She nods once, the large topknot on her head bobbing forward. “What do you want?” Magnolia asks, her gaze locked with mine.
My heart pounds against my chest so rapidly I know she can feel the shift, knows my thoughts even if I didn’t say a word. “Be more specific, Magnolia,” I tease. “What do I want now? What do I want next month? Next year? What do I want in the next century?” Her eyes narrow as she contemplates how to respond, and I lose myself in the perusing the shape of her body—the parts that aren’t hidden by water, the sections of skin that belong to my gaze alone. Belong to me.
She licks her lips. I watch.
“I’ll answer my own questions. I want you, Magnolia. You’re the answer.”
Magnolia smiles with her eyes. “That’s pretty flattering.”
“It’s truth,” I counter, clearing my throat. Speaking so many truths consecutively feels odd.
“As long as you’re not the problem,” she says, stepping out of the bath in one languid movement. Bubbles slowly slide down her naked body—crawling down her flat stomach, dripping down toned legs, sliding between her legs as water falls off her peaked nipples.
My mouth waters as I shake my head in disbelief. How lucky am I?
Magnolia extends her hand down to help me stand up, and I take it. “I have another idea,” she announces when my wet body is pressed against hers on the small bath mat in front of the tub.
“I might have to shoot it down if it’s not the same as my idea.”
Cool and confident, she replies, “It’s the same idea.”
Magnolia licks a drop of water off my chest while looking up at me through thick, black lashes.
“Thank God,” I murmur, letting my eyelids fall to half-mast.
TWELVE
Magnolia
I should tellhim it doesn’t matter. That we can get over everything from our pasts together, but that’s a cliché, and it’s probably a lie. No one ever truly gets over anything traumatic. We shove it down into the corners of our psyche and pray it doesn’t bubble up during inopportune times. Like when you want to have a sleepover for the first time. Or when you go on a first date. I think my honesty upfront about the divorce and affair is why we’re here right now. Existing in this unfamiliar territory of honesty and love stripped bare. It could just be perfect timing or destiny. Was my entire life planned before it began? If I had met Aidan Mixx earlier in my life, would anything have changed? Would I never feel this all-consuming passion with anyone if one thing threw my path off course?
I’m still quivering, coming down from the last orgasm Aidan gave me, wrapped in a sheet, on the floor in his living room. The moon is shining in through the window, making the reality look a little more romantic than it actually is. I made a huge pallet bed on the floor with all of the blankets, pillows, andcomforters I could find in his linen closet and on his bed. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s also not a bed, but he deserves to be understood. Even if it’s at the expense of my own comfort. “You can go sleep on the bed, Magnolia,” Aidan whispers into the dark space between our sweaty bodies. “You don’t have to stay here. In fact, I must insist you sleep comfortably.”
“This was my idea, I’ll remind you. I want to sleep where you are. I am perfectly comfortable right here.”
He pulls me toward him and tucks me into his big spoon. I sigh, and a little more security washes over me, his bicep now tucked under my head. I close my eyes against the physical and emotional exhaustion. I’m almost asleep when Aidan says lowly against my ear, “I didn’t tell you the most important thing.” His tone is provocative, a luring call I can’t resist.
I turn in his arms to face him.
I kiss his lips that still taste like me.
“I love you, Magnolia.”
I grin at his proclamation. “You do?”
“I said it, didn’t I?” he replies. He kisses me once more. “I always mean what I say.”
“I was the one who told you to love me,” I add.
“You can’t control me, woman,” Aidan growls, taking my lip between his teeth. “I love who I want.”
“You’ve loved many women in your past?” I pull away so I can see his gaze in the dim light.
Aidan shakes his head. “Only you could turn this life-shattering moment for me into an inquisition.”
“No,” I counter. “I need to know so I know how seriously I should take it.” Smiling, I run my hand through his messy hair.
He sighs, and it’s kind of a groan. “If you flipped through my mental dictionary, there would be a photo of you next to the word ‘love.’ Just a photo of you.”
