Page 7

Chapter Seven

Garret, Two months and twenty-eight days later

He whistled as he hopped up the stairs leading to Kay’s house then softly knocked on the front door.

They’d fallen into a pleasant routine over the last few months.

During the week, he’d pop over after work and they’d eat dinner together.

On the weekends, they would hang out, walk around the city, go to the beach or see a movie.

It was funny—in a crazy-because-it-felt-so-right-way rather than a funny-but-weird way—but since the night of the fundraiser they hadn’t gone a day without seeing each other.

Garret liked that. A lot.

In fact, he loved it.

He loved her .

When his quiet knock wasn’t answered—Garret used his key to let himself in. They’d learned a lot about each other over the last months, and one of the first things he’d needed to grasp—or risk the wrath of his woman—was that if Kay was writing she didn’t like to be interrupted.

Typically, she’d be waiting for him when he got there, snuggled up in cute pajamas and a glass of wine in her hand as she answered the door.

But if she didn’t answer the knock, that meant the muse was still talking and it was better for everyone—and most especially him —if he didn’t interrupt Kay while she was working.

His first—and only—interruption hadn’t been intentional.

In fact, he’d been worried when she hadn’t answered her door or her phone.

Finally, after multiple rings of the bell, she’d pounded down the stairs, whipped open the door, and he’d learned the hard way to not interrupt the Beast—his teasing nickname for her author persona—at work.

No way did he want to endure another round of glaring and grumbling.

She’d apologized later for being grumpy, and he’d teased her by threatening to put her on probation. But Garret got it. A jarring intrusion while working on something important was bound to make anyone cranky.

Smiling, he silently let himself into the house, closing and locking the door behind him.

He’d wait thirty minutes then order a pizza.

It hadn’t taken him long to understand that the smell of pepperoni tended to lure Kay out of her writing cave.

Plan in mind, he was mentally patting himself on his back as he turned for the living room.

Only to stop halfway, his jaw falling open.

Kay stood on the bottom step, wearing only a pair of underwear and bra.

Lacy underwear.

A see-through bra.

His cock hardened, his pulse jumped, and he didn’t think, just strode over, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her up. Her mouth found his, tongues meeting, twining together, dancing in a pattern they’d perfected over the last months.

But this? Kay nearly naked in his arms?

They hadn’t perfected this .

Probation wasn’t up for another day.

Yes, he’d been counting.

Kay broke away, gasping for air as he kissed his way down her neck, trailed his mouth across her collarbone, nipped the top of one breast. She gasped, wound her hands into his hair to hold him in place and so he repeated the action, soothing it with a flick of his tongue before moving to her other breast.

Then somehow her bra disappeared—or rather, his mind hazed over the specific details of the undressing because suddenly, he had a gorgeous pair of breasts in front of him that he needed to get his mouth on.

“Yes,” Kay said, tugging him toward one nipple. “Please, Garret. Oh God. Yes. ”

He switched sides as her hands reached for the button on his slacks, fumbling with the little circle until it slipped free and she was able to reach inside his boxer briefs to grip him.

Stars flashed behind his lids, his hips thrust forward, and he groaned.

He’d been imagining this for three long months, planning all the things he was going to do to make the night incredible and perfect and unforgettable for his woman.

Yes, they’d touched each other, engaged in some seriously heavy petting, but it had all been through clothes.

Garret had insisted on it, despite her pleas, despite his near perpetual blue balls, because he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t sleep with Kay until she trusted him completely, whether that took three months or three years.

They’d spent many nights together, but he hadn’t slept over.

They’d touched, but not skin to skin.

They’d kissed, but only from the throat up.

But last week, he’d finally seen it.

Kay’s last wall had fallen, the final bit of distance she’d kept between them had disappeared, and Garret knew his patience—and hers—had all been worth it.

He trusted her like he’d never trusted another person. She knew everything about him, good and bad and in between, and . . . he loved her, more than he’d thought possible to love another person.

She was his heart. It was as simple as that.

And, as usual, this beautiful, wonderful, kind woman had surprised him.

This time it wasn’t assault by novel or confronting him in a restaurant or getting locked in a bathroom stall.

Instead, she’d decided she’d had enough and was going after what she wanted.

“Garret?” she asked, stroking him and making every single one of his carefully laid out plans poof right out of his head.

“Yeah?” he gritted out, clambering for control and not finding it.

“Can we”—another stroke that had him groaning—“skip the foreplay. Just this once?”

His eyes shot to hers.

She shrugged. “We’ve kinda had three months of foreplay already.”

Good point. Excellent point.

Garret nodded. “You’re right.” He swept her up into his arms, pounded up the stairs. He was inside her bedroom seconds later, tossing Kay onto the mattress, tearing off his clothes.

She slipped out of her panties, tossed them aside. Breathtakingly naked, Kay reached for a packet from her nightstand. “Catch.” She lobbed it at him.

Gotta love a woman with a plan.

Garret caught the condom, tore it open, and rolled it on. He was on top of her by the next second, spreading her thighs, kneeling in between, and then . . . his heart had him pausing.

“You sure?” he asked.

Her eyes softened and she reached up to cup his jaw. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said and thrust inside. “Because I’m keeping you.” Her eyes had flitted closed as he’d pushed home, lips parting on a moan, but at his words she peeled back her lids.

Warmth. This woman just imparted so much fucking warmth.

He looked at her and felt . . . everything.

Possessiveness, desire, heat . . . love .

She made him want to write sonnets and horrible love songs, to shout her name from rooftops.

“I love you,” he said.

Her hand came up to rest on his chest, just over his heart. “I love you, too,” she said, tears making the pretty brown of her irises glitter.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Kay shifted beneath him, hips undulating and sucking every rational thought from his mind.

“I know I’m supposed to be the romance writer here, and I should be appreciating you and the loveliness of this moment, but can we appreciate it later?

” She shifted again. “Because I really need you to move.”

“Yeah?” He pulled out, slid back in.

She nodded. “Fuck now. Romance later.”

Another thrust. Another shared moan.

“Words to live by?” he managed to ask.

“I’d rather live with you,” she said.

“Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

Then they weren’t talking, or at least they didn’t have any more room in their brains for talking.

The moment became about sensation—for nerves to fire, for caresses and soft touches to leave goosebumps in their wake, for pleasure to build, orgasms to pull them each over into the abyss, and . . . for hearts to feel.

After, as they lay together, bodies intertwined, Garret knew his heart wouldn’t ever belong to another.

Kay owned it.

And that was perfectly fine with him.