Page 149 of You're The One
His brows pull together. “With who?”
“Emma. I came back to talk to you, and I saw you hug her…” I force the words out. “Then you both went into your room.”
“You came back?” he asks, then shakes his head. “We’ll come back to that. Emma showed up just as I was leaving to find you. I hated the way I handled our fight?—”
“Me too,” I whisper.
“I ran into her at the door, and she hugged me before I realized what was happening. After that, I ended things with her. I needed to come to you with everything cleaned up. I needed to tell you it’s just us. For you to see the proof. I didn’t know if that was why you left… if you doubted where we stood.”
I stroke his wrist, the knot in my chest loosening a little more. “How did she take it?”
“Surprisingly well. I think she might have something going on with Bodhi.”
“Hmm. I can see that.”
“Yeah, maybe. I still think the guy’s kind of a douche, but as long as he makes her happy.” He gives a little shrug.
“So… you came back?” he repeats, like he needs my reassurance just as much as I needed his.
I nod. “I’m sorry I ran… the first time and the second. I just… didn’t know what else to do. Running is my default when thingsget hard. It’s a difficult habit to break, I guess. But I don’t want to run anymore. Not from you.”
He presses his forehead to mine.
“I’ll try?—”
He exhales a quiet laugh. “We know how much you love to try.”
“Only for you.” I smile.
His lips are inches from mine, and I can’t help but close the gap. Our kiss starts soft and sweet, but it doesn’t stay that way. His fingers tangle in my hair, and my hands trail down and over the prominent bulge behind the fabric of his shorts.
His breath is warm against my mouth as he rasps, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I shift closer. “Positive.”
His hand slips beneath my shirt.
“I need you.” And it’s not just his touch I’m aching for.
He shifts us, guiding me until I’m straddling his hips. One hand anchors on his chest while the other traces from his jaw to the strong line of his throat.
Clothes disappear in pieces, and I attempt to catalog the countless tattoos inked into his skin. I’ll need a lifetime to uncover the story behind each one.
But my gaze catches on something new. A patch of freshly shaven skin, saturated with black ink right over his sternum.
I drag my finger across it. “When did you get this?”
He doesn’t glance down. “When I was stuck waiting for the plane in Hawaii.”
My lips twitch. “Tattoo artists make room calls during tropical storms?”
“For the right price.” He smirks, lacing our fingers together and tugging me down for another kiss. “Do you like it?”
A breathy laugh escapes before I can stop it—and thank God, it’s not another round of tears. “You got it for me…”
He nods. “I’m the beekeeper, remember?”
This man.
