Page 81 of Beautiful Mess

“Can we talk?” Conway asks, gaze boring into mine as he keeps his voice low.

Swallowing down the ball of nerves attempting to choke me, I nod while my heart palpitates. Standing here with him, not even a foot between us, the reality of how much I’ve missed him—his attention, his touch, even just the warmth from his body’s proximity to mine—crashes into me, nearly making my knees buckle.

Which is kind of insane, right? It hasn’t been all that long since we were last intimate, but after experiencing the effortless way Conway makes me feel—both mind and body—and quickly becoming attached to that comforting feeling, what has realistically only been a mere few weeks feels more like an agonizing eternity.

With a gentle, featherlight hand to the small of my back, we weave through the crowd toward the exit at the back of the building. The crisp night air feels like a balm against my sensitive, overheated skin. I peer up at Conway, finding his attention already on me, as silence wraps around us for a moment. Stomach filled with butterflies, I watch Conway’s gaze slowly and appreciatively drag down the length of my body before coming up to my face again. Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he breathes out a sigh and takes a single step toward me, putting us close enough that I have to tilt my head back to properly look at him.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Grace?” Conway murmurs, almost as if to himself. Brushing a strand of hair out of my face, the calloused feel of his finger as it barely grazes my forehead makes my heart hammer against my ribs before he rests a firm, steady hand on the area where my neck and shoulder meet. My mind blanks, making it impossible to respond. That one simple compliment that I’ve probably heard at least a dozen times from various men in my lifetime hits me so much harder when it’s coming from him.

Not just any man.

But from Conway Levine, who’s looking at me like I hung his moon and hold all the stars in his sky.

“Have you thought about me?” There’s emotion wrapped around that question as he gazes into my eyes.

“Of course, I have,” I whisper. The urge to look away is strong, but I don’t let myself as I ask him the same. “Have you?”

The rough pads of his fingers apply pressure to the back of my neck, at the same time his thumb gently rubs over my erratic pulse point. Gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second, Conway’s thick, dark eyebrows wrinkle before his eyes are on mine again and he rasps, “Every goddamn day.”

My vision blurs despite my best efforts to blink away the moisture. “Oh.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Grace,” he croaks, and even though I was the one to put a stop to this in the first place, my heart still feels like it’s going to shatter in my chest at hearing him say that, thinking he’s about to walk away from me for good. But then he continues. “I’m done with the distance, done missing you when there’s no good reason for me to, but Grace.” He growls my name, sending a shiver down my spine. “What I’m even more done with is letting you pretend we could ever be over, letting you pretend that I could ever walk away from you, from what we have and from the way it feels when I’m with you. I’m fucking done.”

“Pretty sure you’re not the only one who gets a say here,” I mutter, rolling my eyes with as much sass as I can muster as tears spill over, burning a hot path down my cheeks.

Conway chuckles darkly, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps all over my body. Using his grip on my neck, he hauls me closer to him while simultaneously dropping his head down and bringing his lips right up against the shell of my ear. “Do not make me repeat myself, Sin.” Hearing that nickname roll of his lips again has a heady shot of arousal flooding my veins. And my panties. “You’re mine, baby girl, and every single ounce of me is yours. That’s the way it’s supposed to be and the way it’s going to go from here on out because I love you, Grace. I’min lovewith you, and I think you love me too, even if you might not be ready to admit it out loud just yet.”

My head is dizzy as I hear Conway claim me so fiercely. Feeling his honesty pouring out as he tells me he’s in love with me leaves me feeling like I’m floating. But more than that, it’s the way he tells me with absolute surety thathe’s minethat has me melting for this man. When it comes to Conway and the undeniable chemistry and connection we share, I never stood a chance.

Not the first time he kissed me breathless.

Not when he fucked me up against my house after waiting for me to come home from a date with another man.

Certainly not when I told him it was over in my office.

And I think if I’m being honest with myself, not even that night all those years ago when he drove me home from the bar when I was too drunk and too lost to drive myself.

I never, ever stood a chance.

Yet as Conway shifts his hold on me ever-so-slightly, bringing my mouth a breath away from his, I’m realizing that maybe that’s not such a bad thing. And as his lips crash down on mine and his tongue slips into my mouth, I’m also realizing that maybe Gemma was right. That despite the fear and the tiny voice in the far back of my mind reminding me that I’ve only ever been hurt, maybe it’s okay to let myself try anyway.

That just because the fear is there, and even if it never fully goes away, it doesn’t mean Conway’s going to hurt me. And that maybe it’s about damn time I let myself trust that the arms I feel the most comfortable in are the same ones that will also keep me safe and maybe even eventually heal that piece of me.

So, standing in the alley behind this art gallery underneath the streetlamps, our lips move in beautiful synchrony while his tongue reiterates every last confession he breathed into me a moment ago, making sure I hear his truth loud and clear.

That I am his just as much as he is mine.

I’m not sure how long we stand like this, but my lips are swollen and my eyes heavy by the time he finally ends the kiss, and I don’t miss the emotion wetting his eyes as he brushes his thumb across my bottom lip and meets my gaze.

“I’m taking you somewhere Friday,” he rasps.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise, but I’ve taken care of everything. All you need to do is pack a bag for the weekend.”

“A bag?” A smile inches up my face as the organ in my chest pitter-patters. “You’re taking me somewhere out of town?”

“Yes, but that’s all I’m telling you,” he says, pressing one last kiss to my lips. Intertwining our fingers together, he adds, “Now, let’s get back in there.”

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