Her glossy lips part on a soundless gasp—as though even asking surprises her.
“All of them.” The words come out hushed. Like confessing this is a risk.
I want to reward it. “Good for you.”
Before the wedding, during the wedding, and at the reception, I felt so out of place. Like I don’t belong here at all.
And now I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because Hattie might not belong here either.
And I’d rather be outside of this circle with her than inside anywhere else.
I pluck a strawberry from our plate, tear off the stem, and offer it to her. “Dancing is exercise, underwire is the devil, and that rule book is trash.”
Hazel eyes sparkle like a suncatcher. “That’s another thing I love about you.”
I arch a brow in question, as though a fountain made of sparklers isn’t showering my heart.
“That you… encourage me to be myself. That you’re the one voice that says my instincts aren’t just plain wrong.”
My jaw ticks. Is that how she feels all the time? That her instincts, her nature is just plain wrong?
“Your instincts are fucking perfect,” I growl.
She doesn’t catch how much this pisses me off because she tips her head back and laughs.
Probably for the best.
“I also love your voice when it does that,” she says through her laughter.
I pretend ignorance. “Does what?”
Hattie’s eyes shine, her cheeks going pink. “Gets all rough and sexy. Like you’d knock someone down just to get to me.”
And that does it.
I manage to shift the near empty plate to the side table without flinging it across the room, but then I’m on all fours, caging a gasping, giggling Hattie.
“I would knock someone down to get to you.”
Maybe it’s her laughter, that overjoyed look in her eyes that says she knows she has me. Maybe it’s that sexy as hell blush, the flash of her luscious cleavage in that robe.
Maybe it’s the recognition of this gift I’ve been given. This gift I mean to keep. To be the one to cut her free of her bindings. To be the one to dance in the blaze of her light. To be the one who stands at her side. Who’d knock down anyone who tried to take a swing at her.
The one who gets to hear what she loves.
About me.
Fuck me, but I want her like I’ve never wanted anything.
“I wanna kiss you hard,” I warn her.
She grabs my robe’s lapels. “What’s stopping you?”
My girl tugs, and we collide in a kiss that feels like the end of hunger. I could feast on her for ages.
“You taste—” I manage between kisses, “so damn good…”