My hand in her hair and hers on my neck, and finally, fucking finally, her eyes closing and her lips on mine. Soft lips. My nose pressing into her cheek, swiping my tongue along her lips and her deep hum.
Sydney used to shit on me for kissing her in a way that wasn’t aesthetically pleasing. Before our wedding, she made me practice the picture-perfect kiss.
I didn’t give a fuck how this looked. I fucking devoured Mara because I needed her. I needed her tongue and her taste. I needed her air and her little gasps. Her whimpers and mine. The relief and the security and the feral desperation of it all.
I needed her alive. I needed her safe.
But most of all, I needed her with me.
TWENTY-FIVE
MARA
NOVEMBER
“Hey, lady.”
A hand squeezed my foot through my blankets and I popped an eye open. “Gab!”
“How you feelin’?” she asked. She kept her voice upbeat, but I saw the concern in her expression.
“Getting there. They think I can go home tomorrow.”
“That’s good. I think Jack’ll be happy to see you coming,” Gabi said.
I wrinkled my brow. “Wait, I thought you were taking the kids tonight.”
She shrugged. “He insisted. Told me it helped keep Aspen from worrying as much when he was with Harper. I took him some clothes for everybody from your place.”
Aspen put on a brave face when I talked to him on the phone, but I could tell he was anxious. I get it. His dad left him, and if I didn’t get better, I’d be leaving him.
My stomach turned thinking of how worked up he must be. And how sweet it was of Jack to look after his emotional needs like that. I knew he was a caring dad, but to see him extend thatcare to my child was . . . I didn’t know what it was, but it made me want to hug his neck.
“They’re doing fine, Mara,” Gabi said, squeezing my foot again. “Ooh, you got the fun grippy socks.”
“Does this qualify as a grippy sock vacation?” I asked, sitting up in my bed.
“Depends. Does it feel like a vacation?”
I laughed. “Not particularly.”
“I heard you had a visitor, though,” Gabi said with a grin.
“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it,” I groaned. “He asked me to marry him.”
“Excuse me, what?” Gabi drawled. “Go back to the beginning.”
I blew out a heavy breath and laid it all out for her: his nanny situation, his idea that I needed help and he could give it, and that he couldn’t love me.
“Who cares about love? You could both get action somewhere else,” she shrugged. “He’s rich. Let him foot whatever bills he wants.”
“That’s another thing,” I said. “He said he wouldn’t cheat, even if it meant no sex.”
Gabi pointed her finger in the air like she was doing a calculation. “Does that mean . . . he wants . . . you?”
I buried my face in my hands. “We may have already crossed into that territory to some degree. And,” I peeked through my fingers, “he kissed me.”
“MARA! Why didn’t you tell me?”
