Page 65 of Grump Hard
“No, Thad,” she teases. “Of Thad and Margot.”
I wince. “I am…mortified. And so deeply sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be,” she says gently. “All you had to do was ask me what was up that dude you saw me with and all this angst could have been avoided.”
I nod, my stomach cramping tighter. “You’re right. My behavior was ridiculous. Unforgivable, really, but if you?—”
“No, it wasn’t,” she cuts in.
I frown. “It wasn’t?”
“No, I can forgive you.” She shrugs. “I’ve already forgiven you. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“I won’t,” I vow, meaning it with everything in me. “Because I meant what I said when you opened the door. Every word. I was half frozen, but fully in my right mind.”
Pleasure and hope mix in her expression. “Good. I was hoping you were. Because guess what?”
“What?” I murmur, completely in her thrall as she props up on one arm and the quilt slides lower.
“I love you, too.”
Wonder tightens my ribs. “You do?”
She nods, slow and so sexy I’m not sure how much longer I can resist the urge to kiss her. “I do. And I’m very willing to give you the chance to fight for me. But first, I was hoping we might do something more fun than fight.”
“Oh, yeah?” My pulse spikes.
“Yes. Please.” She lifts a hand, trailing her fingertips down my cheek to my neck, my shoulder. “I would like you to kiss me, Luke Ratcliffe. And to keep kissing me for a long time.”
“Whatever you want, beautiful,” I promise, meaning it with everything in me as I wrap my arm around her beneath the covers. “Whatever you want.”
Then, I do my best to be a man of my word.
I kiss her like I’m learning a language I want to speak fluently—deliberate, careful, needing to make sure I’m translating her right. She answers with a hungry sound that makes my head spin as her tongue strokes against mine. The world narrows to firelight and the distant howl of the storm and the way her fingers curl into the back of my neck.
She tastes like candy canes and salt on skin.
Like a new beginning.
Like everything I promised myself I would fight like hell for if I was lucky enough to find her alive.
“I want to worship every inch of you,” I murmur. “All night long.”
“I hope you mean that.” Her smile goes wicked against my lips. “Because I’m about to hold you to it.”
She rolls onto her back, dragging me with her, the quilts sliding down to her hips in the firelight. My breath catches painfully. I’m not prepared for the sight of her. Her pale breasts, peaked by tight, dusty rose nipples, are works of art. The sight of her smiling up at me from the mattress is an image I want to burn into my brain and keep with me. Always.
I press a palm beneath her ribs, feeling her breath rise to meet me, silently thanking all potential higher powers for this moment.
This woman.
“Tell me what you like,” I whisper, because I thrive on data and refuse to risk a misstep with something as important as this.
“Tonight?” She tilts her head to one side, holding my gaze as she adds, “Tonight, I think I like slow and steamy. And I really like the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“Like I can’t decide if I want to paint your portrait or devour you whole?”
“Yes.” She winks. “I vote for devour, by the way.”
