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“Pish.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re forgetting that I can’t stand watching sports.”
I haven’t forgotten a thing. Unease settles over my shoulders, but I shrug it off. I don’t want to think about why we’d broken up, but it’s there, and it will need to be addressed, but not now when I’m finally relaxed.
“What I don’t get is Iris,” I say instead. “Ewan McGregor, really? I pegged her as more a lover of boy band types.”
The corners of those gorgeous eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Iris loves boy bands. But she has a major thing for blond guys.”
“But that guy she was with... Henry, right?”
Anna’s head moves against my cock as she nods, and I repress the urge to squirm.
“She’s back with him. The idiot.”
“Henry or Iris?” I quip, but it bothers me how we’ve missed out on each other’s lives.
“Both?” she offers.
I can’t help but smile at her disgruntled look. “Henry has dark hair,” I point out.
“Yeah, well, I keep waiting for her to realize she’s going against type.”
Her cheek is silken against my fingertips. I stroke along her temple and then trace the curved arch of her brow. And she simply watches me as if she takes pleasure in the act. Her breathing is soft and steady, her body warm where it meets mine.
The bruised area around my heart begins to ache. The sack, the leg break, all of it has left me unsettled and just touching her, just lounging here with her like this affects me. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to bury myself so deep inside of Anna that I’ll forget my name.
Fucking fluctuating emotions. The doc warned me about them. But, hell, at this rate, I’m going to be a wreck by the end of the week.
“And what’s your type?” I find myself asking.
Part of me curses myself for looking weak and needy. But, fuck it, the other part of me is needy. I know why I left. I don’t truly know why she came back.
Her eyes darken as she searches my face, as if she knows I’m no longer teasing. It’s too quiet between us, the sound of the TV blaring in the background. Slowly, she reaches up and runs her fingers along my jaw. Her expression changes, opening. Fear, I can see it flickering in her green irises, but something more, something that makes my insides clench.
“You are.” Her voice is low and smoky. But her touch grows stronger as she wraps her fingers around the base of my throat where my pulse is beating hard. Her chin lifts, stubborn, sure. “You are the only one I want, Drew. In all things.”
Nothing can stop me from slipping my arm under her shoulders and pulling her up to me. Her lips are soft and yielding, but I haven’t truly kissed her in so long that it hits me like a punch to the gut.
I suck in a sharp breath, steal one of hers, and angle my mouth to go deeper. Her tongue slides against mine, and I’m dizzy. I feel like I’m falling into her. My abs tense on a shudder, but I can’t stop the kiss. I need more. Always more.
And she’s giving it to me, kissing me back with the same need. I’m happy to give her anything she wants, but when I move to bring her further into my lap, a sharp pain shoots through my leg. It’s enough for me to draw back and take a breath. But I don’t let her go.
Her fingers run through my hair, as I cup her cheek and hold her close. For a long moment we just breathe, and then I find the strength to talk. “I’ve missed you.”
Her lips tickle the corner of mine. “I’ve missed you too. So much it hurt.”
I shouldn’t feel satisfaction, but I do. Not that I want her to hurt. In fact, nothing would please me more than to bring her pleasure. Right now would be nice. Lying here on the couch is no longer enough. If I had the strength, I’d pick her up and carry her into my room. But I can’t, which sucks. I need help getting there. While I’d ordinarily hate asking for help, this is Anna, which makes all the difference. If any guy tells you that he doesn’t like the woman he adores taking care of him when he’s hurting, he’s probably lying.
“Take me to bed,” I whisper against her cheek.
“Or lose you forever?” There’s a smile in her voice.
I grin, slow and wide. “Did you just quote Top Gun to me?”
“Maybe.”
This girl. Jesus, she does it for me.
All those luscious curves move at once, and she’s up, reaching for my crutches. I hate the sight of them, hate the way that my leg throbs, that I am helpless.
