Ready for You (Ready #3)(30)

My hand slid up Mia’s bare leg and slipped under her skirt to grab her shapely ass. She’d been mine for just over a year now. Over three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of this. My buddies had made fun of me for dating the same girl for so long, but they didn’t know. They didn’t have a Mia.

I groaned and steadied my eager hand. “This is where you usually tell me to stop,” I whispered, leaning into the curve of her neck.

She leaned back, letting her long hair fan out beneath her on the blanket I’d spread out on the grass.

“I’m not saying stop tonight,” she replied.

I gulped and tried to reply. It wasn’t a very manly thing to do, but my hands were shaking, and I was trying to give her time to change her mind. We’d never gone past this point, and I didn’t want to push her into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with. I was sixteen and horny as hell, but for her, I’d wait forever.

“Are you sure? You know I’d never pressure you.”

“We’ve been together a year, Garrett. Of course I know that. No more waiting. I love you. I know we’re young, but I’ll never love anyone like I love you.”

Reaching down, she folded her fingers over my trembling hand and brought it up to the buttons of her blouse. “I’m ready, Garrett. I’m ready for you.”

With shaky fingers, I removed her blouse. Slowly, like we were cherishing every moment, we undressed each other with care. As we made love for the first time, she gave me her love and trust, and I knew I’d found my soul mate.

“I love you, too, Mia.”

“Garrett,” someone was saying, breaking through my fogginess of sleep. “We’re about to land.”

Soft fingers brushed my hand, and my eyes fluttered open to find Mia’s piercing blue eyes watching me. Her fingertips were stroking the top of my hand, but she quickly stopped when I took notice of it.

“We’re about to land. I’m not sure if you heard me say that,” she repeated.

I nodded and sat up in my seat. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep. The flight between Richmond and New York City was short, so I couldn’t have been asleep for more than thirty minutes. Still a bit groggy, I watched the plane touch down and taxi in toward our gate.

“Oh, I forgot to ask. Where are we staying?” Mia asked.

I watched everyone power up their cell phones. I didn’t bother. Work could wait.

“I always stay at this small Irish hotel in Manhattan. It’s right around the corner from Grand Central Station, and they have a great pub.”

She became quiet, and her eyes shifted to the floor. I might not have been around Mia for several years, but I knew that look.

“What is it? What did I say? Do you not like pubs? Do you have a thing against Manhattan? We can stay someplace else.”

Her smile immediately brightened and recovered all too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

Lie.

Like many things with Mia lately, I chose to let it go—for now. If she didn’t trust me to open up, I wasn’t going to force it out of her.

We deplaned, and then we made our way through the busy airport and gathered our luggage. I hailed a taxi, and we were on our way within twenty minutes. Mia looked out the window curiously, looking at the tall buildings and endless streets of yellow cabs.

The cabbie dropped us off at the hotel, and I hopped out to pay. He helped us with our two suitcases, and I thanked him, tipping him generously for his trouble. Having already made the reservations in advance, we didn’t have to deal with the awkward question of how many rooms. The person at the check-in counter just handed us our keys and told us our room numbers, assuming we were coworkers, and that was it.

Mia and I as coworkers? That would never happen. I wouldn’t get shit done with her in the same building—right down the hall from me, having to listen to her laugh all day, knowing she was probably getting hit on by every male in the building.

I was having problems focusing with her being in the same city.

The elevator chimed, notifying our arrival on the twelfth floor. We exited and found our room numbers easily, only to discover they were adjoining. There was only one thin door separating us.

That would make for a good night’s sleep.

She went into her room, and I went into mine. I had to change for my meeting. I wasn’t one of those businessmen who dressed up to fly. I was sure some of them genuinely needed to because of schedule restraints, but I thought some of them just did it to look like ass**les.

I pulled out my slacks, jacket, and dress shirt. I yanked my T-shirt over my head and took a look at the once crisp white button-down that was now sporting several wrinkles, thanks to its cramped quarters in my suitcase. I refused to do garment bags. Chicks used garment bags, not men.

I guessed I was ironing today.

I set up the iron and brushed my teeth while I waited for it to heat up. I finished up in the bathroom and started in on the task of ironing my shirt. I was halfway through when a tiny knock came from Mia’s side of the adjoining door.

I set down the iron and opened the door. I heard her suck in her breath as her eyes traveled up my bare chest.

Oh, right—the shirt, or lack of.

Her eyes lingered on my tattoos, and they paused on the script written on the underside of my right arm. The rest of my tattoos were scattered over my back and arms. They were things I’d randomly picked up along the way, but the one she had her eyes on now was special—and mine.