“I’d flirt with you.” I press a gentle kiss along her jaw.
“I’d flirt back.”
“I’d agree to build your shelves but refuse any sort of money. Instead, all I ask is for a date.”
She vibrates with a small hum. “I’d have to offer money anyway but graciously accept the date.”
“For days, weeks, months, I would court you. Buy you flowers and show up at your bookstore with chocolates and little gifts. My shop wouldn’t be far away from yours, so every day, I’d clean myself up and walk you home.”
“You’d meet my mother, and she’d love you. She’d give you a hug so tight, it might crack your ribs, and tell you that you’re always welcome in her home—unless you break my heart.”
“Which I wouldn’t.”
Her eyes drift closed. “She’d gush over you, and so would I.”
“With time, I would learn all of your favorite things.” I run my nose up over her cheek until my face aligns with hers. My breath fans over her lips, and when I inhale, I can smell that chocolate-covered strawberry. “Then one day, I’d get down on one knee. In the way that you’ve always dreamed, of course; your mother told me after I bribed her with compliments and flirty winks.Mothers love me.”Valentina lets out a small chuckle, and I continue on.
“I’d ask you to marry me, but I’m too impatient to wait another year, so I suggest that we run away together and elope.”
“I say yes. I cry, my mother cries, and I pack my bags because—how did you know I always wanted to elope?”
“You told me one night over dinner and wine. The wedding is beautiful, naturally, but not as beautiful as you in that damn wedding gown.” When I speak, my voice has gone raspy and rough. “We’d return to our hotel where candles would be lit and flower petals are spread over the bed.” My hands skim over her hips, fingertips curling into her thighs. “I’d pick you up like this.” Her skirt floats around us in the water, making it easy to allow it to gather at her hips as I pick her up and wrap her legs around my waist. She lets out a small sound, something like a gasp. “And I’d carry you to the bed.”
Holding her tightly, I move with the waves. Her weight settles against me as we leave the water behind. Sand shifts underfoot with every step I make, but I’m steady. Certain. I stop where the waves lap against the beach.
“I’d lay you on the bed.” Ever so slowly, so very carefully and gently, I lower to the ground and lay her down before settling between her legs. Her chest rises with ragged, rapid breaths. Those perfect, pouty lips parting and waiting. Goosebumps follow my fingers as I run them up her thigh. I stop when I feel the lace of panties. “And I’d kiss you till you were numb.”
I’m lost in her stormy ocean eyes. I’m drunk on her scent, the liquor, and lake water. Her delicate hands glide up my forearms, biceps, and trace lines along my soaked shirt that clings to my muscles.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
She’s a work of art under me. Creamy skin, pink blush, red lips, and icy blonde hair laid across the shore. Sand sticks to our wet skin. She shifts under me, hips aligning oh so right against me. Desire rushes through me, hardens me. Another noise escapes her. This time, it’s some strange mix of a whimper and a moan, but the sound is cut short.
My lips meet hers, our bodies naturally fitting together like we were born to complete the other. I can’t hear the crashing waves, the caw of birds flying overhead, or the flowers and grasses that sway in the winds that churn here. Every fiber of my being is focused on this kiss. On her. The way she tastes like sugar. The way she pulls me against her as though she wants to be suffocated by me. How her nails dig into my shoulders before traveling down and pressing my hips forward into her.
This isn’t a gentle, pleading kiss. This kiss, thisdamnkiss, is a ravenous hungry beast that may never be satiated. I’ll never get enough.
I grind into her, nothing but her wet panties and the thin material of my pants between us. She groans into my mouth. I am not a prince, and she is not my father’s wife. Right here, right now, I’m a carpenter, and she’s the owner of a quaint little book shop. And we’re fiercely, desperately in love.
And not a fucking soul can stop us.
“Merrick!” From the steps above, a familiar voice carries with an urgency that cannot be ignored.
I pull away, breathing heavily over Valentina, who shivers against me and groans. “Fuck.”
She’s frozen under me, eyes still closed, with lipstick smeared against her swollen mouth. Her heart beats wildly against my chest.
My name is called again, and I look up to see Casimir sprinting toward us. If he’s here, that can’t mean anything good. His steps slow as he takes in the scene. With a grimace, he speaks, “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Seriously. So sorry.”
“Out with it,” I growl.
“The Witch is gone. Violence is gone.”
Chapter Fifteen
Violence
I’m flying. I’m free-falling. I’m gone.
