Page 54 of The Love Clause

The rideto Elliot's apartment passes in charged silence, his hand on my knee both reassuring and maddening. I want him with an intensity that should be embarrassing—it's been less than an hour since he showed up at my door with flowers and apologies—but there's nothing embarrassing about the way need coils inside me, hot and insistent. This isn't just about physical release or making up after a fight. This is reclaiming something I thought I'd lost forever. This is coming home to a place I never expected to find in the first place—in the arms of a buttoned-up lawyer who turns out to have depths I'm only beginning to explore.

"You're quiet," he observes, glancing at me as he navigates through evening traffic. His voice has that rough edge I recognize, the one that appears when his control is slipping.

"Just processing," I reply, covering his hand with mine. "It's been a lot. You showing up. The apology. The L-word."

His fingers tighten on my knee. "Do you regret it? Forgiving me?"

"No." I turn in my seat to look at him properly, drinking in the sight of his profile that I've missed more than I wanted to admit. "I just want to make sure we're really doing this. That tomorrow morning you won't wake up and decide I'm too chaotic or risky or whatever sent you running last time."

He pulls up to a red light and turns to face me fully, his expression more open than I've ever seen it. "I meant what I said, Josie. No more running. And if my natural instinct to retreat emerges—which it might, I won't lie to you—then I promise to talk to you about it instead of withdrawing."

The light changes, forcing him to return his attention to the road, but his words linger between us, weighty with promise. It's not a magical solution, not a guarantee that his insecurities or my own won't resurface, but it's an honest commitment to try. To fight for this instead of against it.

By the time we reach his building, the tension between us has shifted from uncertain to electric. The elevator ride to his penthouse becomes an exercise in restraint—his hand at the small of my back, my body angled toward his like a flower seeking sunlight. We don't speak, don't need to. The doorman's knowing smile suggests we're not hiding our intentions particularly well.

Inside his apartment, familiar yet strange after weeks away, we stand in the entryway looking at each other with a sudden, unexpected shyness. For all the passion simmering beneath the surface, there's vulnerability here too. The last time we were together in this space, he pushed me away. The memory hangs between us, a shadow neither of us can quite ignore.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asks, ever the proper host even in this charged moment.

"No." I step closer, eliminating the careful distance he's maintained. "I don't want politeness or small talk, Elliot. I want you to show me that you meant what you said. That this is real."

His breath catches, pupils dilating visibly as he looks down at me. "Josie..."

"I forgave you," I remind him, reaching up to loosen his tie. "But I'm still a little angry. Still need convincing that you won't hurt me again."

Understanding flashes in his eyes, followed by a heat that makes my skin prickle with anticipation. "And how would you like me to convince you?"

I tug the tie free, letting it slip through my fingers to the floor—a deliberate disruption of his perfect order. "Figure it out, Counselor."

The challenge hangs between us for one suspended moment. Then he moves, decision made, closing the distance between us with a deliberate intensity that makes my heart race. His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness, a contrast to the barely leashed hunger in his eyes.

"I love you," he says again, the words still new and startling from his lips. "Not just your body. Not just the way you make me feel. You. All of you. Your chaos, your honesty, your ability to see through all my careful defenses."

Before I can respond, his mouth claims mine in a kiss that's nothing like the desperate ones we've shared before. This is slower, deeper, weighted with meaning and intent. His lips move against mine with exquisite care, as if memorizing the shape and feel of me, as if we have all the time in the world.

I melt into him, arms winding around his neck, body pressing closer. The solid warmth of him feels like an anchor I didn't know I needed, steady and strong against the turbulence of the past weeks without him.

His hands slide down my sides, following the curves of my body with reverent attention, before lifting me with that surprising strength I'd forgotten he possessed. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist, our bodies aligning perfectly as he carries me toward the bedroom.

"Last time was rushed," he murmurs against my neck, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down my spine. "This time I'm going to take my time with you. Show you exactly how sorry I am. How much I've missed you."

He lays me gently on his bed—the same bed where we first came together, where I confessed my feelings only to have them thrown back at me weeks later. The memory should be painful, but the way he's looking at me now, like I'm something precious and irreplaceable, chases the shadows away.

"Too many clothes," I complain, pulling at his suit jacket, needing to feel his skin against mine.

He smiles—that rare, genuine smile that transforms his features from handsome to devastating. "I agree. Though I did enjoy seeing you in my shirt."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "You knew about that?"

"Marco mentioned it, actually." He shrugs out of his jacket, fingers moving to his shirt buttons with deliberate slowness. "He was quite forthcoming about your misery without me. Almost as forthcoming as Claire was about mine without you."

"Traitors," I mutter, though there's no heat in it. I sit up to pull my own paint-splattered shirt over my head, suddenly self-conscious about my practical cotton bra compared to the luxury of his bedroom. "I wasn't exactly expecting company today. I'm not exactly…dressed for seduction."

His eyes darken as they travel over me, lingering on the places where paint has smudged onto my skin. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? Especially like this. Real. Unfiltered. Completely yourself."

The sincerity in his voice makes something in my chest crack open, a tenderness flooding through me that's almost painful in its intensity. I reach for him, unable to bear even the small distance between us. He comes willingly, covering my body with his, the weight of him a delicious pressure that grounds me in the moment.

"I missed you," I confess against his lips. "So much it scared me."

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