“I never stopped hoping.” So earnest. So completely Theo. “None of us did.”
“Tell me to stop and I will.” I’m inches from his mouth now. “Tell me this is a terrible idea and I’ll back off. But if you don’t?—”
He doesn’t tell me to stop.
So I kiss him.
I kiss him like I’ve been thinking about it for ten years. Because I have.
And he kisses me back immediately—no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just a decade of wanting finally allowed to be real. His hands find my waist and pull me closer, and god, it’s better than I imagined. Better than I wrote. He tastes like coffee and something sweet, and his scent goes thick and warm as his body responds to mine.
Something inside me sighs with relief. Finally. Finally, finally, finally.
I press closer, needing more. His fingers flex on my hips. Tighten. Like he’s trying to hold himself back.
I don’t want him to hold back.
“Theo.” I nip at his lower lip. “Stop thinking.”
He groans against my mouth. His hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against him, and when I feel him hard againstmy stomach, slick gathers between my thighs. My body knows what it wants. What it’s been denied for a decade.
“Cara.” He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to mine. “We should—I don’t want to rush?—”
“I’ve waited ten years.” I press a kiss to his jaw. “That’s not rushing.”
“I want to do this right.” His voice is strained. His hands are still holding me close, contradicting his words. “You deserve?—”
“Maybe I do.” I pull back to look at him. His eyes are dark with want, lips parted, breathing hard. “Maybe we both do. After all this time.”
He stares at me. Wonder flickers across his face. Maybe awe.
“You really did come back for us.”
“I really did.” My voice cracks a little. “Terrifying, right? I’m terrified. But I’m here anyway.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I watch him struggle with it—this man who’s spent his whole life putting others first. Learning to want is hard. I know that better than anyone.
“I want you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you until neither of us can think straight. I want to take you home and cook you dinner and fall asleep with you in my arms.” His voice drops. “I want to be someone you came back for. Not just the nice one. Not just the safe one.”
“You are.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “You always were.”
He makes a sound low in his throat and kisses me again. Harder this time. Less careful. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and I let him take what he needs because god, I need it too.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His scent has gone thick and heavy with arousal, and I can smell myself responding—slick gathering, body readying itself for an alpha it’s wanted for far too long.
“Cara.” His voice is strained. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to do something very inadvisable in my greenhouse.”
“Would that be so bad?” I trail my fingers down his chest. Feel his muscles tense under my touch.
“Yes.” He catches my hand, brings it to his lips. “Because I want to do this right. Not fast and desperate against a potting bench.”
“That sounds kind of hot, actually.” I grin at him, even though my heart is pounding. “Just saying.”
“Cara.” His voice is somewhere between a groan and a plea. “You’re killing me.”
I laugh and step back, giving him space to breathe. He looks wrecked—hair mussed, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. Exactly how I imagined him when I wrote those scenes.
“Rain check on the potting bench?”
