The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(39)

Fisher remained a little subdued, not as quick to jab back. In fact, he didn’t take the bait at all.

“I’ll grab the vac hose to sweep up the mess.”

“Leave it.” He pulled me closer to him again.

I smiled, running my palms along his face. “So handsome.”

He closed his eyes and took an audible breath, releasing it like it carried some pretty heavy stuff with it.

“Did you tell your therapist about me? I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“Yes.” He opened his eyes.

I nodded slowly, pressing my lips together.

“I told her I’m engaged to a woman I’ve known nearly my whole life. But I’m in love with a woman I’ve known for a breath, maybe two.”

Drawing in another one of those breaths of time, a shaky one, I blew it out with a whisper, “You love me?”

He shrugged. Of course he shrugged. It was Fisher. “I’m assuming that’s what this annoying feeling is.”

“Annoying feeling?” I narrowed my eyes.

“The increased heart rate I get just from thinking about you. Oh … and that. The constant thinking about you. The stupid smile that I can’t seem to wipe off my face because I’m thinking about you all the damn time.”

He seemed so annoyed. It made me grin, but I fought it by biting my lower lip.

“The dreams. The driving by your house just to see if your car is there. Lack of focus on anything or anyone but you. It’s …” He shook his head. “It’s bad.” His gaze met mine. “What about you? Do you have any feelings toward me? Or do you just want into my pants? Be honest … am I the girl in this relationship?”

“Fisher …” I whispered. His humor didn’t completely mask his nerves. How did two people fall in love so quickly? Then how did they do it twice? Just as quickly, just as passionately? And with terrible timing again? I pressed my lips to his.

We kissed.

Fisher loved me. Me …

So we continued to kiss because that’s what people who loved each other did.

He unbuttoned my jeans and eased down the zipper. Then he kissed my exposed skin just above my panties.

My fingers laced through his thick hair. “I love you, my lost fisherman.”

He stilled for a second before his gaze lifted to mine. Those blue eyes. That heartbreakingly lost look in his eyes.

“This is so messy.” I gave him a cautious smile.

“That’s how we know it’s real.” He slowly stood, taking my shirt with him.

I lifted my arms, willingly surrendering.

He dropped my shirt onto the floor and kissed me again, easing my bra straps down my shoulders as I reached around and unhooked it.

Maybe our future was uncertain, at best. But not his touch. I knew … I just knew he didn’t touch her like he touched me.

The slide of his warm tongue.

The brush of his thumb over my nipple.

And the hum, almost a tiny growl, like he was a little angry that everything had to be so damn complicated.

That slow kiss took us all the way to the bed. I wasn’t the nervous girl anymore. And knowing he wasn’t getting my virginity didn’t make it feel any less special.

I wasn’t a used sanitary napkin.

I was the woman who put myself first, who loved myself first. I was the girl who left the love of her life to find a life.

There were mistakes.

Lessons to learn.

Tears to cry.

Intimate moments with other people.

Risks to take.

And I did it all.

I did it not because I thought it would lead me back to Fisher; I did it for me. The only gift I cared to give my future husband was the most confident version of myself. A full heart and a humbled soul.

As I leaned back on the bed, Fisher pulled my jeans down my legs. “Not even death will take this memory away from me.” He grinned.

As his mouth made its way up my body, he stopped briefly to tease the sensitive flesh between my legs while sliding off my panties.

“Fisher …” I closed my heavy eyelids, and my hands fisted the bedding, my hips lifting from the mattress looking for absolutely anything he would give me. When I opened them, he was discarding his jogging shorts and briefs.

That grin … so sexy.

The slow prowl, bringing every inch of that body to me. I’d never felt so alive. My legs spread wider. My fingers feathered his chest, his abs, and the hard muscles along his back.

Settling between my legs, teasing me like he did to the eighteen-year-old virgin, he kissed my breasts, my neck, my … everything. Fisher had always been the patient one with me. And that night was no exception. He guided me onto my stomach and kissed along my back and the curve of my butt like an artist admiring every detail of a fine work of art or … a lost fisherman exploring Target with the woman he was destined to fall for every single time.

I liked that analogy best.

And that smile … the grin I felt every so often when he kissed my body.

Fisher was happy.

Happy with me.

“What … do we have here?” He angled my butt toward the window and the sliver of streetlight coming through it.

Oh … I forgot about that.

“A tattoo? You have a tattoo?”

I craned my neck to look over my shoulder as he held me firmly in place, closely inspecting my butt cheek.