The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(96)

“And my lie was the perfect excuse for you to give up on me.”

“In retrospect, I think so.” I run a trembling hand through my hair. “And it worked until you came back and started demanding that I feel again.”

He wraps his hands around the backs of my legs and brings me even deeper into the V of his thighs. “We can do this, Nix.”

“Can we? Is it worth it for someone I barely even know?”

His head snaps back. “Barely know? I’ve known you since you were seventeen years old.”

“Technically, yeah, but—”

“I know your favorite color is blue–green,” he says, tightening his hands on me. “Because they’re just better blended together.”

I bend my head, hiding my smile.

“I know you used to want to be a clown,” he continues, “but then decided to pursue the more conventional path of being an astronaut.”

He palms the curve of my waist with one hand and lifts my chin with one finger, holding my eyes when I raise them. “I know you’re the girl who chases stars, Nix.”

I smile and push an errant lock of burnished dark hair back from his forehead. The humor fades from his eyes, from his expression.

“I’ve seen the spot where you whispered your mother’s name to the wind,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine, drawing me down, unresisting, to perch on his leg. I snuggle into him, tucking my head into the strong slope of his shoulder and neck.

“I know you liked Bobby better than Jack,” I whisper into his ear. His arm tightens at my back, and laughter rumbles through him. “I know the exact spot of the very first windmill you ever bought, Doc Quixote.”

“Wind turbine, Nix. It’s not a windmill.”

“Whatever. I know where it is.”

My laughter dies down, and I reach for his arm, pushing back the cuff of his shirt. I run my fingers over the small strip of silvery skin marking his forearm. “I know you got this scar protecting a girl you didn’t even know in a fight that wasn’t yours.”

I bend my head and kiss the small reminder of how we met. “I know that your father is the biggest prick asshole I’ve ever met, and I cannot stand him,” I say, icing my tone and then gradually thawing my eyes. “And I know that you still love and miss him.”

Shadows flicker in his eyes, the same green as Warren Cade’s. He presses his forehead to mine and cups the back of my head, releasing a heavy sigh. His fingers sift into my hair and I feel his lips at my ear, ghosting kisses along my neck. “So do I get my second chance?” he asks.

This maze is as convoluted as our journey, as our circumstances. The winding path to this moment runs over sacred grounds turned to battlefields, through Amsterdam’s cobblestone streets and canals, through a frozen tundra under midnight suns. Through our nation’s capital. Every step led to me sitting here in Maxim’s lap, letting him chase my fears away. Letting him tempt me into a second chance.

The corners of my mouth lift and so does my heart. I feel lighter than I have since he came to town.

“I don’t know,” I tease. “You’re not the simple graduate student I knew before. There’s the problem of all that money you’ve gone and made. You know what they say. More money, more problems.”

“I give a lot of it away, if that helps.” He laughs and strokes one finger along my bare knee under my dress.

“You’re a lot to take.”

“I seem to remember you taking me just fine,” he says, his voice husky. “It was a tight fit, but we worked it out.”

I shift in his lap, my laugh echoing through the network of bushes.

“God, Nix. If you keep squirming like that, we’ll find out right now if you can still take it. I’m dying here. Are we or are we not doing this?”

I pull back enough to look into those gemstone eyes, watching me so intently. “Yes.”

The word is barely out of my mouth before his lips are on mine. It’s a claiming kiss. I knew it would be. It declares that I’m his, and with every answering stroke of my tongue, I accept his terms and warn him that he’s mine, too. He turns me so my legs fall on either side of his, and our chests press flush. There’s a language between our heartbeats I have no translation for—no words, just a thumping communion.

I pull back and place my hand between our lips.

“Doc, wait,” I say, a playful note in my voice when I glance at my watch. “It’s not midnight. We’re not supposed to kiss until midnight.”

“Screw that,” he says, leaning forward to mutter against my lips. “It may not be midnight, but it’s about damn time.”

It’s finally our time.

His hunger is voracious, an open-mouthed consumption swallowing me. I feed him my whimpers and moans, my desperate pleasure. His hands roam over my body, deliberately laying claim to every part of me, squeezing my ass, cupping my breasts through my strapless dress, pinching my nipples, kissing my neck, and reminding my body of his possession. He slides his hand between us, reaching under my dress and into my panties, thrusting two fingers inside.

“Doc.” I drop my head to kiss our temples together and start riding his hand.

He tugs the bodice of my dress until the chill night air kisses my breasts, and then he dips to suck them one at a time, never letting up between my legs.