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Istand on the balcony, the night air cool against my flushed skin, the words "I love you" still hanging between us like a spell neither of us expected to cast. Loomis’s eyes hold mine, that particular shade of gray that reminds me of stormy waters. Of drowning willingly. His fingers trace my cheek, and I feel a spark. It’s more than static, more than chemistry. It jolts through me, rewiring something fundamental.

“Say it again,” I whisper, needing to hear it, to know it wasn’t a hallucination or a joke. This is Loomis Powell we’re talking about. The man reminded me no less than a dozen times how he doesn’t do relationships or love and how he’s all wrong for me.

Loomis leans closer, his accent thickening the way it does when emotion overtakes. “I love you, Keegan Fritz.” His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “Quite desperately, actually. No thinking about it.”

The Gulf of Mexico sprawls below us, the stars and moon reflecting off the water, a constellation of lights that can’t compete with the brightness I feel expanding inside my chest. I slide my hands beneath his unbuttoned shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Awesome. Just double-checking. I love you too, in case you needed to hear it again as well.” I draw up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. “Now I want you to show me how much you want me before I change my mind.”

His mouth curves into that smile that never fails to make my stomach swoop but contains something private now, something that belongs only to me. Without warning, his hands move to my waist, then lower, gripping my thighs as he lifts me. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, my dress bunching up between us.

“As you wish,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice vibrating through my skin.

“You justPrincess Bride-d me,” I murmur, my eyes wide and my heart ready to explode. “In an English accent.”

“I’m English. And I’m not sure whatPrincess Bride-d means.”

“You don’t know that movie? You’re an actor. How do you not know that movie?” I ask as he carries me as if I weigh nothing back inside the hotel room. It’s his crazy muscles, and I grab onto them with my left hand so I can appreciate them even more.

“I’ve heard of it, of course, but I’m not sure I ever saw it.”

“Wow. You did that all on your own, then? If I didn’t love you before, I totally do now.”

“Good to know.” He smirks and kisses the corner of my lips.

“Why do you still seem nervous?”

He laughs, but it’s shaky and, well, nervous-sounding.

He stops walking, holding me here in the middle of the living room. “Because I am. Bloody terrified, actually. I told you I love you, which is still making me break out into a cold sweat even with you telling me it back. I have more things to tell you, and I’ve never been a boyfriend before. What if I bollocks it all up? What if one day you get tired of my shit and leave me? I’m notthe first man you’ve loved, but you’re my first, well, everything serious, and I… fuck, I’m rambling again.”

Oh, Loomis.

I cup his face in my hand as he walks us into the bedroom and continues on into the bathroom. “You’re not the first man I’ve said it to, but you’re the best of them by a mile. I’m myself with you, and you see that and want it anyway. I never had that with them, and how much could I have really loved them if that’s the case? This is real. We’re real.” I place my hand on his chest over his racing heart.

His mouth finds mine, hungry and insistent. I taste gin and mint and something uniquely him. The kiss deepens, and my fingers tangle in his hair, pulling slightly and drawing a groan from deep in his throat that I feel more than hear.

The master bathroom appears around us, all marble and mirrors and soft lighting. Loomis sets me on the cold counter, the shock of it against my thighs making me gasp against his mouth. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his pupils dilated, turning those gray orbs nearly black.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, each word deliberate.

I reach for the lower buttons of his shirt, my fingers clumsy with wanting and my stupid brace. “Show me.”

Loomis helps me with his shirt, shrugging it off to reveal shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The sight never fails to steal my breath. His hands find the zipper of my dress, drawing it down with torturous slowness. The sound fills the quiet bathroom like a prelude. When the fabric pools around my waist, still covering my lower half, his gaze travels over my exposed skin, lingering on the black lace of my bra.

“Christ, you are so fucking sexy.”

He makes me feel it too. No one has ever made me feel beautiful or sexy the way Loomis does.

I reach behind to unhook my bra and watch his face as I let it fall. His eyes go from smoky to dangerous in an instant, and I just about lose my mind with that.

“Touch me,” I whisper, half command, half plea.

“Oh, darling. I’m just getting started with you.” His hands are warm when they cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples that harden instantly at his touch. He lowers his head, replaces his fingers with his mouth, and the wet heat of his tongue sends pleasure spiraling through me. I arch into him, one hand braced on the counter, the other guiding his head.

“God, Loomis,” I breathe, as he draws my nipple between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to balance on the edge between pleasure and pain.

“I love the way you say my name,” he murmurs against my skin, moving to give the other breast equal attention. “Like it’s both a prayer and a profanity.”