Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(77)

What started soft and gentle, however, turned fierce immediately. Elise’s hands, which had been flattened against his chest, skated up and wound around his neck, pulling him down to her, and Preston’s hands slid higher, into her hair. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, he swallowed her deep moan, dropping his hands to her waist and turning so he could push her against the motel room door. Her fingers untwined from his neck, gliding down his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt, which he shrugged off his shoulders. He took her hands and raised them over her head, holding her wrists against the door with one hand as Elise arched into him, pressing against his straining erection, whimpering for more. Sucking her tongue into his mouth, he reached down for the hem of her T-shirt, pushing it up over her head and over the tips of her fingers until it dropped to the floor.

Sliding his hands down to her ass, he lifted her up and into his arms, her back still against the door, her ankles locking around his waist. He stepped back toward the bed, savoring the feeling of her wrapped around him, moaning, whimpering, kissing him like she’d never get enough of him. And he’d never, ever get enough of her: of the way she tasted, of the way she felt in his arms, pressed against his body, the thin, sheer fabric of her bra the only thing keeping her bare chest from colliding with his. Lowering them both to the bed, he fell on top of her, bracing his weight on his elbows as she leaned her head back into the pillow and plunged her hands into his hair to pull him back down to her.

He trailed his lips along her jawline, gliding down the soft, warm skin of her throat, then slid to her ear lobe, which he bit gently, eliciting a hotter-than-f*ck “ahh” sound from his wife, who arched off the bed and razed his scalp with her fingernails, demanding his lips again.

He kissed her as he’d dreamed for two long years apart from her, his body hardening to the point of pain, as it always had, wanting her, remembering how they fit together, how it felt to be inside of her, and how they’d moved as one. He wanted her. Fuck, he wanted her so bad.

And yet…

He drew back, panting, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath. She leaned up, trying to catch his lips with hers, trying to kiss him again.

“Elise…Wait, sweetheart. Wait…”

One of her hands fell from his hair, and she bent her arm over her head, the pose decadent and so sexy, he could almost convince himself to take what she was definitely offering and deal with the consequences tomorrow.

Except…

“Pres…,” she moaned, pushing her breasts against his chest as she looked up at him with dark eyes and glistening lips.

“Oh, God,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you right now, Elise, but the timing…”

She sighed—a huffing, frustrated sound, and nodded, panting as she unlocked her ankles and slid her legs down the back of his. “…is shit.”

He rolled off of her to lie beside her, placing his hands over his chest and staring up at the ceiling. Her side pressed into his, hot and damp, despite the air conditioned room. He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her.

“I can’t lose you again.”

She reached up and caressed his cheek. “You won’t.”

“It almost destroyed me,” he said, clenching his jaw as he held her eyes. “I barely made it out alive, Elise.”

Tears sprang into her eyes, and her thumb gently rubbed the stubble along his jaw. “I didn’t know.”

“It was bad. I missed you. I loved you. I’d been rejected by you,” he said, scoffing a little in self-deprecation. It sounded so pathetic when it was laid out like that.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly, starting to draw her hand away.

He reached for it, pressing it back against his cheek, then turned his neck slightly until his lips were pressed to her palm. Sighing against her skin, he said, “We jumped into it last time, hoping everything would work itself out. We need to do it right this time.”

She nodded in agreement.

“How about we get some sleep? We can talk more after this weekend, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly before flipping onto her side.

Preston bent his knees and pulled her against him, her back to his front, his nose in her hair, his lips pressed to the back of her neck, her barely-covered breasts spilling over his arm.

“I love you, Preston,” she whispered, on the verge of sleep. “I’ll never hurt you like that…not ever again.”

Tell her you love her. I love you, too. I love you, too. I love you…

Instead of answering her, he held her tighter…and prayed that he could find the strength to trust her with his whole heart once again.

***

One of Sarah Klassan’s favorite expressions had been, “Love is a verb.”

And even if Preston was unable or unwilling to return Elise’s “I love you” verbally, the next day, he managed to return it in countless, heart-clenching, hope-giving ways. Standing beside her, he helped her greet the many visitors who arrived in an endless stream on Friday, taking casseroles to the refrigerator and freezer, helping old Mr. Sanders to the men’s room, and jumpstarting Mrs. Schneider’s ancient Chevy truck when it wouldn’t turn over. He was everywhere at once—beside her, behind her, before her—in her head, in her heart, as organic as her own self, as necessary as air to breathe and she knew why L.A. had felt so terribly wrong: because after having Preston in her life, her life was empty with him out of it.