Page 68 of Fighting Gravity

She nodded, her soft smile returning. “I trust you.”

38

Now that she had Tate in her arms, Rosie never wanted to let him go.

Looking into his breathtaking eyes as they danced, her concerns about his trustworthiness seemed ludicrous. His love for her radiated outward, warming her like sunrays.

And now he wanted her to get on a plane. After months apart, Rosie couldn’t wait to be alone with him. The need to show him how much she loved him was lightning in her veins.

He grinned, and she almost couldn’t handle the beauty. “You trust me?”

“I trust you.”

His hand dropped to her side as he tugged her away.

But there were people and perfunctory actions blocking their path to the exit. Rosie received an effusive hug from Quinn and a grin from Vadim, who looked like sin, even to her, with tattoos peeking out of his tux. She greeted Matt and met his wife, Pia, who hugged Rosie like they were friends already.

They were almost out when an older woman with a mess of curls stepped in front of them. She crossed her arms and fixed Tate with a look. Rosie heard his frustrated growl.

“Well, Pretty Boy, I do believe you pulled this party off.”

“Can’t take the credit. The planning was all Quinn.”

She nodded. “I like a man who can give credit where it’s due. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Rosie opened her mouth, but Tate beat her to it. “She’s not my friend, Gloria. Rosie is the love of my life, and if I don’t kiss her without an audience in the next two minutes, I’m going to fucking combust.”

Rosie sputtered while Gloria cackled. “I hope you like fire in a man, Red. This one’s got it, though he hides it well.”

She sauntered off, Rosie blinking after her. “Wow.”

Tate squeezed her hand. “I know. I would have thought she could come up with a nickname more original than ‘Red.’”

Rosie turned her attention to the man who’d just admitted to a stranger all she meant to him. She pulled him through the double doors and outside. Cascading steps spilled below them to the street, but Rosie didn’t take them. Like he’d done to her outside The Saloon all those months ago, she pushed Tate up against the building, where he connected with anoof.

“Damn, what’s—”

“Can’t have you combusting now, can we?”

She stepped closer, her legs between his. The dress—oh, the gorgeous dress—allowed full range of movement. Tate’s mouth popped open. His aqua eyes filled with unchecked lust, but he recovered quickly. His hands were on her ass within seconds, pulling her closer.

Rosie branded him as hers with her mouth, her hands. His crisp shirt was unforgiving, as were the muscles underneath, but his lips and tongue molded to hers. She melted their hips together, delighting in his readiness.

“Too late,” he said against her lips.

Rosie sympathized. Still, she rubbed against him, as much for her own pleasure as Tate’s.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

The twenty minutes to the airstrip felt like an eternity to her pent-up body.

On the bench seat inside the jet, the same spot they’d christened in Palm Springs, Tate seemed to let his desire take over. He’d been holding back because he had to; she knew that. People, rules of the road. But now…Rosie reveled in the visible signs that Tate had broken open with need for her.

She had just taken a seat when his hands were behind her knees, yanking her back flat against the bench. He brushed the gauzy black fabric away from her legs, gentle with the dress but not with her. Her black thong was gone in seconds, caught in her complicated strappy stiletto. Tate gave no warning, murmured no words, before gripping her thighs and taking her clit in his mouth. Rosie couldn’t control her cry. Her hands sank into his hair as he licked her into a quick, crashing oblivion.

Tate kissed her exposed throat as she came down.

His smell, the weight of him, his deep chuckle as she trembled, reminded her how much she’d missed him. How much she loved all parts of who he was. And she wanted him to know just how much.

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