Page 78 of At the Edge with You

“I am. I…” He pauses, closing his eyes, and I hate the torment on his face.

“Jett?” I ask, and he opens his eyes. There is something in his expression that I can’t identify. It’s almost as if he wants to say something, but he’s holding back.

Why would he hold back?

“What is it?”

He shakes his head, the look gone as he says, “Thank you for telling her about me.”

I squeeze his fingers, leaning into him. “I love talking about you.”

Jett’s eyes dance with mine before he sends me a smirk. “There is something I’ve always wanted to do with you.”

My lip quirks. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says roughly, moving his lips so they’re right over mine, our gazes locking. “I want to take you out to my truck, get you in the back seat, and make you scream.”

Heat rushes right between my legs, but I ignore it to feign shock. “I am a lady. I don’t get in the back seat with boys.”

He scoffs, grinning from ear to ear. “A lady, yes, but we both know you want to get in the back seat with your man.”

I fight back the grin until I can’t hold it off anymore. When I flash all my teeth at him, knowing my eyes are bright and wide for him, I lean in to give him a chaste kiss. Then I whisper, “I’m no lady when I get in bed with you.”

He chuckles roughly against my lips, grabbing ahold of my ass. “No, but you’re always my princess.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Jett

I can’t take my eyes off her.

Not that I can any other time she’s in my vicinity, but tonight, Fable Winthrop looks like a queen.

My queen.

Her hair is down, white-blond waves dusting her shoulders as she holds her champagne flute in one hand, her other hand in mine. She had someone come in and do her makeup, so it’s not as light as it usually is. Instead, her eyes shine with the extra stuff on them to make them darker, her lashes long and sultry. Her lips are as red as the dress she wears—and the dress? Well, let’s just say it was hard for me to leave it on her. It ties behind her neck in a simple bow that is embellished with crystals. The halter style leaves her back open and shows a bit of sexy side boob. The skirt is fitted, with a slit up to her thigh that gives just enough of a peek of her tattoo to make me crazy. She paired the masterpiece with a pair of high, red-bottomed black heels that bring the top of her head to my eyes.

She’s stunning, and she’s all mine.

Even with the magnificent ambiance of the event that is raising money to plant more trees along Rainbow Falls Trail to Mount Le Conte, nothing sparkles the way Fable does. The room is full of very important people—even the governor of Tennessee is here—but I feel as if all eyes are on Fable. Together, we work the room and describe our vision for the Ice Thistle. We play off each other, adding different facts and explaining how we want to put Thistlebrook on the map for winter sports. When she gets off subject, usually distracted by something someone says that intrigues her, I bring her back to the reason we’re here. She rewards me with a thankful little smile that I feel deep in my gut before she leans into me.

We really are great partners.

“You two are just adorable,” one of the wives says, her eyes moving between us as her face lights up. “Are you two married?”

Fable almost chokes on her champagne, while I grin widely. “Not yet, but one day.”

I feel Fable’s gaze move along my face, and when I look over, her eyes are bright and excited. “One day,” she repeats, and my heart soars. I’d marry her right now, right here, if she’d let me.

“Well, don’t wait too long. Life is short.”

Before either of us can comment, she walks away with a sweet smile. I couldn’t agree more. We aren’t getting younger, and my body can testify to that. If I weren’t a proud man, I’d be limp from the soreness that plagues me after being on the ice with my stunning girl. Fable looks up at me shyly, and I kiss her nose.

We move through the crowd until Fable sees someone she wants to speak to. I stand beside her, my hand at her back, my thumb moving along her ribs as she explains all the things we’re doing in the west rink to the folks who run the Ford Ice Center in Clarksville, Tennessee. They go back and forth, trading ideas, and I’ve never been so proud of Fable. I’ve seen her getoverwhelmed by these kinds of conversations, but tonight, she’s glowing.

“Tell them about the raccoon telenovela,” I suggest when the conversation gets stale.

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