It Must Be Your Love (The Sullivans #11)(63)

She kicked out of his arms and swam to the edge, the wet, translucent fabric clinging to every inch of her perfect body as she got out and headed inside his house. By the time he’d worked to get his erection to go down at least a teeny tiny bit—to no avail—and followed her wet path upstairs, she was standing in his bedroom wearing one of his T-shirts and a pair of his jeans.

She’d knotted the gray cotton T-shirt at her waist and had his jeans folded over at least two times at the waist and at the hems. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up, and though his T-shirt and jeans hid nearly all of her curves, Ford knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.

All he’d been thinking about was winning her back.

He hadn’t realized that she’d help him heal his past, too, by making it stop hurting.

She tossed him a towel, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was staring in dismay at the growing puddle at his feet. “As a seller of fine homes,” she said with a little grimace, “I just can’t stand leaving the floors wet like this. It drives my parents and brothers crazy, but I can’t help it.” She skidded along the floor with a towel beneath each foot and wiped it clean as he dried off and changed out of his wet clothes.

A short while later, he found her sitting on the couch with the TV remote in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. “The pizza’s cold,” she informed him right before shoving the huge slice into her mouth. Around pepperoni and black olives, she said, “Good thing I’ve always liked it better that way.”

And as he settled next to her and they began a spirited debate over which movie they should watch, Ford knew with absolute certainty that playing stadiums and flying around the world in private jets to meet royalty had absolutely nothing on hanging on his couch with his girl to watch the positively terrible movie he was going to let her insist they see.

* * *

Full from the large pizza and the bottles of beer that had been, rather predictably, the only thing in Ford’s enormous state-of-the-art fridge, Mia easily settled into his arms. They were both suffering their way through a movie she’d known was going to be a total joke, but had wanted to see anyway because she couldn’t deal with anything emotional or thought-provoking right now. Fart jokes and characters falling down for no reason whatsoever were her limit tonight.

Ford had obviously thrown the two of them into the pool to try to erase their confrontation with his parents. But even though he made her laugh at his ongoing commentary that was way funnier than anything in the movie—and though having been slippery and wet against him in the pool had made her want, just like always—all the while her heart ached for him.

A week ago she’d thought she hated him. But tonight, what she felt for Ford was so far from hate that all she could focus on, as the movie on the large TV screen blurred before her, was what she could possibly do to help heal his wounds.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she was surprised when Ford pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, “I never knew a blank screen could be so riveting.” Startled that she’d missed not only the end of the movie, but also the fact that he’d turned off the TV entirely, she came back to him on the couch.

“Sorry. I—”

God, she couldn’t tell him what she’d actually been thinking. She had four brothers and knew exactly how sensitive their pride could be. The last thing she wanted Ford to think was that she pitied him in any way. On the contrary, she could see just how strong he was now.

Everything she’d achieved had been with the full support of her parents and family.

Everything he’d achieved had been despite his parents’ disappointment.

The ache intensified as she shifted in his arms so that she could put hers around his neck and snuggle closer. “I’m just tired. And your couch is really comfortable.”

It would be so easy to convince Ford to make love with her tonight, to help heal both of them by taking away everything that hurt with pleasure. But even though she was close to grasping at any reason at all to be with him, after waiting this long she knew she wanted their first time together again to be full of love.

And only love.

“I know you have your big show on Saturday night,” she said slowly as he stroked her hair and she let herself sink even more fully into his strength and warmth, “and I know you’re probably going to be really busy until then, but once a month my parents put on a Friday night dinner and—”

“Yes.” He tugged her tighter, so tight her breath caught in her compressed chest. “I’d love to come to dinner at your parents’ house.”

The ache for him was still there inside her heart, but suddenly, so was joy. She smiled as she said, “A couple of my brothers will probably be there, too. They’re both fans of yours. At least, they were. Because after they find out you’re dating their sister...”

He grinned back at her, but she was pretty sure she could see that same ache behind his beautiful smile. “Whatever it takes to win them and your parents over, I’ll do it.”

“No.” Her response was fierce. “You can’t change who you are for anyone. Promise me you’ll just be yourself, egomaniac rock star and all.”

His promise came as the sweetest kiss he’d ever given her, one that spiraled out and out and out into more and more pleasure with every breath they took from one another. She wanted to surrender all of herself to him, and she wanted to demand every part of him. She wanted to completely lose herself in him, in the wild pleasure of naked skin against naked skin, in whispered promises of never-ending pleasure that came true over and over again.