Page 40

Chapter forty

Mike

We waddled out of the restaurant, our lovely server/hostess/owner making catcalls about Elliot’s butt the whole way to the car. I didn’t think it was possible for the burly man to blush, but even his ears were red by the time the door slammed and the shouts of, “Work that thang,” faded into the distance.

Elliot looked like he wanted to crawl under the seat. I couldn’t stop laughing.

“If you keep reveling in my tribulation, there will be a price to pay,” he said without daring to look at me.

“Oh, really?” I said through a series of snorts because—obvi—I had totally lost control. “Are you saying I might deserve a good spanking?”

His face somehow turned redder.

“That would be a good start, but I doubt I’d quit there. You’ve been a very, very bad boy tonight. Siding with a stranger over your boyfr—”

His mouth froze mid-word. His eyes widened and fixed on some point ahead. He became so focused on the road that I almost thought there was a deer or dead body or maybe Big Foot in our way.

If I was honest, his almost designation of our whatever we were had me fairly close to piddling in the passenger’s seat.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean . . . I mean I didn’t . . . I wasn’t trying . . . well fucking fuckety fuckery.”

That made me snort again, and had the added benefit of restarting my heartbeat. I reached across and gripped his leg.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” I said quietly.

He blinked a few times, so rapidly I thought something might’ve flown into his eyes. I wasn’t sure he was still breathing by the way all color drained from his face, the deep crimson of his embarrassment flowing through him and out his feet.

He smacked his lips a few times, as if his mouth had suddenly turned into a desert wasteland.

“I . . . uh . . . okay. That’s, um, something. I mean, to think about. It’s something we should think about. A lot. I mean . . . shit.”

“El, it’s okay. There’s no rush. I’m not some teenage lovesick puppy who’s going to suddenly turn into your stalker.” I squeezed his leg. “I really like you, and I really—really—like what we’re doing, what we’re growing into. It doesn’t need a name yet, not until we’re both comfortable, assuming that’s something we want to do, you know?”

Now I was starting to babble. Fuck me running.

He did that machine gun blinking thing again, and I swear his eyes were pregnant with moisture. What the hell? Elliot was one of the toughest, most rugged, least emotional men I’d ever met. Sure, under all the armor he wore, he was a big softie; but even in private moments, he held a shield and guarded his innermost thoughts and feelings.

What in all that was holy could make him tear up?

His head lowered a bit as I watched him wrestle with whatever was rattling around in his head.

“Mike, shit, I need . . . fuck . . . I need a minute to just . . . to breathe.”

He rolled down his window. Cool air and the scent of pine whooshed into the cabin of his truck. I gave him his moment, his silence, but refused to let go of his leg. I wasn’t trying to claim him or anything possessive. I just needed to feel him, to be close, to stay connected as he mulled over what I meant to him. I needed to touch him.

We made it all the way back to the cabin without speaking again. It was the longest, most unnerving ten minutes of my life. The sun had set, and the forest that surrounded us was dark. Only a sliver of the moon peeked out from a cloudy, starless sky, casting a warm, yet eerie glow on what I knew to be a beautiful landscape.

My psychotic brain immediately wondered if there were werewolves or vampires living in the woods—which was insane because everyone knew vampires didn’t live in a forest. Werewolves, though . . .

Elliot patted my hand, then climbed out of the truck.

I sat there trying to interpret a hand pat after the weirdness of our drive.

Was that, “Cute hand. Thanks for keeping my leg warm?”

Or could it have meant, “I love you, more than you could ever know. Please hold my leg like that for the rest of my natural life and into eternity, in some strange ghost-leg-thing that keeps us connected in the afterlife?”

Or did it mean, “Get that thing off me, you needy, clingy little bitch?”

God, I was a wreck. In the span of a ten-minute ride, I’d gone from relaxed, amused, and somewhat turned on to terrified this man I was falling for might kick me to the curb over a word I hadn’t even said.

Oh, wait.

I had said it.

Well, shit.

“Coming inside?” Elliot’s voice jerked my head up. He was standing with one hand on the opened cabin door looking back at the truck.

I had yet to unbuckle my seat belt. Idiot.

Fumbling with the buckle, I finally climbed down from the truck and joined him at the door; but rather than turn to enter, Elliot blocked my way. I looked up, a question on my brow.

He gripped my shoulders and fixed me in place.

Here we go. He’s probably going to tell me to pack up so we can head back home.

“Can we go out to the porch? Look at the lake?”

Huh. In the laundry list of things he might say, that wasn’t on it.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds nice.”

He squeezed my shoulders in an almost fatherly gesture. I was a little creeped out, totally unnerved—and oddly turned on.

We walked through the cabin and straight to the wraparound porch. Elliot passed the rocking chairs to stand at the railing. He planted both palms on the rough wood and leaned toward the lake as though he was thinking about taking a dive. I stepped up beside him but stood a couple of feet away, giving us space.

For some reason I couldn’t explain, despite craving his touch, I needed distance in that moment.

He spoke without turning to look at me.

“I’m not great with words sometimes.”

A fish flipped in the water below us, sending ripples in every direction, disturbing the mirrorlike surface.

“I’m even worse when it comes to feelings and shit.”

I bit back a chuckle. He really wasn’t good with words if he ended his sentences with, “And shit.”

But it was fucking cute.

Then he turned to face me, stepping toward me and closing the gap. With one hand, he reached up and ran his fingers through my hair. His other hand gripped the railing like the whole place might fall into the lake.

I held my breath.

“Mike, I’m fucking falling for you, and it scares me more than anything, even more than falling out of the bucket.”

“You what?” I gaped. “You fell out of the bucket? Elliot, you didn’t tell me that!”

His head lowered, but his hand remained on my cheek.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m still working through all that.”

I reached up and gripped his hand.

“We need to talk about that, but can we go back to the first part?”

His smile was tight, but it reached his eyes. They twinkled in the moon’s dim light. His thumb brushed against my skin, sending a shiver from my neck to my toes.

“I think . . .” He looked down, then out at the lake, then back into my eyes. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Mike.”

My heart burst out of the paddock and tore down the track. The crowd roared. Hooves kicked up dirt. The sky was suddenly filled with stars—and the moon—and the sun—and every other thing that ever filled the sky. And they were all spinning.

“El—” was all I got out before the spinning made me dizzy, which made the moon dim and the stars vanish and—

“Shh, easy.” Elliot’s voice was soft and low. His hand brushed back my hair and tickled the skin of my face. God, I loved how he touched me.

I blinked a few times, then glanced around. I was in the bed—well, on the bed—lying on my back with Elliot facing me from his side. There was practically no space between us. His face hovered above mine, concern lining his eyes.

“What happened?” I asked.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “You passed out.”

I rolled my eyes. “I got that. I meant, why did I . . . oh!”

It all flooded back. The truck ride. The patio. Elliot saying . . .

“I’m falling for you, too, El. I love the time we’re together, love doing things together, love being in your house and taking care of you. I love waking up next to you, being the first thing you see when your eyes open, and the first thing you see when you come home from work. I know it’s only been . . . whatever . . . I don’t care. I’ve never felt . . . this . . . so fast or hard or . . . gah! Stop me, please.”

The smile that bloomed on his face stole my heart more than any words he could ever speak.

“You’re my boyfriend, Mike. You know that, right?”

I blinked a few times, refusing to cry. Damn it. I would not cry. No way. I refused.

A tear trickled down my cheek.

Fucking shit on a stick.

“Yeah, and you’re mine, too.”

His chuckle was a growl mixed with a moan topped with a grunt.

“That’s how it works, doofus.”

“Doofus?” I cocked my head.

His hand flew to my side and dug into my ribs as his other hand attacked my other side.

“Yeah, doofus. You’re a total, complete, nerdy doofus, and you know it.”

I was squirming, laughing, dying at every dig, wishing he would stop tickling me and hoping he never did.

What had this ridiculous man done to me?

I howled with laughter and rolled, desperate to free myself, but he was bigger, stronger, faster—and I really didn’t want to escape all that badly.

“I’m gonna pee if you keep doing that!”

“Who knew? Mike Albert’s into golden showers.”

His tickles intensified.

“Elliot!”

His fingers flattened as he gripped my sides, leaned down, and pressed his lips to mine. In the space of a heartbeat, a scene of hilarious, childlike play was replaced by a kiss filled with every word we’d just spoken.

I melted.

Totally, completely, utterly melted.

Elliot shifted so his whole weight covered me, a blanket of muscle and meat, heat billowing from his body. I sank into the pillowy bedspread beneath his bulk, struggling to breathe but unwilling to move an inch.

His tongue found mine. It teased and circled.

He bit my lower lip, held it in his teeth, pulled it just enough to hurt—and it felt so damn good.

Both of his hands gripped my head, caressing me, threading into my hair.

Claiming me.

And I gave myself, freely, wholly, to my boyfriend.