Page 111 of The Trouble with Flings

“You’re spoiling me,” I say for the tenth time.

“You deserve it,” he says huskily, and kisses my shoulder.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I say honestly.

“I am.” His hands move over my breasts and down to my stomach.

I don’t try to move them this time. Instead, I close my eyes, thinking about how we spent the morning wrapped up in each other, the way he touched me and looked at me, like he truly adores every inch of me. Like I really am perfect for him. I have spent the better part of the last month deflecting his hands from my stomach, and he has spent that time making it quietly, persistently clear that he sees something I don’t.

I’m starting to believe him when he says I’m more beautiful than when we met.

And then there’s the other thing I let him do. Marking me.

I open my eyes and press my lips together against a smile I don’t fully understand. In the moment, I wanted him to do it. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to myself that I expected to be uncomfortable with that decision afterward.

But I’m not. Not even a little.

There’s something about being wanted that desperately, like claiming me in that way was the only thing that mattered in that moment, like he couldn’t help himself, that made me feel seen and wanted in the most feral, intoxicating way.

I’ve never made anyone lose their composure before. Not like that.

And I can’t wait to do it again.

“Close your eyes, wild girl,” he says.

I do, no questions asked. I feel him shielding my eyes as he pours water into my hair. Then his strong fingers are massaging my scalp. A moan escapes, and I tip my head back against his shoulder, feeling tension I didn’t know I was carrying drain from my head and neck.

“You’d better be careful treating me so well,” I warn. “I might never leave.”

“A guy can hope.” He presses a kiss to my cheek without missing a beat of his masterful massage.

His fingers work through every ounce of tension with a patience that makes my heart ache. I think about the drawers he emptied for me, my favorite foods in his kitchen, the framed photos of me, and the sonogram, his plans for the nursery. My thoughts drift to the lights out back and the lengths he went to for his sisters, the little gifts he left on Bellamy’s bed. The way he said he’ll always choose me like it was the simplest fact he knew.

I know in my heart he’ll always choose them, too, and that speaks volumes about him.

As he pours shampoo into his hand and washes my hair, I think about how terrifying it is to be chosen like this. How much easier it was when I thought I could keep him at arm’s length. How that arm’s length kept shrinking with every text, every phone call, every time he held my hand. Every time that gap closed a little more, it became harder to remember why I was fighting it so vehemently. I close my eyes as he rinses my hair.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere. I’m here.”

His arms circle me, and his lips find my temple, my cheek, the corner of my jaw. I cover his arms with mine. All the awkward, uncomfortable versions of this weekend that I had imagined on the ferry float through my mind. I had a whole line of defenses prepared to keep from getting swept away, and yet here I am, completely unmoored and not at all interested in finding my footing.

Chapter Thirty

Fitz

I take a detour on the way to the Sweet Barista Saturday morning, showing Jennifer around Silver Haven, pointing out Silver Monument, standing tall over Majestic Park, where the community Christmas tree lighting is held, and Top of the Island Vineyards, which is owned by the Steeles and hosts the Field of Screams every Halloween.

We cruise through town, passing all the cute shops decked out with Easter-themed displays in the windows and flower boxes that are just starting to bloom. I point out Jules’s gift shop, the Happy End, and one of the parks where we used to sled.

“I forgot how cute this town is,” Jennifer says as I turn the corner to head to the Sweet Barista. “I remember when I first saw it last summer, I thought I walked into a Hallmark movie.”

“Then you met me and took a hard left into Sinful Silver Nights.”