Page 139 of Beautiful Secrets
Instead of taking us to the dancefloor, Cole leads me to the side of the big room. This area looks vaguely familiar, but I do not recognize it until the red ropes are pulled back and we begin to ascend the carpeted staircase.
The VIP section.
Where Cole threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the last time we were here.
My heart flutters in my chest like a baby bird with a broken wing.
Suddenly I’m thankful I wore the dress. If I’d been wearing anything that I bought from the online maternity store, I’d have burst into tears and run out of here.
But I feel sexier than I have for months. Beautiful, confident, ready.
And, by the time we reach the booth at the end, horny as hell.
So when Cole opens the mirrored door for me and stretches out an arm to gesture me inside, I spin around, grab his tie, and yank him in behind me.
The music fades, but it doesn’t go away entirely. What remains is a muted thump, thump, thump. A heartbeat. A slow clap.
Cole wraps me in his arms, but keeps his lips a tease away from mine as he guides me across the intimate room. When my legs brush the sofa behind me, he instead turns and sinks down onto the seat. And then urges me onto his lap, my back against his chest. I melt into him, resting my head on his shoulder as he brushes the hair from my face and starts planting tiny kisses on the side of my neck, my jaw, my cheek.
I turn to him, gazing into his dark green eyes. He stares back, eyes scanning my face as if he can’t get enough of looking at me.
I love it when he does that.
It makes me feel like I’m the only other person in the world.
“I love you, Mika,” he murmurs, ducking forward and pressing his lips to the shell of my ear. “You know that, right?”
His words more than his touch sends a shiver cascading through my body.
He tells me he loves me all the time…but not like this. He implies it, rather than stating it outright.
I love your hair.
I love your eyes.
I love the way you taste.
I love the sound you make when you come.
Heat touches my cheeks. I shrug, reluctant to allow this moment slip away by simply accepting his words and letting him move on.
He has kept me on tenterhooks for months now. I never know how serious he wants to be with me—whenever we start discussing the future, he changes the subject.
All he wants to talk about is Tavisha, and I am not about to discuss my child with a man who still hasn’t made it clear if he wants to date me or not.
I like to think I am not old fashioned, but at the same time, I need a clear distinction. I cannot go on living in the blurred line he seems happy for us to stay in for the rest of our lives.
That is why I brought the last of my things today.
If he needs any greater show of commitment from my side before asking me out on a proper date, then perhaps I have made a grave mistake.
I honestly hope not.
I am head over heels for this man, and I doubt anything will change that feeling.
Instead of becoming upset that I don’t mimic his sentiment, a cheeky grin slides onto his face. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”
He slides his hands down the front of my dress, cupping my breasts. They’ve become fuller in anticipation of Tavisha’s arrival. And I’m guessing that has not gone unnoticed.
