Page 129 of Tenderfoot

Though, I told him, if it wasn’t fun, if the clients were jerks or whatever, I was out.

“The Surf Club is no stress, and I work every day with the part of my family I love, no-holds-barred. So whatever takes me from that has to be something awesome, not just something that makes me more money.”

When I said that, the tender approval written all over Javi’s amazing face told me what he thought about it.

And the depths it dug into my heart told me it meant a lot to me that Javi didn’t expect me to wring miracles in the career space, he just wanted me to be happy doing whatever I was happy doing.

We both avoided discussing Trevor or Kevin or what happened that day, and we did this without talking about the fact we were going to avoid it.

Without words, we agreed this night was about us.

Before we left for the restaurant, we’d begun, for sure.

But this was our official beginning, and we knew it.

I knew this from the moment Javi, with his big hand light on the small of my back, escorted me through the restaurant to our seats, to the moment he escorted me back out, because I didn’t ever think I’d felt so proud in my entire life.

Proud to be at the side, at the table, with this sweet, protective, handsome man who teased me, laughed with me, listened to me, looked at me like I walked on sunshine.

I wasn’t the underachiever when I was with Javi.

I was the woman who could catch the eye, the interest, the emotion of the remarkable man I was with. The woman who earned all of that. The woman who deserved it.

I was someone special when I was with Javi.

“Want another glass of wine?” Javi asked, moving to the kitchen and taking me out of my reverie.

I didn’t answer.

I also didn’t follow him to the kitchen.

I went to stand at the foot of the stairs.

I put my hand to the banister, and I let my eyes fall on him.

And I let my position tell him what I wanted.

He could accept, or decline. If he had other ideas on what would make it special between us when we finally connected in that way, I’d go with him.

But I wanted him to know where I was at.

He turned from grabbing the opened bottle of red on the counter to me, and his big body stilled.

“Lolita,” he said gently, the word like a soft caress that reached clear across the space.

“Your choice,” I replied. “But just know, I’m ready.”

I needed to say no more.

Javi put the wine down, and unhurried but not slow, he walked across his great room. With slowly escalating excitement, I marveled at his male grace as he came to me.

And when he got to me, he didn’t take my hand. He didn’t kiss me.

He bent and lifted me, like a groom carried his bride, and he started up the steps.

This move was so poignant, so exquisite, I rounded his neck with my arms and shoved my face in the side, breathing in his spicy cologne, breathing in Javi, grounding myself in him so I wouldn’t ruin the moment by bursting into tears.

We made his bedroom, and beside the bed, I felt him shift as he flicked off his shoes.

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