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…the one who made me finally face why I was denying the core of who I am—an artist—that’s the Kaitlyn I love.
Had she really given him that? Was she the reason he embraced the fact now, that he was an artist? A fulfillment like she’d never felt before swept through her. That alone was something to live on for a very long time.
Time spent with Ry?
Give us a chance.
Us. A couple. A unit.
The images that brought on were nearly overwhelming. To have a chance at that, it was worth any risk, wasn’t it? She suddenly wished she had a recording of everything he’d said, to play back whenever she was flooded with those self-doubts. And then it hit her—if she did as he asked, gave them a chance…maybe she could hear those things any time she needed them. Because Ry was the kind of man who, once decided, wouldn’t stint. He’d give it his all, just as he gave his all to his work, because that’s who he was.
That’s the Kaitlyn I love.
And in that moment, stupidly, all she could say, and in a tiny voice, was “You…love me?”
He pulled her back into his arms. “I think,” he said against her hair, “the question is…do you love me? At least, enough to give us that shot?”
She was utterly lost. Lost in the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace, the words, all the wonderful words he’d said. This was too big for words, almost too big for her heart, a heart that seemed to be expanding in her chest as if it were only now reaching its full potential.
So she answered him in the only way she could.
She kissed him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
There was, Rydecided, a lot to be said for a smaller bed. What it might lack in area for more strenuous activities, it made up for in forced proximity.
Not that he would ever have to be forced to stay close to this woman.
He let out a long, relaxed sigh of satisfaction that was not simply physical, although they’d certainly managed that this afternoon. He hoped he’d also managed to prove to Kaitlyn that everything he’d said to her was true, down to the bone. Despite his own hunger, he’d turned it all over to her. Whatever she wanted, the only proviso was she had to ask for it. He knew it was difficult for her. The constant color that rose to her cheeks told him that. But anything she wanted, he did. Even when it took every bit of restraint he had not to just drive himself into her and ease the screaming ache she caused in him. And when she’d finally broken and flat-out demanded he take her, and now, it was worth it. And when she practically screamed his name as her body clenched around him, he felt more triumphant than he had about anything in his life.
He edged himself a little closer to her, savoring the feel of that sweet backside against him as they spooned together.
“I’m sorry it’s so small.”
Ry blinked at the sleepy words. “And here I was just thinking there were great advantages to a smaller bed.”
He thought he heard a faint chuckle. “I meant my apartment.”
He raised up on one elbow. “It’s not that much smaller than my loft.”
“But that seems so much bigger, with all the other room.”
He hesitated, thinking it might be too soon. Decided to not phrase it as a question, but to just plant the idea. “Maybe even big enough for two. You’ll have to decide if two artists could survive.”
She went very still. “I have to decide?”
“I’ve already made my decision.” He heard her let out a small breath. He didn’t want her to feel pressured so he said quickly, “By the way, I invited Nick out to visit the ranch.”
She rolled over then, to look at him. “You did?”
“Yep. He’s already doing so much better, and I checked with the staff and they said they thought he’d be fine.”
She smiled. Soft, loving. The kind she’d given him after the first time they’d made love today. Because it had been that. They’d done the rip-roaring sex later.
“He is doing better.”
“Much. And I’m glad.”
