One Bossy Offer (139)
Gram, wherever you are, I hope you’re watching.
I hope you can see me smiling at the man of my dreams.
Later, when the sunny reception finally ends long after nightfall, he loads me in his SUV and drives me down the street to his—well, our—new home.
“I still can’t believe you gutted the house,” I whisper.
“You wanted a modern transitional farmhouse with all the conveniences, and you’re getting it. I had every contractor in a hundred miles beating down my door for this job. Everybody wins,” he says, twining our fingers together.
“I know, but you’re giving me a flipping castle.”
“And you love it.”
I giggle because he’s too right.
“It has more charm than any new build I’ve ever seen. But you’re sure you have no regrets?”
The way he side-eyes me says I’m being ridiculous in the most endearing way.
“We agreed. We both need a fresh start. Something that wasn’t completely yours or mine. It had to be ours. Besides, the inn books solid every night, and staying there would cost you a nightly rental income when you can rent out the best room in the house. Never mind the fact that we’d have no privacy—something I was adamant about.” He glances over and grins when he sees me blushing. “Go ahead and try to play it off. I’m just glad my queen adores her palace.”
He’s. Killing. Me.
I smile at him. “No denying it, but your queen loves it even more when you call her ‘my wife.’”
“Get used to that, my wife, because you’re mine now. Mine completely.” There’s an intensity in his tone that echoes through me. “You know it, don’t you, kitten?”
Heat thrums under my cheeks.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But I wouldn’t turn down a reminder.”
Grinning, he parks the SUV in front of the door. We don’t even make it to the garage as he carries me inside and up the stairs to our master suite.
I lean up and kiss his chin. “This part so isn’t necessary.”
“Liar. You think I’d miss my chance to carry you over the threshold?” he growls.
“Technically, we passed the threshold.”
“Technically, sweetheart, there’s no chance I’m turning you loose before you’re down on the bed, stripped naked.”
I grin. “And then?”
“Then I fucking devour you.”
Sure enough, he carries me to our room, but he doesn’t place me on the bed like he promised.
Instead, he sets me on my feet and nods at the virtual assistant speaker on his nightstand.
“Calista, play 'All of Me.'” He puts his hands on my hips and draws me closer as the song starts. “Dance with me, Mrs. Cromwell?”
I can’t help but smile. “Of course. But haven’t we danced to this song once today?”
“That was for a crowd. This one’s for us.”
My heart flips as I follow his lead.
Miles holds me so close I can feel his pulse, his heat. I’m delirious with his scent in no time.
My smile deepens. The last time this song played, it was our first dance at the reception.
“Will you still love me like this after the honeymoon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Our bodies meld seamlessly, gliding across the floor.
His muscles ripple against me, and God, I’ve wanted to be alone with him ever since I first saw him standing in the gazebo, decked out in this navy-blue suit that accents every angle of his body.
He may be patient.
I’m not.
Grabbing his shoulders, I stand on my toes, pressing my mouth to his with a moan that embarrasses me.
He stops moving to the music in perfect precision and deepens our kiss, growling deliciously in my mouth.
His hands roam my sides, retracing my curves, coming together and stopping just below the small of my back over my butt.
His tongue delves deeper in slow, sensual strokes that leave me dizzy, breathless except for a startled, “Oh. Oh, Miles.”
His grip tightens.
“You still taste like wedding cake and espresso,” I say when we break.
He chuckles. “And you taste like honey stolen from heaven’s pantry. Always, woman.”
Grinning, I work on his tie, my cheeks flushed as I slip a few times.
He places his hand over mine, guiding me, then stops my movement.
“Pace yourself. I want this to be special,” he orders.
“It’s always special when I’m with you.”
His mouth attacks mine again, showing me how little patience he truly has.
The kiss feels so intense it leaves me reeling, and it’s a good thing I back into the edge of the bed for support.
His tie comes off and I unbutton his coat, running my hands down his chest, his chiseled abs, the bulge below his belt that’s holding back the storm of a century.
I bite my lip—I have to—as I glide my hands back up his shoulders, tucking them under his coat.
His eyes are incandescent as he shrugs out of it, desperate to help my fingers work at his shirt buttons. It’s gone in record time.
We both sigh with relief as he turns his attention to my dress. I knew I picked something easy to take off for a reason as he slides the zipper down, tracing every newly revealed inch of flesh with his tongue.