Page 86 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
“String quartet is still on the table,” he says.
“Maybe for the ceremony,” I concede. “Then something alive for the reception. A band that can get even you to dance.”
“I dance.”
“You brood to rhythm.”
He huffs a laugh, turning toward me. “I will dance with you until they turn the lights on.”
“Good,” I say, softer now. “Because I want the memories to be louder than everything else.”
We stand like that, leaning against the railing as the sky shifts from gold to blue. The air is cool enough to make me pullhis arm around my shoulders, and he goes without hesitation, tucking me in. For a while we don’t talk.
“Ivy?”
“Mm?”
“After we stop them, Derek, the mole, anyone else who thinks they can touch you, I don’t want to go back to just… normal.”
I tilt my head to look up at him. “What’s normal for us?”
He thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Exactly. I want better than that.”
“And you’ll have it,” I say, surprising myself with how certain it sounds. “We’ll build it. The foundation. The life. All of it.”
His hand tightens on my shoulder. “Then tomorrow we start the calls. You talk to people you trust. I’ll loop Santiago and my investigator. We move quiet and fast.”
“And tonight,” I say, leaning into him, “we pick a song.”
He smiles into my hair. “Deal.”
I close my eyes. I picture an aisle strung with candlelight, a band warming up in the corner, Jack waiting with that look he gets like he’s already made a vow. I picture us stepping into something new, something no one can touch, not even the ghosts still clawing at the edges of my past.
We fight. We plan. We live.
42
JACK
The morning tastes like her. She’s sprawled across my chest, legs tangled with mine, the sheet twisted low so the vent’s cool air skims our skin before the heat between us pulls it back.
Her mouth drifts along my jaw, warm and unhurried, her hair brushing my cheek. She shifts her hips just enough to punch a breath from my chest. She hears it and smiles against my throat like a secret. My hands slide down her spine, learning her all over again, pausing at the small of her back where she’s heat and nerve and gravity. I pull her closer until there’s nothing left to measure. I’m not ready to let her go. Not yet.
She props a hand on my sternum, lifts enough to look at me. Sleep still softens her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tilts like she knows exactly how undone I am.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“You’re worth staring at.” My thumb traces the bow of her hip, slow, claiming. “Stay here today.”
Her smile deepens. “We have a warehouse meeting.”
“We have a bed,” I counter, threading my fingers into her hair and pulling her back down. Her lips meet mine, first abrush, then deeper when I angle her just right, the kind of kiss that dissolves clocks.
The phone buzzes once on the nightstand. I don’t look.
Her lips hover against mine. “That sounded important.”
“Not more than this,” I say, catching her bottom lip before letting it go.
