Page 37 of Final Cost

“Don’t worry.”

He shoves my hands aside and takes over, yanking that zipper open and freeing himself as he reaches between us. He doesn’t waste time stroking my clit. Why bother? We both know I’m already soaking wet for him. I wrap my legs around his waist, the feeling of his belt hard against my inner thigh as he enters me with a single sharp thrust that has me seeing stars. We both cry out, staring at each other, faces twisted with gathering ecstasy and mouths agape.

“I love you.” His voice shakes. “You’re my life.”

“I know,” I say, because I do.

I crane my neck and lick my way back into his mouth, then flex my legs to bring him closer. He palms my bare ass.Hard. And then he fucks me as though both our lives depend on it, those swiveling hips unerringly hitting my sweet spot with the kind of precision that would make a NASA scientist weep with envy. It doesn’t take long. Thirty seconds? Forty-five? That’s all I need before I find myself screaming joyous nonsense wrapped around his name as the spiraling pleasure reaches its tipping point, making my back arch, my head fall back, my eyes roll closed and my toes curl.

He’s right there with me, his entire body stiffening. I cup the hard globes of his ass, absorbing his pleasure with my spasming hips and reveling in the fact that we’re back together likethis, and I still have this power over him and, best of all, he loves me the way part of me always knew he did.

Do we pass out once we’ve wrung all possible pleasure from each other? Sleep? Slip into an alternate dimension? No idea. But I know some time passes. And I know he’s still buried deep inside me when he raises his head and gives my cheek the gentlest possible kiss.

“So much for me being in control and doing things on my timeline,” I say, trying to scowl and failing miserably. “Alas.”

There’s the flash of his beloved grin. Less pirate-like this time. All quiet satisfaction. “We’ve got to get rid of this idea of control. Think of it as me doing my best to restore the natural order of things between us. How’s that?”

“I can live with that,” I say, drowsy now. “Truce.”

“Good. I hate to say this at a time like this.” He pauses, his voice a velvety rumble in my ear. “But you need to know I didn’t kill her.” He stares down at me, waiting, willing me to believe it. “And I didn’t hire anyone to do it.”

I lift my heavy lids and try to shift gears to keep up with him. “I know.”

“Do you?” he says, one of those dark brows going up.

I hesitate. I don’t mean to. But I do. His expression falls accordingly.

“Ninety-eight percent of me believes you.” I smooth the hair away from his temples to soften the blow. I don’t know what’s happened to the other two percent. I just know that it’s not currently present and accounted for. “Can’t that be enough for right now? That, and us being back together?”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Yeah. I’ll take that.”

“Good.”

“I am going to need you to put your necklace back on, though.”

I wordlessly reach for the pocket of my ruined dress, pull out the necklace and dangle it in his face. He grins. I blush like an idiot. Then I put it back on with him watching me the whole time.

Once that’s settled to our mutual satisfaction, he gathers me closer and we drift along for a while, our heads together on the pillow, legs intertwined. I’m beginning to think he’s fallen asleep, but then he surprises me.

“When I first saw you…”

This reference to our meeting at the LaGuardia departures lane grabs my attention, sleep forgotten. “Yes…?”

“When I first saw you, I thought…Don’t let her go.”

My heart swoops like a kite on a breezily perfect spring day. “You did?”

“Yeah. There was nothing normal about it. Nothing rational. It was just emphatic.” A long pause. “As if my life depended on it. Because it did.”

“What do you mean?” I say, shifting to my side to face him because I don’t want to miss a single detail of this confession.

He’s got his elbow bent and his head propped on his hand, his unfocused gaze zeroed in on the memory as he quietly continues. “I’m not sure what I mean. Even now.” Helpless laugh. “How do you describe a lightning strike on top of your head? Do you say that it’s hot? That it’s bright? That it’s life-changing? That you can’t get over it or pretend it never happened? I just knew that I couldn’t let you go.Wouldn’t. I knew that you were my answer.”

No one has ever or could ever stop my heart the way he does. “Your answer? To what?”

His gaze flicks back to me. Focused and steady. Luminous. All joy. “Everything.”

I’m smiling again. He’s staring again.

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