“I had to drive home one-handed, dream girl, because I couldn’t stop smelling my fingers.”
My body heats at the dirty implication, and I drop my head back against the wood as Reno licks down my neck before biting the spot where it meets my shoulder. Dammit, he’s distracting me with that mouth of his.
“Reno, we need… to… talk,” I pant.
“Later,” he grunts, trying to kiss me again, but I turn my head, knowing I need to get this off my chest. He lifts his gaze to mine, eyebrows pinched together. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“What about Leia?” I ask.
The space between his eyebrows narrows even more, forming a dark unibrow. “What about her?”
I suck in a fortifying breath. “I think you still have feelings for her.”
Reno’s nose scrunches like he smelled a rotten egg. “Bullshit. The only feelings I have for my ex are apathy and annoyance.”
“Y-you said her name when you were asleep. On the plane to Miami, you said ‘Leia’ and then a minute later, you said ‘I pucking love you.’” It hurts to even repeat the words that broke me, and I blink to stave off the tears.
But the response I expect from Reno is not the one I get. After about a thousand confused blinks in the span of five seconds, he laughs. Fucking laughs!
“Put me down,” I insist, getting angry and shoving at his chest, but Reno suddenly turns serious. Grasping my wrists in his big hands, he holds my arms over my head while he pins me to the door with his massive body.
“No, you’re going to listen to me, woman,” he growls, his eyes turning into round green flames. “It’s not what you think.”
With his compelling gaze holding me as captive as his body is holding mine, he tells me the story of his dream. It’s crazy, too bizarre to be made up with Jack Black, Kevin Hart, and…
“I thought Angela Lansbury was dead,” I blurt, and Reno cracks a grin.
“She is, but she was in my weird-ass dream. That doesn’t mean old Angie is my dream girl though. You are, Juliette. No one else.”
“Oh,” I whimper, finally understanding the whole scope of what I did as tears spring to my eyes. “I didn’t… I mean… I was so hurt when I heard you say you love Leia.”
“And now you know that didn’t happen. I was talking aboutyou.”
I’m finding it hard to breathe, and I tug my arms until he lets them go. Wrapping them around his neck, I bury my face in his shoulder, and let the tears fall onto his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Reno. Can you ever forgive me?”
He strokes my hair and kisses the side of my head. “I’m not going to say I’m happy we were apart for two months, but I understand. You were hurt, sweetheart. Run-ins with the exes are always awkward, and I should have realized why you were acting so distantafterward.”
I shake my head and lift it to look at him, my hand against his scruffy cheek. And dammit if the man can’t rock some scruff. “It wasn’t you. This was all my fault. I should have told you what I heard, but I couldn’t get the words to come. I felt too raw inside.”
“We were both dealing with a lot of emotions.” He twists a finger around a strand of my hair. “When everything blew up with Leia last year, I was hurt. My ego, for sure, and it made me feel insecure, which I didn’t like at all.” His brow creases. “But looking back, I realize I didn’t feel that utter pain in my heart like I felt when I saw you walk away from me.”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I admit, my heart thumping against my chest at the memory of it.
“I hope we never see my ex again, but if we do, I want you to remember that she is nothing to me. She’s a tiny candle flame that blew out a long time ago. But you’re my wildfire, Juliette.”
More tears sting the backs of my eyelids, and a couple make their way down my cheek. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
His lips brush softly against mine. “Just to make myself perfectly clear, you’re the one I love. You, Juliette McNamara.”
His words are a lightning rod stuck directly in my heart, and I crash my mouth against his, pouring myself into the kiss with everything I have.
“I love you too,” I murmur as Reno grunts and turns our bodies, moving across the floor to my breakfast nook. With our mouths still attached, he sets me on the round table and begins tugging at the button and zipper of my jeans.
“Now. Need you now,” I moan into his mouth, pulling the hem of his shirt from his shorts. My hands go beneath the polo, and I caress his hard body with my fingers.
“Fuck yes,” he bites out, pulling back so he can work my jeans off. Then he yanks my jersey over my head and waves it in front of my face. “I don’t like seeing you in another man’s jersey.”
“It’s my brother,” I protest and then add, “and I don’t think we need to tell him about us right now. Not with the season about to begin.”
