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“You already know.”
“Do I?”
He huffed a laugh, and leaned down to press his lips near her ear. “I love you too.”
The smile that stretched her face felt so damn good. Tilting her face up toward the rain, she closed her eyes and hugged the back of his neck tightly. He lifted her feet from the ground and spun her in a slow circle, and she reveled in this moment.
Nothing had ever felt better than being loved by a man who would set fire to anything that came after her.
For a woman like her—who had never had a man stick up for her—this was everything.
Chapter Twelve
“Want coffee?”
The words had drifted through a dream. Timber squeezed her eyes more tightly closed and stretched. “Hmm?”
Wreck tightened his grip on her waist and repeated, “I got the power turned back on, and I have one of those fancy one-cup coffee makers. Want coffee?”
She eased her eyes open and scanned his room, stretched her legs again under the covers, and made a little sleepy groan with how good it felt.
She was in Wreck’s room for the second night in a row.
The flash of memory of him fucking her boneless last night after they got back from the bar flashed across her mind, and she smiled to herself. “I don’t like hot coffee.”
“I know.”
She frowned at the fireplace, with the embers that were almost out. “You do?”
“You had a three-minute monologue about how you like your coffee.”
She curled around the pillow she was hugging and cracked up. “Oh yeah, I remember that.”
“I’m shocked. You had approximately thirty-seven shots.”
“Four,” she said through her giggling. “And it’s not my fault. Sloane bought the middle two, and you bought the last one.”
“Yeah, because you kept saying,” he wrenched his voice up to a girly tone, “If you love me, Wreck, you will buy me a panty-dropper shot.”
She died laughing. She’d totally done that. She remembered now. “Lucky man,” she joked.
“I am,” he ground out against her neck, and she melted against him on instinct. “I already got up and started the ice maker, since you like trash iced coffee—”
“Heeey,” she drawled out, twisting around to look up into his face. “Iced coffee is delicious. Not everyone likes their drinks the temperature of fire like you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I can’t drink iced coffee black,” she explained.
“I know. I went and borrowed some pumpkin spice atrocity cream from Corey. I nearly threw up when I smelled it.”
She cracked up from her belly out. “Doesn’t smell enough like fire to you?”
“There is probably a million grams of sugar in it.”
“Sounds delicious.”
He slid his hand over her hip and kissed her neck. “I have to leave for work in a few hours, but I want to show you something.”
