“You come back to Thailand with me. To the house.”
I pull back just enough to study him. “The house? As in the one we stayed in when you won the holiday at auction?”
He hesitates. “It’s mine, Amy. Always was. I bought it years ago.”
My laugh is soft, but there’s an edge. “And you didn’t think to mention that? Even while we were there? You absolute—”
He kisses the words away, rough and desperate, stealing them before I can say more. “I wasn’t hiding it to hurt you. I just didn’t want the house to be about me. I wanted our time there to be about us.”
The protest forming in my mouth dies on my tongue. His lips find mine again, slower, more coaxing.
“Ivan…” My voice breaks on his name. “So, you’ll come tomorrow?”
“I’d love to,” he murmurs against my mouth, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Is this it, Amy? Are we doing this? You and me. Together?”
“I want to.” My hands go to his hair, pulling him toward me, and our kiss deepens. “I want you. I need you.”
“Sweetheart, you have me. I’m at your mercy.” His lips trail down my jawline. “I love you in ways I didn’t think were humanly possible.” He kisses away a stray tear sliding down my cheek. “I love you. For the first time in years, my future excites me. And that is all you.”
And the remaining worries that he doesn’t want this fly away. He means it, and I trust him. I believe Ivan is my happily ever after. We are exactly where we are meant to be.
Our kisses become urgent, the air charged.
“Take me to bed,” I tell him, tugging him closer. “Show me how much you love me.”
Chapter forty-two
Salt. The sting when your newly pampered skin meets the fresh sea.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how blue the ocean is in Thailand. This may be my second visit, but it’s still as jaw dropping as it was the first time.
“I’m going for a swim,” Ivan says, pushing himself up off the sand. His towel scrunches beneath his feet, the white dust pouring over the edges. “Join me?”
He turns, holding out his hand.
I groan. “I only just got dry.”
The wicked grin I’ve come to love spreads over his lips. His knees bend a fraction, and he leans in. Deft fingers stretch toward me, tempting me to take them. Goading me to say no. It’s not as if I truly have a choice. We both know that.
“And now, you’ll get wet again,” he says.
My stomach lurches. Every nerve standing to attention, demanding they be first under his scrutiny. So much innuendoin so few words. So many promises of what’s to come, and what’s on his mind. Ivan means business.
I reach for him. Our fingers link, palms grazing as he pulls me upward. I spring to my feet as if weighing nothing. His other arm wraps around my back, clamping me hard against him. Solid. Steady. And all mine.
“Good girl,” he whispers, lips dangerously close to my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “It’s nice to know you can do as you’re told at least once.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, attempting to step backward and failing. His arm locks tighter. I’m frozen mid-step, not wanting to comply but unable to move.
“Say please.”
I roll my eyes. “I never say please to my minion.”
He laughs, deep and throaty, the way he does when genuinely happy. He loves our tit for tat conversations. The ones where we push the other’s buttons for kicks. They always end the same way—in bed. Well, not always, if I’m being honest, sometimes, we don’t make it that far. But I always end up flat on my back.
Without warning, he scoops me up, throwing me over his shoulder. We sprint toward the ocean, me dangling down his back like a fish on the hook. I kick and scream, pounding my fists into taut muscle. My hands bounce off his slick skin barely leaving a dent.
He ignores me and continues to run.
