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two months later
Savannah
* * *
I stand in the closet, still wrapped in my towel, and stare at the row of clothes while I debate what to wear to meet Trinity and Martin for lunch.
Ian’s closet—now our closet—is no longer so empty. It’s still too big, even with all of my clothes added in, but it no longer feels lonely.
Maybe it’s Mr. Sniggles’s cat tree, which Ian built, in the center of the room, complete with a hammock where our beast of a cat is now sleeping. Or maybe it’s the way our clothes hang side-by-side seamlessly mixed together, much in the same way our lives are now intertwined.
I get lost staring at the closet and thinking about how much my life has changed since last summer. I almost don’t hear Ian walking up behind me.
I squeal when he wraps his arms around me, nearly picking me up off my feet as he burrows his face into my neck.
“I thought you said we were in a hurry.”
“We are.”
“Then why are you just standing here, tempting me?”
I laugh, reaching up to thread my fingers through his hair. Is it wrong how much I love it when he’s greedy with my time?
We’re meeting Martin and Trinity in town for lunch to hash out the details about our destination wedding.
“We can’t be late. You know what those two are like.”
“Like oil and water,” Ian agrees, nodding.
I feel the gesture against my neck where he’s still kissing me. Instinctively, I rock my hips back and feel the length of his hard cock against my ass.
“If we’re late and they’re left alone at the restaurant together, they might burn the damn place down.” My words come out breathy, and I’m still rubbing my ass against his cock. “On the other hand, how much damage could they really do?” I turn in his arms, pressing my hands to his bare chest. “If we’re only five or ten minutes later.”
Probably a lot. It’s an open secret that Martin and Trinity don’t get along, though neither will explain why.
Ian pulls me even closer, spinning us both so he can back me up against the wall. His mouth moves over mine, stirring the heat low in my belly and making my pussy ache. I loop the fingers of one hand through his belt loops while I press my left palm to his chest, just over his tattoo.
Last month he got his first tattoo, two concentric circles right over his heart. When I rest my hand on his heart, our tattoos line up. Almost the second my hand touches his skin, the energy in the room shifts. The heat that underlies our interaction shifts into something more emotional.
He slides his hands up to cup my jaw, murmuring against my lips, “You hold my heart in the palm of your hand. As always.”
“It’s a good heart,” I murmur back.
“Is it?”
His question surprises me so much I pull back to study his face. That is not how the exchange between us usually goes. “What do you mean? Why would you ask that?”
He ducks his head, averting his gaze. “It’s about Blake.”
“What?” I would stumble back a step, but my back is already at the wall. “What about him?”
“I’ve been doing research about him.”
“You have? Why?”
Ian’s gaze goes hard and narrow as he drops his hands from me and takes a step back. “He hurt you. He stole Embarcado from you.”
“Yeah,” I say cautiously.
