Page 44 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

Her breath caught. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The spoon clattered against the plate as Matthieu slid onto the couch, one knee pressing into the cushion beside her thigh. He crowded her space, his body warm, his presence all-consuming. Slowly, he leaned in, bracing himself as his hands found her waist, his lips hovering just above hers.

Then, he kissed her.

It was slow, unhurried—just the barest whisper of lips against hers as if he was savoring the moment as if he wanted to memorize every delicate brush, every shared breath. But that whisper soon deepened, turning into something more, something that pulled at the very center of her. Matthieu’s arms tightened around her, his embrace warm and unyielding, as if he was afraid she might slip away if he let go.

Jeannie clung to him just as fiercely. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it with a desperation that startled her. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was an unspoken promise, a tether between them, something sacred that made her chest ache with longing. The world outside their little haven blurred, faded, and disappeared entirely. Nothing else mattered—only this, only him.

The heat of his body pressed against hers, the solid weight of his chest rising and falling in time with her own unsteadybreaths. His legs tangled with hers, anchoring her in place yet making her feel as if she were floating. She could feel the power in his arms as they flexed around her, the way his touch was both protective and possessive like she was something precious, something irreplaceable.

And then there was his scent—clean, masculine, with a hint of spice from his cologne and something uniquely him. It filled her senses, making her toes curl, and her stomach tighten with anticipation. She wanted to drown in him, to memorize every little thing about this man who had somehow become her everything.

Matthieu shifted slightly, the movement pressing them even closer, making her gasp. A slow, lazy smile curled his lips as he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with emotion.

“I like having you in my life…” The simple confession carried the weight of so much more, the depth of it echoing through every fiber of her being.

Her heart clenched.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

The tenderness in his words unraveled something deep inside her. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. He wanted her. Not just now, not just in passing, but forever.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can tell.”

Matthieu chuckled softly, the sound like a warm caress against her skin. “No, you can’t,” he teased, the husky intimacy of his tone making her shiver. “We’re still dressed. But in a few days, when we are alone, and you’re truly mine, I’ll ask you if you can tell then.”

A delicious tremor ran through her as her face flooded with the heat of embarassment at his words. “Oh gosh,” she gulped, breathless.

His deep, knowing chuckle was all the warning she got before he dipped his head again, claiming her lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just affection. This was desire. It was devotion. It was the quiet, smoldering kind of passion that built and built until it was undeniable. He kissed her like he needed to, like the act itself kept him tethered to something vital.

“I can’t wait to see that veil on you…” he murmured, his fingers skimming along her spine, sending shivers racing across her skin.

A lump formed in her throat.

Wrapped in his warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart against hers, she knew—she would never need anything else.

“I can’t wait to wear it for you when we get married, Matthieu,” she whispered, pressing closer, wrapping her arms around his waist as if she could somehow merge into him, hold onto this feeling forever.

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes. “I can’t wait until that’s the only thing you’re wearing…”

Her face was on fire now.

“We should move,” she managed, though her voice lacked conviction.

“I plan to… in a few days.”

“No,” she groaned, pressing her forehead against his chest. “I meant now, so we don’t cross a line.”

Matthieu exhaled slowly as if reining himself in. “One of us has to be the smarter of the two of us…” His lips brushed against her temple, the gesture achingly sweet. “And I like that you make me lose control.”

Her head tilted back, her eyes searching his. “Me?”

The way he looked at her stole what little air remained in her lungs.

“Just looking at me like you do makes something inside me melt,wife…” His voice was a rough whisper, threaded withsomething raw and tender. “I meant it when I said you are mine, because I’m never letting you go,” he breathed, his hands tightening around her.

Her heart swelled.

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