“Is it possible to want you even more?” His strong hands grasped my waist, and he hoisted me up. My legs wound around him.
I needed to touch him and slid my fingers behind his neck, tracing the skin under his collar, but I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to freak out again every time I turned into a gawking fan girl. I needed to know we weren’t going to have this fight until the end of time.
“And if I want to sit in on Whiplash’s rehearsal next week?”
“Whatever you want, Layla. That will always be your choice.”
I hugged him. “Thank you.”
“So you forgive me?”
“You are forgiven, Shane. Just—”
“Just what?”
“Give me a little room to breathe.”
“I know. That was the point of my song. I—”
“No. I mean, right now. You’re squeezing me too tight.”
His chest rumbled with laughter, and he carried me to the bed and laid me down. “I promise I’ll treat you like a butterfly. I’m so fucking glad you came back.”
He laid down beside me, and we rolled on our sides, fingers gently touching any exposed skin. I said, “I don’t know how I was so lucky to find you.”
“You didn’t find me. You plunged into my life like a comet.”
I smiled. “Leftover song lyrics?”
“So busted.” He rested a palm on my cheek, gazing into my eyes. “I’m the one who’s fallen. I’ve fallen so hard for you. I’ve been obsessed with you. I’m head over heels in love with you.”
My gut reaction—to balk at the possibility of his love—met a stone wall of resistance, and I remembered what Eden had told me about time not mattering. “I’m pretty sure I love you, too, Shane.”
And then we stopped talking. I needed more than words. I needed to possess him if only for a moment in time. And I needed to be possessed.
Epilogue
Acool breeze stirred against my exposed shoulder, waking me. I felt around on the floor for my T-shirt and threw it on, then stumbled over to shut the front window. The building across the street blushed pink and orange with reflected sunrise. The summer nights had been warm, and we’d sat out on the fire escape every night since Shane had gotten home from his west coast tour.
The light crept across the wooden floorboards, illuminating first his fingers and arm that hung over the side of the bed. Those arms had held me at our ballroom dance lessons. They’d hugged me when I’d signed up for computer classes. They’d wrapped around me in that very bed as we made love or as I slept.
I tiptoed over and touched the skin the morning sun revealed. His face, beautiful and sweet. His shoulders, broad and strong. His back, smooth and inviting. I slid the covers down and down, and he woke, turning toward me, exposing another impressive part of himself to the day.
“Morning,” he said, snatching my hand and pulling me to him. “You’re up early.”
My hand found him and brought him fully erect. “So are you.”
“I was dreaming about you.”
That made me smile. I straddled him, rubbing our sexes together just to watch his face melt into serene happiness. “What did you dream?”
“I planned an elaborate scheme with secret rooms and a hot air balloon, I think.” He pushed his hands up my torso, and my shirt bunched up. I lifted my arms and let him take it off.
“What kind of scheme was this?”
He groaned in response, but in his defense, I was soaking wet now and grinding against him. He was so massive, I loved to use him like a sex toy, and he’d let me. I leaned down to suck on his lips while I stroked myself with his anticipation.
He whispered, “It was a proposal.”
