My heart stopped. Then it resumed faster than usual. I’d heard these words before. I was certain. “Say it again,” I whispered, needing to hear it like oxygen.
“I love you, Claudette.” His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
A knot formed in my chest. “I love you too.” I said. I’d always loved him, for as long as I could remember but this felt like the first time I was confessing it.
I didn’t get to dwell on that as his kiss turned desperate after that—less controlled, more honest. His hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, skimming up my back. I worked at his shirt buttons, fumbling because my hands were shaking. He helped, impatient now, tugging it off like it offended him.
Then his chest was against mine and I forgot how to think.
He took his time after that—maddeningly so. Kissing down my neck, my collarbone, lower. His mouth on my skin made me gasp. Made me arch into him. His hands followed, learning the shape of me.
“Michael—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, steady and certain.
He did. Took me apart slowly until I was shaking and breathless and saying his name.
When he finally moved over me, settling between my legs, I wrapped myself around him and pulled him closer.
“Please,” I said.
He kissed me and I felt it everywhere—like something inside me recognizing something in him. Not just physical—though that was overwhelming—but something deeper. Like pieces clicking into place. Like finding something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
We moved together. He buried his face in my neck, breathing hard, saying my name between kisses. I held onto him and let myself get lost in the feeling of being completely connected to another person.
When I came apart, he was right there with me. Afterwards we lay tangled together, trying to remember how to breathe. I curled into him, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down.
“I’m glad I got to fall in love with you again,” I said quietly. “Even if I don’t remember you loving me the first time.”
His eyes held mine—glassy now, full of something I couldn’t name. Instead of answering, he kissed me. Slow and thorough. Then he made love to me again, and this time it was even better because there was no hesitation. No holding back. Just us and the feeling of being exactly where we belonged.
Afterwards I fell asleep in his arms, exhausted and happy.
That morning, I woke up wrapped around Michael.
My head was on his chest, one leg thrown over his, my arm across his waist. He was still asleep, breathing deep and even.
I took the opportunity to just look at him.
In sleep his face relaxed. Younger. The worry lines between his brows had smoothed out.
Last night played through my mind. We’d not done that before. I was certain I would have remembered sleeping with Michael Ashford. Now, I wanted to do it again, which seemed greedy but I didn’t care.
His eyes opened and found me watching.
“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.”
His hand came up to tuck hair behind my ear. “How do you feel?”
“Like my husband wore me out.”
His mouth curved into that smile that made my heart skip. “Mission accomplished.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.” He pulled me closer.
