I was eager to get the hell out of there and show London her surprise, but I kept my excitement to a subtle simmer, not wanting to give myself away. Luckily, not long after Ella tried to convince London that it was okay to go, Doctor Bronson came in, with Henry trailing right behind her.
She spoke in detail about what to expect. My screening was almost complete; Ella could go home at the end of the week and get back to living the normal life she’d been accustomed to before being admitted into the hospital under Bryce’s care. And Henry—God bless good ol’ Henry—was more than on board with stepping up to take care of his woman.
If everything went as smoothly as it seemed, Ella would have my kidney right after Halloween. In my head, I envisioned hosting a big ol’ Thanksgiving feast for everyone in our new house, but I worried what condition Ella and I would be in at that time.
I was hopeful; I was in good shape with a clean bill of health. I was sure I’d be back on my feet again three or four weeks after the surgery, but who knew? We just wouldn’t do anything too grand or extravagant this year, but one could dream. And shit, was my head full of so many dreams for my future with London, I could barely keep track of what I wanted to do first.
“You ready, babe?” I finally asked when I noticed Henry and Ella talking amongst themselves.
“Mmm hmm,” she hummed, dropping her hand in mine.
I smiled, still relishing the little things that had changed since London became mine. Hand holding, stolen kisses, shared smiles that spoke volumes about how fucking happy the two of us were together.
We said our good-byes and Ella winked at me, mouthing, “Good luck.” The thumbs up Henry rewarded me with told me that Ella informed him about what I was up to. I clapped him on the back and thanked him for being such a breath of fresh air. Contrary to my and London’s experience with fathers and husbands, it seemed there were good, loyal, responsible men in this world. Henry had restored my faith in mankind, and I was about to restore London’s faith in everything that had ever brought her the tiniest ounce of doubt.
“I’M STARVING! CAN’T we go eat first?” London wasn’t all too pleased with my announcement that we were making a pit stop first at the new house.
Of course, it wasn’t just a pit stop, but she didn’t need to know that. It was fun watching her try to contain her frustration. I got a real kick out of the way her leg bounced up and down, making her sandal flop against the sole of her dangling foot. Or how she gnawed on her lower lip, as if holding in what she really wanted to say. That I was being a relentless pain in the ass about this whole house thing.
But could you blame me? I was fucking excited. It was my first house and I’d spent the last few days making it a home London would never want to leave. Sure, there would still be plenty to do afterward, lots of places for her to leave her mark and personalize it to her liking, but all I cared about was that the would-be nursery was complete and our bedroom furniture had been delivered. After I fed London the Chinese take-out that was already en route, I planned on spending most of our time in the California king that was delivered just yesterday. Our California king bed. I’d let her pick the frilliest, girliest bedding if she wanted to, as long as I got to have her beneath it whenever I wanted her.
We pulled into the driveway and I threw the car in park. I took a moment to catch my breath, my nerves and the flood of so many emotions getting the best of me.
“Hey, when did you get that?” London asked, pointing to the whitewashed wooden swing I had installed on the front porch.
“You like it?” I arched a brow, already knowing the answer.
“It’s adorable. You know I’ve always wanted one of those.” Realization hit her fast and hard. “Sam,” she cooed, turning to face me. “Did you . . . Is that for me?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, opening the door and stepping outside to discreetly fist pump the air. If she liked the swing, I could only imagine what she would do when she saw the rest of the house.
“You’re up to something,” she finally said once she’d come around the car to join me. “You’re a very devious boy, you know that?”
At the word devious, my cock sprang to life in my pants. “Babe, you make me want to be naughty all the time, but first . . . I need you to come inside and see something.”
Giggling, London tilted her head and perched her hands on her hips. “So, I was right? You are up to something. Sam, I told you . . . patience. I’m not saying never, I’m just saying not now.”
My arms found her, wrapping around her tiny frame and pulling her against me. I kissed the tip of her nose, cradling her head and weaving my fingers into her hair. Leaning back to adore her, I said, “I’ve been a very patient man. I’m still waiting for that gold-plated trophy we talked about.”
She laughed, her head falling against my chest. I closed my eyes and inhaled her—something I’d become hooked on doing now that I could. After a silent beat of appreciation, I placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face so our eyes could meet once more.
There, in the driveway of our new home, surrounded by the golden pink hue of the sun setting in the distance, I held the woman who owned my heart in my arms and declared the three words that had waited almost two decades to be spoken but now dripped easily off my tongue. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She blinked and bit her bottom lip.
I leaned forward and claimed it for myself, kissing her breathless and hoping she felt even one ounce of the bliss that coursed through my bloodstream.
It took the delivery man arriving at the curb to break us apart. As I backed away, she smoothed out her dress, and I nonchalantly left her waiting in the driveway to grab the food and pay the driver.
With the paper bag of London’s favorite Asian cuisine in my hand, I marched back up to her and waved it under her nose. “I might have lied a little about this being a pit stop, but if you want to eat . . . you’ll have to come and get it.”
She chased me onto the porch, calling after me in what could only be described as grumbled-giggles.
I knew I’d been driving her crazy with my incessant need to convince her to move in with me, but I also knew London. Once she stepped foot inside, her fears and apprehensions would melt away. She’d understand as well as I did that nothing we did from this moment on would be too hasty or reckless.
This was where we belonged; everything else would fall into place, just as it had since the moment we’d taken our friendship to the next level. The only level London and I would ever exist on from now until eternity.
“Sam.” Her voice—her entire balance—staggered once she set foot inside the house.
I gave her a minute to let it sink in, for her eyes to scan the space and register all the newly added pieces and elements that would make it ours.
“What have you done?” Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering her lips, masking her expression so I was left to decipher whether she was pleased or appalled.
I placed the bag of take-out on the nearest surface and rushed to her. Pulling her hand from her face, I absorbed the array of emotions emitting off of her in potent waves. Her coffee-colored eyes were glazed over with unshed tears, her hands trembled, her mouth hung agape with unspoken words, and I wasn’t sure if she’d taken a breath since she gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth.
“Babe? Are you okay? Say something . . . please?” I bent to her level, searching her eyes for an answer. I couldn’t lie. I was scared I’d gone too far.
Fuck!
If she was reacting this way to the minor changes I’d made to the first floor, there was no way in hell I could show her the nursery. God, even the thought of that word swimming in my head made me feel like a total asshole. Nursery? What was I thinking? We didn’t have kids. We weren’t even married yet. I was trying to cram all of my hopes and dreams for a lifetime with London into a too-short span of time. I’d been too pushy. I fucked up. I was so eager to show her how much I loved her that I forgot what it was actually like
to be in a relationship in which you talked things out and made decisions together.
She was still speechless, and now I was a nervous wreck. I raked my hands through my hair only to bring them down to scrub my face. When I opened my eyes again to check on London, her attention was glued to the mantle in the living room, staring at the frames and trinkets I had the decorator place there.
“Where did you find that?” she asked as she took slow strides into the living room and picked up a picture frame garnished with mother of pearl and turquoise stones. The decorator suggested turquoise as the color to add a pop of something to the mainly gray and white room.
As London fingered the frame in her hands, I worried she didn’t like it. Maybe turquoise wasn’t her thing. Maybe none of the stuff in here was. But upon closer inspection, London wasn’t paying any mind to the actual frame; rather, she was mesmerized by the old photo behind the shiny glass.
“We were like, what, eleven when this picture was taken?” she asked, smiling and wiping away a lone tear from her cheek.
“Yes.” I took a breath, hoping her gentle smile meant she felt anything other than what was running through my head. “Do you remember that day?” I asked, remembering it like it was yesterday.
“Of course, I do.” She released a soft breathy laugh through her nose, still ogling the picture. “We’d spent the whole day at the beach with our moms. Bologna sandwiches and cold Cokes. I almost drowned in the ocean when they weren’t looking but you pulled me back up, all eighty pounds of your scrawny body.”
We both laughed at the memory, and at my unfortunate pre-pubescent physique. If I closed my eyes, I could transport myself back to that day. The sweltering heat, the seagulls flying and squawking overhead, the bright sun glistening off the salty water and dripping in rivulets off of London’s long, dark hair.
Truth was, it hadn’t taken any of my non-existent body strength to pull London out of the undertow that day. It was all will. Of course, she had no way of knowing, but I’d been as in love with her then as I was right now. The moment I saw that wave crash over her tiny tanned body, my life—this current life we were living—flashed before my eyes.
“My heart saved you that day, babe. My bony arms had nothing to do with it.”
“You’ve loved me for a long time, Samuel, haven’t you?” She put the frame back in its place only to lift another and stare at the picture in that one.
I inched closer, draping my arm around her shoulders to peer at the picture with her. In this one we were around eighteen. London was laughing, her head back, her face partially covered by her flowing hair. Her radiant beauty was the focal point of the photo, and I was a voyeur, a background fixture, admiring her from afar. I loved this shot because it described the crux of my relationship with London. Until now. I’d always loved her from a distance, admired her beauty in secret. But now the secret was out, and I couldn’t wait to fill this mantle, these walls, with millions of snapshots of us as a couple.
“How did I not see it?” she mused, still clasping the frame in her hands.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But you see it now, don’t you?”
She took that as a cue to see what was right in front of her. Not just me, but the rest of the house and all of the touches I’d carefully taken the time to incorporate. The pictures of our childhood and teenage years, the carved, wooden letters in the shape of an “S” and an “L” on the wall in the entryway, the fresh cut hydrangea from her mother’s garden that were displayed in mason jars in the center of the kitchen island, a fridge stocked with her favorite yogurt flavor, and the lavender scented candles and hand soap she always used in the bathroom.
“I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
“You might not believe it, but the real question is . . . do you like it?”
She still hadn’t said. Based on the gleam in her eyes and the flush to her cheeks, I was almost positive I did good, but I needed to hear her say it. Before I showed her more, I had to know what she was thinking.
“Sam,” she whispered, taking my hands in hers. She wrapped my arms around her waist, tethering them behind her back, and bringing me as close as we could get without toppling over. “This is perfect. It’s all so perfect, I-I don’t deserve it.”
“London, don’t even—”
“No, listen.” She held my hands in place and shushed me with her lips. Pulling away from the quick kiss, she gazed into my eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry I made this hard for you. And I don’t just mean giving you flack about moving into your house. I mean about not seeing what I meant to you for all these years. I see it now, and I want you to know—I’ll never take it for granted, never again.”
“Our house,” I corrected. “This is our house now, London. Even if you don’t move in with me today the way I want you to, it’s still yours and I’ll be here waiting until you want everything that comes with it.” I’d been patient with her for so long, it wasn’t really that hard to compromise, the way I probably should’ve all along. I would wait until she was ready if I had to. I needed her to know that. “I realize now that I haven’t really asked. I haven’t given you much of a choice. But I don’t want to force you or make decisions for you. It’ll kill me if you say no, but I’ll understand if you need more time to think about it. As long you actually do that—think about it. Think about how amazing our life can be together here, how many memories we’ll make inside these four walls.”
Fluttering lids masked dancing brown eyes. A split second passed; I held my breath and readied myself for the letdown. But when she opened them again to look at me, I knew. I knew before she said the words that she finally saw it, all of it. The big picture, the happily ever after, the dream come true.
Binding her arms around my neck and kissing me as if her life depended on it, she smiled against my lips and asked, “Will you take me upstairs to our bedroom now?”
THE FOOD WAS probably ice cold, still downstairs where we left it after running up the steps to check out the bedroom. Wasting no time at all, we christened the new bed, making it ours by fucking to our hearts’ content.
London loved the headboard I’d picked out with her in mind, and she was more than enthusiastic while talking about how she wanted to decorate the rest of the room. She lay on her side facing me, naked and smiling, long hair splayed across the pillow, eyes still dark and dilated.
“Is this really happening?” she asked, swiping the wild strands away from her forehead.
I reached over and mussed it back up, loving how the dark waves framed her face. She was beautiful all the time, but just after sex she was a fucking spectacular sight to take in.
“As long as you want it to,” I answered.
“Oh, I want it to, but . . . it’s just so . . . crazy.”
“Yeah, crazy good.” I bowed down to kiss the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder.
She laughed at the way my lips tickled her skin, throwing her head back and squirming beneath my fingertips. I loved that sound. I loved that I made her make that sound.
In the past, tickling her was always my innocent way of sneaking a touch of her and eliciting that sweet sound of happiness. Now I could touch her however, wherever, and whenever.
I enjoyed this new reality and the melody spilling from her kiss-swollen lips so much, I didn’t want it to end. Not yet. For as much as I loved this new version of me and London—lovers rather than friends—there was still so much of the old us I wanted to hold on to. So, just like old times, I dug my fingers into her sides, traveling up under her arms, and back down again as I tickled her silly.
“Oh, no, Sam! Stop. Please?” She kicked and flailed, laughing so hard her giggles turned into silent gasps for air.
I relented long enough to let her catch her breath, only to attack her again in a different spot behind her knees, on the bottom of her foot, inside her thigh.
Exploring her body would never get old. She was a treasure to cherish, an e
ighth world wonder. My lips became envious of my hands, my tongue jealous of my eyes. I wanted to devour her again, to bury my cock so deep inside of her that she would never forget this night. Our first night in our new home. But if I gave in to the temptation that always threatened when she was near, we’d never leave this bed. We’d go hungry, turn into lovesick recluses, and never get to enjoy the rest of the house I’d worked so hard to make hers, too.
Which reminded me that London had yet to see the one room I’d been dying for her to discover—the nursery.
“Babe,” I whispered in her ear when she started to calm at my side.
“What, you crazy lunatic? My stomach will feel like I did a thousand crunches tomorrow. I haven’t laughed that hard in-in a long time.”
“Good. Get used to it because I foresee many a night spent exactly like this.”
“Tickle torturing me? No, thanks. I can think of so many better ways to use this comfy bed, can’t you?” She trailed her fingernail down my bare chest, tracing the dark forest of hair between my pecs and down past my belly button.
My dick sprang back to attention, as it always did at the slightest touch from London, but I stilled her hand before she could reach any lower.
We’d have plenty of time for rounds two and three—after I showed her that room. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I needed her to see it. To make this night even more perfect than it already was. Because there was no more convincing to do. I already did it. She was home; she told me so while I was buried inside her not moments ago.
Take My Breath Away (The Every Breath Duet Book 2) Page 4
