Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(78)

He turned his head to press a kiss into my palm. “It’s just been a lot of change in one night. I want to know that you’re sure before I let go of the leash on my hope.”

“Can I tell you something?”

He nodded.

“It wasn’t until you that I learned to see things for what they were. All I had to do was listen to your actions, and I could see what you wanted, what you felt. I could see what was important so I could reach out and grab it. And now that I have a hold, I don’t want to let go.”

The fear written in the lines of his face smoothed.

“I’m just sorry I didn’t understand sooner. I didn’t think there was any way you could want me, and you were so quiet about how you felt. Will, on the other hand, is about as quiet as a tuba.”

A small laugh bobbed his shoulders, but his lips came back together. “So all this time, all I had to do was kiss you for you to know how I felt?”

I shrugged. “Guess so.”

“I almost did after the day we spent together. I should have. Did you know when you came to work the next day, I was going to ask you out on a proper date?”

My heart ached. “But I showed up with Will.”

Greg nodded and looked back down at my hand in his. “And then…God, Annie. What was I supposed to do? You were happy, and you wanted him. What was I supposed to do?” he repeated, this time to himself.

“There wasn’t much you could have done. I had to see Will through to the bitter end.”

He frowned.

“The more he acted out, the less interested I became. Every time we fought about you, he only underscored your differences and tipped the scales in your direction. Really, you should thank him,” I joked.

His lips flattened into a line. “Never in a million years. You fought about me?”

“The morning after the ballet, he was so jealous and angry, and we got into an argument before I left for work.”

A dark, guilty shadow passed behind his eyes. “That day was unbearable.”

“It was. But it’s behind us. We’re here now, together. And I really want to kiss you some more. Can I please kiss you some more?”

He laughed and nodded again, and into his arms I went. And kissing we did. We kissed until we were breathless and our bodies were twisted together so completely, we were left a tangle of arms and legs. I untied his cravat with a whisper of linen and kissed the soft skin of his neck. He ran his fingers across the neckline of my dress, sending a shudder of pleasure down my body. He pulled off my gloves, loosening them finger by finger, sliding them from my arms so I could touch the hot skin of his chest in the slight opening his shirt made.

But there was no more than that and no expectation, no urgency. Only moments that we lived in fully, without thought or care for more, content in exactly what we had.

And when the hour was late, he took off his wool coat and slipped it over my shoulders, and I lay on his chest, my head tucked in the curve of his neck, and fell asleep.





21





Old Lies





Greg

I woke, creeping from dreams so seamlessly that, for a moment, I believed Annie in my arms was a fantasy created by my sleeping mind.

But she wasn’t. She was warm and small, curled into my chest. I could feel the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed the long, slow rhythm of sleep. And for a long while, I just lay there, committing every detail to memory.

She stirred, nestling into me, nuzzling her face in my chest, her arms folded between us.

I kissed her hair and tightened my arms.

She stilled, and I thought she’d gone back to sleep, which was perfectly fine with me. I could hold her like that forever.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked, her voice raspy.

“I hope not.”

She chuckled and pressed a kiss to the bare skin under the hollow of my throat. “You know, crossing this off my list was the best unexpected surprise of my life.”

“Crossing what off?”

“Waking up with a man, for starters.”

“For starters?”

Annie leaned back to gaze upon my face, and I gazed upon hers with wonder and a sense of belonging.

“First breakup.”

I scoffed.

“First kiss.”

“I wasn’t your first.” The statement wasn’t in any way light or without regret.

“As far as I’m concerned, it was. Will never kissed me like that. Not once.”

“Tell me how horrible it was. I need more reasons to hate him.”

She laughed softly, her cheeks high and rosy. “It was like kissing the back of my hand. I felt nothing other than anxiety that I was doing it wrong, probably because I felt nothing. I knew I should have felt something. But,” she shrugged, “nada.”

“And kissing me?”

“A religious experience.”

I tightened my arms and leaned into her, pinning her against the back of the couch with a kiss that left her legs tangled in mine and her fingers in my hair.

She sighed when I released her, her heavy-lidded eyes meeting mine with a smile. “Will was all pyrotechnics and no substance. You, Greg Brandon, are both and a hundred other brilliant things.”

“Will is the king of flashy paint jobs. You aren’t the first girl he’s dazzled.”