Page 124 of Fixing to Be Mine

I chuckle. “Thanks for the confidence boost, but I know this life isn’t for me.”

“It’s not for me either,” she admits. “Not anymore.”

I take her hand and interlock my fingers with hers. We walk out into the street, the wind sweeping past us in a sudden gust that lifts her hair. She’s the main character in a movie, and I’m walking beside her like I’m a part of her world.

“So,” I say, wrapping my arm around her, “what’s next? Gallery opening? Dinner with royalty?”

Stormy laughs under her breath. “How about a big, fat, juicy burger and fries? Then maybe a glass of wine somewhere quiet so we don’t get bombarded by paparazzi.”

I smirk. “Speakin’ my language, darlin’.”

We cross the street, her stride steady and self-assured, and her smile doesn’t falter.

And me?

I’m right where I want to be, at her side, like I belong.

CHAPTER THIRTY

STORMY

The light comes in soft, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows that oversee the edge of Central Park. The sky is pale and cloudless, the city still wrapped in that early hush before the traffic begins to hum.

I lie still for a while, watching the way the sunlight moves across the marble floor in my penthouse bedroom. It catches on the edges of my bookshelf, warms the foot of my bed, and then settles over Colt’s bare shoulder, where the blanket’s slipped down.

He’s on his stomach, arm stretched across the bed, like he was reaching for me in his sleep. One leg hooked over the edge of the sheet, his hair a mess, his beautiful face relaxed while he sleeps.

I don’t move.

I admire this version of him. My body aches in that familiar, simmering way as I remember how thoroughly he made love to me last night.

There’s a softness in the air that has never existed in my penthouse before, and it clings to me when I exhale.

He stirs when I shift to my side to get a better view. His eyes stay closed, but his hand finds my hip beneath the sheet and rests there like it never left.

“You watchin’ me again?” he mutters, voice full of rasp.

“I can’t help it. You’re a cowboy dream.”

A lazy smile pulls at his mouth, scooting close. “I love waking up next to you.”

“Me too,” I admit. “I think it was always supposed to be like this. You and me.”

His blue eyes sparkle as he opens them. “You and me.”

My confession wakes him a little more. His fingers tighten at my hip, and he pulls me even closer, guiding me into the curve of his body without saying a word.

His mouth finds my collarbone first, then my neck, then the corner of my jaw. Each kiss is slow, like he’s relearning me all over again.

We don’t rush.

We’re nothing but breath and skin and want.

His hand slips under the sheet, trailing down my thigh. Our mouths meet, and everything fades away. New York, the meeting I’ll have with my father, the headlines about me and Donovan that were posted last night. None of it matters right now. Just this.

I cherish how his touch saysyou’re safe.The way his voice saysyou’re mine.How his body fits against me like he was built to hold and keep me.

We make love until we’re both a mess, breathless, lips swollen.

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