Page 163 of Only the Wicked
“Way better.” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “Though I do love that climbing wall.”
“I know you do. I hear you in there at five in the morning.”
“I’m quiet.”
“You grunt. A lot.”
He nips at my shoulder, making me squirm. “I do not grunt.”
“You absolutely grunt. It’s very caveman-like.”
“Maybe that’s because you make me feel very caveman-like.”
I turn in his arms, loving the feel of his skin against mine, warm from the sun and smooth from the water. “Is that so?”
“Mmm.” His hands skim down my sides. “Especially when you pull off surprises like this.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. I love you. I love that you bought the place where I fell in love with you.”
“Where we fell in love with each other,” I correct.
“True.” He shifts so he’s looking down at me, propped up on one elbow. “Though I think I was a goner the second you jumped off that rock.”
“You were not.”
“I was. You were so…” He searches for the word. “Fearless. Beautiful. Completely yourself.”
“I was terrified I was going to hit the bottom. Feared it would be a slimy, muddy mess.”
“But you jumped anyway.”
“Sometimes the best things happen when you jump.”
“Is that your philosophy now?”
I think about everything that’s led us here—the mission that brought us together, the lies that became truth, the careful distance that became love so deep it sometimes takes my breath away.
“With you? Always.”
The sun has shifted, and without the warmth, the chill in the air is more noticeable. Rhodes reaches for his flannel and drapes it over both of us.
“We should probably head back soon,” he says, but makes no move to get up.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves. This place, our place, holds us like it did that first day. But now instead of the uncertain tension of new attraction, there’s the deep contentment of coming home.
“Thank you,” Rhodes says quietly. “For this. For knowing exactly what would matter to me.”
“We’re partners,” I tell him, the word carrying all the weight of what we’ve built together. “In everything.”
“In everything,” he agrees.
And then the chill in the air is forgotten with his kiss. We make love slowly, out in the open, cushioned by the blankets I packed. When he shudders above me, my legs wrapped around his waist, holding him close, his dark eyes meet mine. “I swear, I think that gets better every time.”
I smile, knowing he says that often, but loving how true it feels.
