Page 76 of Winning Match
I slide my finger under the taped flap on the side of the box and gently, neatly unwrap the present. My eyes dart to Ale’s once before I lift the top on the small jewelry box.
My heart pounds wondering what he bought me.
But then, I see it and my heart drops to my feet, tears springing to my eyes. Nestled in the jewelry box is a gold pendant attached to a gold chain.
An anchor.
Just like the one Dad gifted Mom on their first anniversary when he promised to be steady and steadfast. The one that meant the world to me before I lost it.
But when my eyes meet Ale’s, I see the nervousness in his expression.
“I don’t want to overstep,” he says.
“You can’t.” My eyes are wide as my emotions rise. “This is…this is the most perfect, most meaningful gift you could have given me. It’s beautiful and I…I love it.” I love you.
A smile curls his lips. “I’m glad.”
“Anchors are supposed to be resilient,” I explain, fingering the pendant before lifting it from the box.
Ale takes it from my hand, and I turn, gathering my hair as he places it around my neck and fastens the clasp. I drop my hair, and he runs a hand down my naked spine, before I hug him.
“Thank you.” I kiss him.
He smiles against my lips. “Some people believe that anchors represent new beginnings.” He kisses me softly. “A fresh start.”
I kiss him again, my desire for him stirring, as I wonder about the symbolism.
Ale’s hands caress my naked body, and I toss my leg over his hips, straddling him as we start all over again. Our kissing and touching turns into another round of delicious sex.
After we simultaneously shatter at the seams does Ale stare into my eyes, an expression I can’t read washing over his face. He pulls in a breath, his eyes flashing, before moving to the bathroom for a washcloth. He cleans me up, wraps me in his arms, and kisses me good night.
“Feliz Cumpleaños, Marli.”
I smile, and drift to sleep.
22
Ale
When I wake in the morning, the scent of jasmine envelops me. For a heartbeat, I don’t want to open my eyes, convinced I dreamed the entire thing.
Marlowe’s possessive hold on my shoulders. The arch in her back as she pressed her chest into mine. The sweet moans and desperate pants that echoed in my eardrums, driving me to the edge. The feel of her hot hands on me, tracking, memorizing, feeling. When she looked into my eyes moments before release, she stared straight into my soul.
And everything fucking changed.
Amor. Love. The word flashed like a neon sign in my mind. I felt it—the all-consuming understanding that she is it for me—rush through my veins, burst in my chest, settle in my core.
I am in love with Marlowe Claire Prescott.
She shattered a heartbeat after my earth-shaking realization and that pushed me clear off the edge. I followed, crying out her name. And I called her mi amor.
My love.
I pull in a shaky breath and open my eyes. Marlowe is still asleep, her body curled into mine like a cat. Her lips are pillowy soft and slightly parted. Her eyelashes long and casting half-moons on her cheeks.
I smile, drinking her in.
I’ve never called a woman “my love” before. I’ve never been anywhere near crossing a line like that. But last night, with Marlowe…
