Willow goes to pull her hand from under mine but I clasp her wrist, feeling her fast pulse under my fingers. “How long has it been?” Maybe it’s recent. That would make it… passable. “Since Colt and Kiara’s wedding?” I’m a pretty good dancer. Maybe that did it.
She chuckles sadly. That would be a hell no.
Way longer than that.
Fuck!Her wrist beats like a trapped animal under my grasp. I let her go, vaguely ashamed, and steeple my fingers. “Please look at me. And please tell me. How long?”
She shakes her head. “Umm…” She shrugs, stifles a chuckle, looks everywhere except at me.
“When did it start?” And how could I have missed this?
“You weren’t supposed to find out—ever.”
“What the actual fuck, Willow.”
“I know—I’m sorry,” she stammers.
I am, officially, the biggest dick ever. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”
She smiles softly.
“What?”
“You’re cursing,” she explains, and she looks positively entertained by the fact. “Remember, you said—”
“Oh I remember all right.” The memory of us in the study, going over that stupid spreadsheet, her teasing me because I wouldn’t use the F word, me telling her I cursed in the right circumstances—sex might have been hinted at. “Consider this foreplay, then.”
Her chest rises and falls, breath coming in shallow pants.
I flag a server and hand her my credit card. “Abby, something came up. Bag our order, take my card. I’ll pick everything up later tonight.” Then I take Willow’s hand, and when she twines her fingers with mine I almost roar.
Once outside, I pull her to my side as she sets a hurried pace toward Lilyvale. “You have some explaining to do.”
“No-I-don’t,” she quips, wrapping her arm around my hips like she’s done a dozen times now—and now I know why she wasso goodat it. She wasn’t faking.
Neither was I. “What did Cassandra mean by crushing on me?”
“Noah, please,” she breathes.
“Careful. You’re even sexier when you beg.”
She looks around as if someone could hear us. As if I wasn’t growling right against her ear.
I give her earlobe a nibble as we turn from Elm street onto Callaway Drive.
She hisses, throwing her neck back. “Ah,” she coos, wrapping her hand tighter around me.
“How long has it been? Tell me.”
She hastens her steps. “No.”
Okay. I’ll pick this up later.“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?” I murmur against her neck. She almost trips, would have if she weren’t so glued to me.
“Home,” she says, and I love the way it sounds in her mouth. I love that home is the same place for her and for me. “There’s too much happening right now.”
I open the front door. “I disagree. There’s not enough happening.” Then before she can step inside, I scoop her up and carry her over the threshold. She twines her hands behind my nape, and we pause for a moment. Eye to eye, no talking.
I’m carrying my bride into my family home. Lilyvale is eerily silent for several beats. Willow’s irises darken, my heart threatens to escape from my ribcage, and we’re in a time warp—what seems like an eternity stretches, lasting forever yet way too short.
