Page 62 of Their Greatest Strength

I glare at him. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“You’ve spent too much time with dirty boys.”

“Lake doesn’t even spend time with boys,” Nate pipes in, staring down at the front of his chosen jersey.

I huff, palming my hips. “I’m going to glue your mouth shut, Nathan.”

“It’s okay, Nate. I’m the only boy she needs now, right?”

My brother pauses his fanboying over the jersey and inspects Jamie, something passing between them that I can’t grab onto.

Nate shimmies his shoulders in his new jersey and passes us, heading for the door. “Yeah. You are getting married, after all.”

“Do we start a countdown now or something? To make it more official?” Jamie asks, his brows dancing.

“You haven’t been counting down already?” I ask.

Nate laughs at my question before leaving, apparently done with our little closet hangout. He’s probably going to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror for the next hour.

Jamie watches him leave and then turns his body to face me fully, the weight of his full attention smacking into me face first. Handsome in a reckless yet charming way, he’s the perfect example of an up-to-no-good playboy. The exact type of guy I never think twice about.

It’s becoming a bit harder to stick to that habit.

“One week tomorrow, baby,” he purrs, his voice so soft the words kiss my cheeks.

I move closer, hovering only a few inches from his front. He tracks the movement with a coy smile, light dancing in his eyes for the first time today.

“For tomorrow . . .” I start, my fingers tingling as I raise them to rest on his bicep. His tongue slips past his lips to swipe along them as he stays still, aside from the muscles beneath my fingers that flex. “It’s our first night out together. As an engaged couple.”

“That’s right.”

“So, we need to act the part.”

He sways closer, the heat from his body curling around mine and urging me to lean forward just a little more. My hold on hisarm has grown stronger, wider as my fingers spread and glide around the thick muscle.

“I’m listening,” he rasps.

“You can touch me.”

It’s out there before I can take it back. I don’t say another word, waiting and waiting . . .

I’m not sure what I was expecting. A hand in mine or another kiss on my head, maybe.

The firm pressure of his hand on my waist as he hitches me forward to rest against his body is almost as surprising as the one that cups my jaw and tips my head back.

I suck in a breath and go lax in his hold, a blast of comfort settling deep in my chest.

“Like this?” he asks lowly, his tone rough.

Jesus, when did his eyes get so blue? Even with his pupils swelling, they’re so vibrant, like the kind of sky you get lost in, the kind that promises warmth after years of frigid winter. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that, but here he is—offering it anyway.

His thumb moves, stroking the skin so close to my mouth that if I turned into his palm, I’d be able to taste him. A shiver starts at the top of my spine and grows in intensity when I refuse to let it travel further.

“Blakely?”

I look at him through my lashes and press the hand not holding him against my thigh, not surprised by the wet heat of my palm.

“Yes. That’s good,” I whisper.

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