes dance between me and the road as he reaches over and cups my chin tenderly in his hand, rubbing a thumb over the skin with a sort of reverence I’d forgotten was in his nature. I wonder if he touches every woman like that.

If he does, I don’t want to know.

---