Giving her a tiny yank, he met her eyes as she moved toward him. “It’s going to be good. Actually, I’m pretty sure it will be amazing.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “I know. I do. I’m just a little nervous that it’s all too easy.”
“We’ve waited a long time for this,” he reminded her.
“You’re right. Let’s stop waiting. I want to start the rest of my life. Here. Now.”
“That’s my girl.” He pulled her in for a kiss. She melted into him, her face tipped up to meet his lips. Apparently he was tired of bending over to meet her, because he picked her up, slipping his arms under her butt to support her. She squeaked, wrapped her legs around his hips, but didn’t let go of the kiss.
He turned and walked to the cabin and she finally pulled free with a laugh. “You need to watch where we’re going!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
On the porch, he looked around, then moved a ceramic frog so that he could pick up the key that was underneath. He managed to open the door without dropping her or his bag, and she managed to hang on without bumping him with her bag. Too much.
When they were inside, he let her slide down and they turned to take a look. The cabin was rustic, probably decorated in the late eighties, but it was clean, charming, and had a fireplace and tiny kitchen. Large windows took up most of the far wall, and they walked over to see a spectacular view of the Gila National Forest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she snuggled in.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you for doing this.”
He pulled out his phone and worked the screen. “Let’s dance.” The first strains of one of her favorite songs, “Stand By Me”, came from the phone. He set it on the table and she turned into his arms. She wouldn’t have guessed him to be a dancer. Honestly, she wasn’t much of one herself, but held in his arms, mostly just swaying to the music, her heart tripped over into love.
Jonas held Cindy in his arms, dancing—if you could call it that—to the old song. He was on the edge of peaceful happiness and needy anticipation. He wanted the night to go on forever, but he wanted her to be his. Wanted to be hers, so she would never question their place together. Wanted to be inside of her and on top of her and underneath her and…well. He wanted her.
As the song neared the end, he pushed her out a little, gave her a bit of a spin. The next song started, and he waited a heartbeat to see her reaction, a little nervous about his gamble.
The distinctive first chords of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On” cut into the room.
Little lines appeared in her forehead as the lyrics began, and then she began to laugh. And laugh. Until she was doubled-over with it.
How could he resist her? She was made for him. He scooped her up, holding tight as she was shaking with laughter. Her arms wrapped around him to hold on and she buried her face in his neck.
He picked up the phone and carried her to the bedroom. There was little else in the small room besides a queen bed and a dresser with fresh flowers on top. That was more than he needed. He tossed her on the bed so that she bounced, and turned off the phone, cutting poor Marvin off mid-lyric. He set the phone on the dresser and advanced on the bed.
She watched him coming, and he liked seeing the anticipation on her face, the desire. But there was also a touch of nerves.
He could relate. Chances were very strong that they were about to be mated, and more than anything, he wanted to make her happy with the choice that had been made for them.
Intellectually, he knew they would both be happy. Hell, he already was.
Actually, now that it was coming down to it, what would he do if she turned out not to be his mate? Could he really be that attached to her already that the idea he was wrong about her being his mate could cause that stab to the gut?
“What are you thinking,” she asked.
He realized he’d been staring at her. He swallowed. “I want this to be right. For you. And I want you to be my mate. I’m going to be really, really pissed if you’re not.”
The pleased smile that blossomed across her face made his nerves worthwhile. She crooked a finger at him. “Come here. Let’s make it right.”
He put one hand on her ankle, dragged her a bit closer, and pulled off her shoe. Then the other. She sat up and grabbed the hem of her top.
“Wait,” he said. “Let me.”
She let go, took his offered hand and slid off the bed to stand in front of him. He cupped her face and tasted her soft, inviting lips. Her hands settled on his hips and her lips opened in welcome. He kissed her, softly, slowly, moving one hand to the nape of her neck, the other sliding down to her lower back, pulling her in close. Tight. When her hands began to roam his back, pulling him, fisting in his shirt, he broke the kiss and teased her jaw with his nose. “You taste so sweet. So perfect,” he murmured in her ear.
“I want more,” she begged. She yanked at his shirt.
“Patience.”
“Why?”
