Page 109 of The Trouble with Flings

The world feels too small for the enormity of his words.

“I am in awe of this body,” he says, brushing his scruff along my cheek. “I’m in awe of you. Every damn day.”

My heart swells, and I whisper, “Fitz,” my voice breaking. “That’s how I feel about you. Always ten steps ahead.”

I hear his breathing shift, like he needed to hear that.

We stand there for a long time, the fire crackling, waves breaking, and my walls coming down brick by brick. He doesn’t try to fill the silence. It’s like he knows I need to be held until the moment softens and the world feels manageable again.

Eventually he gathers the blanket and takes my hand, leading me to a lounge chair by the fire. He sits down and pats the space between his legs. I settle in with my back against his chest, and he covers us with the world’s coziest blanket. It’s warm by the fire. The flames dance and spark, casting a golden glow over us. The scent of woodsmoke mingles with the salty air, and in this moment, the world feels impossibly right.

“Warm enough?” he asks softly.

“Mm-hm.” I snuggle into him. “Perfect.”

“You sure are.”

I shake my head. “I’m far from perfect, and we both know it.”

“Then I’m in good company, because…” He starts singing “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran, horribly off-key.

“No!” I laugh. “Stop! That’s terrible!”

We both crack up, and he holds me tighter. “Told you I’m not perfect.”

“You weren’t kidding. It’s a good thing you’re hot.”

He hugs me tighter as our laughter fades and brushes his scruff against my cheek again, whispering, “I’m falling for you and all your supposed imperfections, wild girl.”

His words wash over me like warm honey, seeping beneath my skin, filling spaces that have been empty for so long, I don’t quite know what to do with the feelings they evoke. I squeeze my eyes shut against the emotions warring inside me. He has no idea how much those words frighten me. Or maybe he does. Either way, it’s too much in the very best way and somehow still not quite enough to silence that whisper of the past.

He kisses my temple and says, “I don’t need you to say it back. I just want you to know that I will always choose you and your perfect imperfections.”

I close my eyes, letting the words sink in, letting myself feel them instead of running from them. I think I’ve been falling for you this whole time is on the tip of my tongue, but when I open my mouth, all I can manage is to whisper, “Thank you,” and hope he knows I mean it about fourteen different ways.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Fitz

Few things in life have ever felt as right as waking up with Jennifer in my arms. But waking up with her in my bed, in my house, on my island? That’s fucking heaven. She’s curled against me, one leg tangled with mine beneath the sheets, her hair a tousled mess across my pillow and chest. The T-shirt she stole from me last night hangs off one shoulder, exposing a path of silky skin. I worshipped her body for hours last night and can’t wait to do it again.

She stirs, and I brush a kiss to her forehead. She scrunches her nose, her fingers pressing against my skin, like she’s trying to hold on to a dream. She blinks several times, and then those beautiful sleepy eyes find mine, completely unguarded. I want to freeze this moment so it carries over into every day hereafter.

“Morning,” she whispers sleepily.

“It’s a good one.” I slide my hand down her back, palming her ass.

She smiles against my chest, pressing closer, making that sexy sound she does when she’s in the mood to play. That’s my greedy girl.

She stretches, arching back, and the sheet slides off her. My T-shirt rides up her thigh, and she glances up at me with lust-filled eyes. I burn through approximately three seconds’ worth of restraint before reaching for her.

Her arms circle me as I roll her onto her back and move over her, drinking her in. I rub the tip of my nose along the bridge of hers, whispering, “I missed you.”

Her hazel eyes smile up at me. “While I was sleeping?”

“Yes. It was torturous.”

I kiss her softly, and she smiles against my lips, sliding a hand into my hair. We lie there, stealing kisses, wrapped up in the stolen intimacy of a morning that feels too good to be true. But our bodies know just how true it is, and when I deepen the kiss, our bodies set out to prove it. She writhes beneath me, rocking against my cock, bending one knee so she can feel more of me.