by Alexis James
Tears spring to the surface, and I blink furiously to hold them back. “For how long though? When will all this back and forth start to be an annoyance for you?”
His jaw tightens in anger. “You’re really asking me that after all we’ve done this weekend?”
He does have a point. We haven’t left the bedroom except to make food and shower. We’ve barely even put on clothes, although frying bacon did turn slightly hazardous when he tried to do it in the buff. Not that I minded exactly. In fact, I’m pretty sure I insisted it be that way. Roman brings out a naughty, dirty side that’s been dormant all my life. He’s awoken the beast and now that he has, I have no intention of going back to life as it was. I like having sex with this man and experiencing all the joys of his body melding with mine. I never once imagined I’d allow a man to spank me or tie me to the headboard, but having had Roman do that to me last night makes me tingle all over just thinking about it. The man is equal parts gentle lover and voracious animal, two things I’d never, ever change about him.
“I know our schedules are crazy and that Emmy is the priority, but it won’t always be like that. In a few years she’ll be off to college and you’ll be stuck with me 24-7.” He dips his head to kiss me lightly. “I never once thought any of this would be easy between us. But isn’t that part of what makes moments like this so great, so damn precious?”
With a nod, I tangle my hands in his hair. “You’re right. I’m just pouting because I don’t want to leave.”
Warm cocoa eyes drift over my face. “I don’t want you to leave either. The past few days have been …”
I like him speechless. I like that he’s lost in the memories of what we’ve done together, all the sweet, the raunchy … every single bit of it perfect in every way. But it’s all the little stuff that really does it for me: the way he holds my hand so securely in his, the whispered way he tells me he loves me—and after doing so shows me how much with his entire body—his full heart. It’s terrifying how amazing he is, how he’s every bit of the man I could have imagined and wanted in my life.
“What happens now?”
He grins down at me, skimming his lips over the curve of my breast. “Well, now I spend the next few hours reminding you how much you love me.” His hips move against mine, semi-hard cock nudged between my legs. “Then we go to Sunday dinner and pretend like all we did was talk for forty-eight hours.”
Giggling, I stroke my hands down his muscled back. “I doubt anyone will believe that.” Sobering quickly, I muse, “What I meant was, what happens with us now?”
Frowning, he pushes himself upright, hovering above me. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. Nothing is gonna change if that’s what you mean. I’ll love you regardless of how much time we spend together.”
“What if that isn’t enough?”
“For you or for me?”
Shrugging, I slide out from underneath him and sit upright. “For either of us. What then?”
Roman turns on his side to face me, head propped up in his hand. “Well, if I’m being honest, I’d like us to eventually live together or get married. If that’s something you want.”
Surprise skirts through my body and my eyes widen. “Is that really what you want?”
“I want whatever makes you happy. If you want to get married, count me in. I’d love nothing more than for your last name to be Moran.”
My stomach rolls, a mixture of fear and happiness volleying around until I’m considering running to the bathroom. I never, ever thought that marriage would enter into this conversation, but he seems perfectly content to discuss the subject as if it wasn’t going to completely change either of our lives. Doesn’t he know that I don’t have a clue how to live with anyone other than my child? What if I screw it up, do something dumb, threaten his love for me by being selfish or too set in my ways?
Roman snickers and sits up taking my cold, shaky hand in his. “Calm down, love. There’s no need to get all nervous just because we’re talking about what if.”
I dart my eyes sideways, take in his calm, relaxed demeanor. Shouldn’t he be freaking out too? “I just m-meant … you know … I was talking about what happens in the upcoming months.”
He shrugs. “Okay. We can talk about that, and we can talk about long-term stuff too. But you’ve gotta stop panicking.”
“I’m not panicking.” Yes I am. I really am.
“You totally are. Your face is white, your eyes are huge, and you sorta look like you want to puke.”
I swallow nervously. “Sorta feels like I need to.”
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling me across his body until I’m lying on top of him. “Look, I love you, you know that. My future is yours. And whether we continue to date for a while or get married in a month, nothing will change except for the fact that I’m going to love you more. Got it?”
The tears return, this time splashing one by one onto his chest. “Okay.”
How the heck did I get so lucky? This drop-dead gorgeous, totally sexy man wants me—with a calm resolve and certainty I couldn’t dream up if I wanted to; he seems so sure of it all … of us … of our relationship. Although, he revealed that he’s been in love with me for a long time now, his sense of acceptance about it all is slightly unnerving. What if I disappoint him? What if he one day decides being a stepfather to Emmy is more than he’s willing to take on.
“Why are you still freaked out by this?”
My eyes shoot to his. “Why aren’t you?”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “No idea. It just feels … right, I guess. I know in my gut that you’re who I should be with. Forever.”
My lips come down on his and my tears continue to wash over him as we kiss. He takes it all, kissing away the moisture on my face, then grasping my head and searing his mouth to mine. With one tip of his hips, he slides deep inside me. He loves me slowly this time, the beast inside of him hibernating for now.
Rolling us over, he hooks his arm under one knee, drawing it up and increasing the depth of each mind-blowing plunge. Each thrust is hard, deep, measured—perfectly controlled as if he’s determined to show me with his body just how invested he is. His mouth whispers across mine as we move in perfect sync with one another and slowly the doubts and fears are replaced with a fervent need for release. My entire body is on fire as he strokes me from the inside out and murmurs his love for me in my ear. The slow, eyes rolling back in my head orgasm washes over me and suddenly I’m calling out his name, and he’s thrusting fast, chasing his own end. He topples with a growl and a curse, fingers digging deep into my thigh as we shudder together.
When he eventually lifts his head and smiles lazily at me, I know without a doubt that my love for him is far bigger than any doubts or worries I could have. This man is everything, means everything to me, and I’ll do everything possible to see that he remains right here, in my arms, for the rest of my life.
Being in love with someone is a lesson not only in patience but in categorizing your fears. Thankfully, my fears have been minimal since that weekend two months ago when Sabrina and I went from being a possibility to suddenly talking about a future. We’ve done a real good job of making our time a priority, but it still feels like something is missing. Time is so precious when we’re together and even though I do a fairly decent job of trying to wine and dine her, we always end up back at my apartment tearing up the sheets.
Not that I’m complaining. A few hours spent inside her is well worth the other six days when all we can do is find time to talk on the phone or maybe sneak in an occasional lunch. We still see one another at the office on Saturdays but since Emmy is usually tagging along to help me out, time alone is nonexistent. As much as Sabrina worries about all of this not being enough for me, I worry sometimes that it may be too much for her. So many demands are placed upon her slim shoulders, far and apart from anything I could ask, that there are times I feel guilty for thinking I’m owed even an hour. Then I’m reminded about what we shared that weekend, the
commitment we made to one another by speaking those three little words and her worries about this life not being what I’d envisioned for myself. That’s when I’m certain that the one day I practically demand from her is necessary for us both, regardless of how we spend it.
Being together over the Thanksgiving holiday did a whole lot to negate any worries I might be having. As usual, my family welcomed her and Emmy with open arms like they have at the occasional Sunday dinner, but it was the first time in the past few months when Sabrina seemed at ease with showing affection to me around her daughter. She kissed me frequently, told me she loved me more than once, and generally did nothing to hide the fact that the two of us were something serious.
I expected questions from my siblings, weird looks, maybe even a concerned comment or two from Emmy, but the entire group—even my annoying brothers—seemed to warmly accept what I knew long ago: Sabrina is the love of my life.
The only one with remotely any reservations is Bella, and I know without her saying so it’s because she’s worried Sabrina will break my heart. That’s something to consider, otherwise I’d be a pussy-whipped fool living in la la land. But it’s not something I fixate on, and it is barely even something I contemplate from time to time. I suppose it could be because things feel so right when I’m with her or maybe it’s that we’re so well connected that there’s no room for pause. I have no idea but as the days drift by and we become more immersed in one another’s lives, I’m more certain than ever that I want to make us a permanent, lifelong thing.
It feels like fate when a business meeting takes me to Boca Raton and the meeting just happens to take place not far from a local jeweler. I’m oddly at peace the moment I walk through the door and look in the cases, a warm feeling of assuredness sweeping over me so heavily I start to laugh at myself. For all my romancing during my Romeo days, that all feels like child’s play when you compare it to the moment you choose a ring to give someone that they’ll wear for the rest of their lives.
Ah fuck … maybe I should let her pick out something she likes. What the hell do I know about diamonds?
The clerk, a young brunette with a sweet smile, crosses her manicured hands together on top of the glass case and whispers, “You nervous about what to select?”
I instantly like her easy-going attitude. “I’m nervous I’ll pick something awful and she’ll hate it.”
The clerk shakes her head. “Doubtful. Women love diamonds.” She pulls some ring samples out of the case and sets them on the glass. “Tell me about her.”
I spend a good five minutes gushing about Sabrina and when I finally stop to take a breath, I realize I might have shared too much. The young woman is grinning at me, eyes twinkling, and I swear she’s holding back a chuckle. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
She shrugs, taking it all in stride. “You love her. No need to apologize.”
How right she is. I do love her. I love everything about her and if I do this right, maybe she’ll say yes. I’ve tossed around the idea of asking her on Christmas but since Mia and Cruz did that, I don’t want it to seem like I’m being a copycat. Even though I’m not dead set on a date to ask her, I’m firmly fixed on the idea of purchasing a ring so after looking at numerous samples and finding nothing, I’m resolved to think that maybe today isn’t the day. Maybe fate can only push me so far.
But when the gal returns with the high-end shit they keep in the back, I take one look at the first ring she shows me and I know it’s the one. It’s so perfect I can practically imagine it on her finger already. The large square-cut diamond is perched on top of a band of small diamonds, all surrounded in white gold. It sparkles and glitters under the bright lights and as I slide it on my pinky finger to give it a thorough once-over, I have no doubt I have to have it. Cost be damned … Sabrina is worth every penny.
“I’ll take it.”
Handing the ring back to the clerk, I slide my credit card over and barely bat an eye when she rattles off the price. Doesn’t matter if it costs a few thousand or a hundred thousand, this is the ring for her. Nothing less will do either, which is why I’m glad I didn’t back out and decide to let her choose. Knowing her penchant for being frugal, I could just see the wheels turning in her head and the worries over the cost.
The clerk hands over my card and smiles broadly. “Congratulations, Mr. Moran. I’m sure you will make Sabrina a very happy woman.”
I grin and take the small bag with my purchase. “I hope so. She sure makes me happy.”
I’m such a sap, grinning all over myself and whistling while I walk back to the truck. If either of my brothers could see me now, I’d be catching shit a mile long. Which is funny actually, since Cruz was the sap only a few years ago when he proposed to Mia in front of the entire family. Now it’s my turn, though I prefer something a little more private. Preferably someplace with a bed nearby. Sap or not, I plan to get my woman naked minutes after sliding that ring on her finger. I do, after all, have priorities.
By the time I pull into town, it’s after nine. Even though I’d love to drop by and see Sabrina, I force myself to head for home and call her instead. I know myself well and having a diamond ring burning a hole in my pocket will just lead to me doing something completely impulsive and unromantic, like asking her this most important question in the middle of her kitchen or some shit. I’ve waited a long, long time for her so there’s no way in Hell I’m rushing into this.
Bella is just strolling down the hall from my door when I step out of the elevator, greeting me with a smile and a curious look at the small bag I’m carrying with one finger. “Hey, big brother.”
“Not working tonight?” Her schedule changes so much it’s hard to keep track.
“I was. Got off a few hours ago and went to the gym.” She follows me into the apartment and immediately heads to the fridge, extracting a bottle of juice. “You been with Sabrina?”
“Nah. Meeting in Boca.”
We shoot the shit while she helps herself to my juice then promptly makes herself a sandwich and plops down on the couch next to me. My baby sister is a handful, a tightly wound bundle of nervous energy who is slow to trust and has a tendency to keep most of her secrets to herself. No one else I know could work a twelve-hour shift then spend two hours at the gym. And even after all that, I doubt the woman will fall asleep much before midnight. She somehow manages to exist on very little sleep.
“What’s in the bag?” she says around a mouthful of sandwich. I’m the only one she completely lets her guard down for, the only one of us she’d dare tell her confidences to … though to be fair, there’s not a lot she tells me; she’s locked up tighter than Cruz. I just wish I knew why.
I grab the uneaten half of her sandwich and help myself to a large bite, murmuring, “Ring.”
An odd series of emotions flit through her blue-green gaze. First there’s the obvious: surprise, but that is quickly replaced with something that looks like fear. “An engagement ring?” I nod, take another bite, and hand over the small amount that’s left. “Does she know?”
With a shrug, I tip back my beer and take a healthy swallow. “No. I mean we talked about marriage in the future, but she has no idea I’ve shopped for a ring.” I don’t have to ask Bella to keep this information to herself, with her that goes without saying.
Her eyes meet mine. “Is she ready for that?”
“Probably not. But when do you ever know if you’re ready for marriage?”
Bella shrugs and looks away. “I have no damn idea.” She drops her uneaten portion to the paper plate and sets it aside. “How about you? Are you ready to be a husband and a father?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. Emmy is a cool kid and we get along well. I’m not saying there won’t be an adjustment period, but by the time it’s all said and done, she’ll be driving and out of the house more.”
“You hope.”
Frowning, I reply, “Yeah, I hope. What’s with you tonight? Damian giving you a hard time?”
E
very emotion washes from her face. “Damian’s no longer in the picture.”
I’d ask why. Hell, I want to know why, especially if the hard look of resolve on her face is any indication. Whatever was going on with the doctor she’s been seeing off and on for a while now that ship has sailed. “That’s too bad. Seemed like a decent guy.”
“Next subject, Roman.”
This is what she does. She closes up tight and refuses to answer anything that might be even a tiny bit too personal. I wish I could say I believed she had someone else to talk to in addition to me, but somehow I doubt she does. She and Mia seem close, and she’s developed what appears to be an easy friendship with Amita, but now I’m having suspicions about how close any of the girls in our family are. Maybe she’s really good at allowing us to perceive what we want to see when in actuality she’s as lonely as I once was.
Clicking on the TV, I surf through the channels until I find some cop show we both like to watch to fill the silence. I locate my handy bottle of tequila and pour two fingers in each glass. Handing her one, I settle back down on the couch next to her and grasp her free hand in mine. I don’t say a word, mostly because nothing I say to her will change a thing. I’m well aware of the fact that what she likes most about me is my ability to shut the fuck up. She likes silence and yet she’ll willingly sit here next to me and let me hold her hand and give her whatever comfort I can. It’s the small things, I suppose.
Hours later, she’s fast asleep and I’m tucking a blanket around her. She looks so young sleeping, so free from whatever burdens she carries during the day. In sleep her armor is absent, and she looks nothing like the fierce young woman who controls every aspect of her life. She’s simply my worn-out baby sister needing a soft place to lay her head.
Amidst all my own shit about Sabrina, I worry about Bella. At twenty-eight she’s only had one or two relationships, none lasting as long as the on and off again crap she had with Damian, a man I know very little about. Sweet as she is, she has no close friends, not even a best friend to tell her most sacred thoughts. I’m probably the closest thing she has to a best friend, but even I am aware of the well-defined line she sets forth that I’m not ever supposed to cross. And even though there have been times in the past when I’ve tried to bully the truth out of her, she stoically remains tight lipped and locked up like Fort Knox.
