Hitched(38)

“Oh,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, more relieved for the excuse to give in to the chemistry simmering between us than I should be. And then we kiss, and I’m even more grateful. And warm. Tingling all over, my soul dancing in my chest just like Honey danced, because that’s what we do when we’re close to someone special.

We tingle and soar and dance.

Sometimes without moving a muscle.

“See you at six.” He presses a final kiss to my temple that makes me spin a little higher.

“See you then.” I turn to walk away, so dazed that I don’t think to look toward the playground until I’m halfway to my truck.

When I do, there’s no sign of Dean.

I spin back to Blake to find him watching me go with a shameless grin. I prop my hands on my hips, feigning anger, but he just laughs—a head tossed back, throat exposed laugh that makes me want to run back and bite him in the sexy way—before saluting me and sauntering toward the driver’s seat.

He’s made the same gesture countless times, but today, it feels different.

Today, I feel different.

And tonight, I’m going to show him.





Fifteen





Blake





* * *



She’s all I can think about the rest of the day, even while I’m trying to enjoy hanging out with Clint, who has no qualms about razzing me about my wife.

But I don’t care.

Every minute until I get to see her again crawls by with aching slowness. Like watching paint dry in a monsoon.

I want her so fucking much.

And not just her body—though I want that too. Desperately. But I also crave her company, her smile, and her trust. Most of all I want a sliver of her faith, just enough to convince her that we should give this till-death-do-us-part thing a real shot. If I can get her to believe in me, in us, even a little bit, I know I can carry us both the rest of the way.

I’m at the Kennedy Family Day School, an old school that kept its name when the new owners turned it into a general store and restaurant, ten minutes early, eager as hell and not ashamed to show it, but I’ve barely settled into a rocker on the porch when Lizzie, the owner, sticks her head out the screen door. “Hey, Blake. Hope was just here.”

My welcoming smile morphs into a brow pinch as I glance down at my watch.

“Oh, no, you’re not late,” Lizzie says, pushing through the door, a picnic basket hanging from one arm. “She was early. And she’s got plans for you.” She glances pointedly at the basket. “She ordered all your favorites and told me to tell you to meet her at your tasting room.” She winks. “I guess she’s in the mood for wine, good food, and some alone time with her hubby. Can’t say I blame her.”

Alone time.

Damn, that sounds good, and the hope filtering into my chest feels even better.

Maybe my reluctant bride is coming around.

And maybe tonight will be the night I finally get to show her how much she means to me.

I wouldn’t object to spending several devoted hours worshipping every inch of her perfect self.

Operation: Real Romance is about winning her over heart, mind, and soul first, but physical intimacy is a part of that too. When I finally get to make love to her again, I’m going to make sure she realizes I’m in this with every part of me.

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the basket and backing toward the porch steps. “We’ll probably be back for cinnamon rolls tomorrow morning.”

Lizzie laughs. “Aren’t you even going to check and see what she ordered for you guys?”

“Nope,” I say cheerfully, beeping open the truck. “Whatever it is, the sooner I get to my girl, the better it will taste.”

I slide into the cab, setting the basket in the passenger’s seat. It’s not easy, but I force myself to go slow until I reach the edge of the Day School’s gravel lot and pull onto the narrow country highway. And then I put the pedal to the metal, racing through the golden evening light to get to my wife.

Ten minutes later, I’m parking beside Hope’s truck outside my brand-new and sadly as-yet-unused tasting room. It’s built of Georgia pine, so fresh it still smells incredible. You can catch a whiff of it from the parking lot, clean and crisp, like a splash of gin in a warm wooden cup.

I had that once, with Clint, who started drinking it that way after one of his deployments. He’s been all over the world, my baby brother. I used to be a little jealous, but lately it feels like everything I could ever want is right here in Happy Cat. It was so good to spend the afternoon walking my vineyards with him today, and I can’t wait for the bachelor party tomorrow night, but much as I love and miss my brother, right now there’s only one person I’m truly dying to see.

I bound up the stairs, picnic basket in hand and a smile on my face, even before Hope opens the door wearing a tight pair of jeans I haven’t seen before—but which I like, a lot, a whole lot—and a white buttonless blousy top sheer enough that I can just make out the outline of her bra through the cotton.

It’s a lace bra and one of those half-sized cups that do more plumping than covering, and it’s damn hard to rip my gaze away from her chest.

“See something you like?” she asks.

“Um, yes. Very much,” I say, biting my lip as my face goes hot. Fuck. Caught in the act.