Sweet

My eyes filled. “Boyce—”

“I hurt you that night, and I’m sorry. I can’t promise you I’ll never be an idiot because I’ll probably be one before the end of this conversation, but goddammit, I swear I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

He stroked a thumb over my lips and leaned to kiss me. I opened to him, my last fear dispelled.

“I talked to Maxfield about you when he was here last month.” He slid my glasses off and put them on the nightstand.

“You did?”

“I did. He told me if I love you not to fucking give up.”

Oh. “Do you?” I whispered.

“Love you? Oh hell yeah. When I pulled you out of that ocean, you woke up and stared up at me like I was worth something. I fell for you right then and there. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Pearl. It’s you for me or no one.”

“But I’m leaving in three weeks. I’ll be gone for nine months.”

He skimmed his warm hands up my forearms, pushing the sleeves to my elbows. “It’s a four-hour drive, baby, not the moon. I’ll go there. You’ll come here. And I’ll wait. Nine months is nothing when I plan to hold on to you for the rest of my life.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Boyce

Thanks to our predinner warm-up on that goddamned amazing bed, I figured round two could be unhurried. I wanted to mosey over every soft curve. I wanted savor the taste of her because Christ, every square inch of her tasted so good. I would lay her down and plunder that sweet, willing mouth until she said my name like a prayer.

“C’mere, you little thief.” I pulled her onto my lap. Her naked backside slid onto my bare thigh and answered my question about what was under that seven-years-missing shirt of mine. “I’m done talking.” I leaned to outline the curve of her ear with my tongue. “Except for a little dirty play-by-play detailing all the ways I intend to fuck you, that is,” I whispered, and her mouth fell open on a soft moan.

“Wait,” she breathed. “I have one more thing to say.”

I was gut-kicked when I leaned back and saw tears in her eyes, and I held myself stock-still. If I could have stopped breathing, I would have.

She took a deep breath. “I love you too.”

I processed her tears in relation to those words—words I’d been waiting two weeks to hear her say sober. “So this is one of those happy crying things, right?”

She choked a laugh. “Yes.”

The relief broke over me and I grinned. “See? Learning.”

“Is that a Wynn-win?” she asked.

She giggled when I arched a brow. I’d all but forgotten the dumbass self-pun I’d invented in high school. “You did not just say that. First, though, this stolen shirt you’re wearing. This was my favorite shirt, you know. For shame, young lady. I should turn you over my knee.”

Her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure which I’d done more—shocked her or turned her on. Hopefully a bit of both.

“As I recall, Boyce Wynn, you gave this shirt to me.”

I looked her over—lying back in my arms, her head braced against my bicep. Smirking.

“I reckon I did leave it on your front porch.” I chewed my lip as if I was considering her line of reasoning. “And it does look better on you than it ever did on me, though I looked pretty damned hot in it, judging by the looks you’d sneak at me from across the lab table.”

I reached to sketch a finger down the side of her face, skirting under her jaw and down her throat. I traced the line of her collarbone to her arm and down to the ring finger on her left hand. Forever stretched out in front of us in a way it never had. My desire for her, my need of her, had rocketed right past this moment and into the distance as far as I could see.

I’d seen Arianna fall apart and shut down when we lost Brent, and it took her a while to come back from that dark place. She’d thrown herself into her work, and a few years ago, Buddy, nearing seventy, transitioned ownership of the tattoo parlor to her. She seemed content with her life, though she did tell me once, “I’m probably never going to be a mommy, so I’m counting on you to give me a niece or nephew to spoil someday.” I didn’t even know how the fuck to respond to that sentence. When my brother died, she was only twenty-five, but she had never let anyone else in, and I guess I could understand why.

As much of a nightmare as Dover’s high school shit had been, Maxfield had gotten over her bitch ass by the time he left for college. But for three years running, he didn’t say much about anyone when he came home. I’d known he had friends there, but he was a natural loner. I figured that damned cat might be as close as anyone would ever get until Jacqueline—the girl who made him smile like a dog with a T-bone at just the thought of her.

Mateo and Yvette Vega were the real deal—high school lovers made good. They’d been together since a game of spin-the-bottle paired them up in fourth grade. I was close enough to the action to know how close they came to losing it though. Vega had swaggered since he could walk, but he was one loyal son of a bitch. If he’d fucked up with Yvette, he’d have never forgiven himself.

Along her collarbone, Arianna had two thinly scripted tattoos. On her right: Life is fragile. On her left: Love is risk. I knew both of these things to be true, but the thought of losing the girl in my arms through my own idiocy outweighed every threat of how life could take her or how she might leave me.