Page 42 of Worth the Wait
And then we’re lying there, both of us struggling to catch our breath, and I’m overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment, by the way my body seems to fit perfectly against his like it’s been designed for this exact purpose.
“That was...” Cameron pauses, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Lianne. I don’t think I ever will.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, how to put into words everything that’s happening between us. So I turn and look at him, really look at him, at the way his hair is messy, and his eyesare soft, at the way his hands are still skimming up and down my sides like he can’t stop touching me.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admit, the admission slipping out before I can second-guess it. “I’ve missed us.”
“Can we make this work? Can we find a way to make this work when we’ve both hurt each other so much?”
The question is a valid one, but I’m not ready to answer it yet. But I also don’t want him to leave.
“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper against his shoulder as Cameron presses a soft kiss to my temple.
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
After a quick trip to the bathroom to discard the condom, he returns to bed and pulls me close. and I rest my head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling me toward sleep. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself dream of a future that includes him, a future that goes beyond business and professional success to something real and meaningful and lasting.
And maybe even worth the risk.
14
I wakebefore dawn to the sound of waves against the shore and the feeling of Lianne’s body curved perfectly against mine.
For a moment, I lie still in the gray pre-dawn light, afraid that moving might wake her, might break the spell of this perfect moment. Her head is on my chest, dark hair spilled across my shoulder, one hand resting over my heart like she’s claiming it even in sleep. Her breathing is soft and even, completely peaceful in a way that makes something tight and protective unfurl in my chest.
This is what I threw away four years ago. This feeling of absolute rightness, of being exactly where I belong.
But even as the thought surfaces, I realize it’s not quite accurate. Four years ago, what we had was intense and passionate and absolutely real, but it was also fragile in ways I was too young to understand. We were both trying to figure out who we were individually while navigating the complications of coming from different worlds.
This feels different. Stronger. Like we’ve both done the work of becoming ourselves and can now choose each other from a place of strength rather than need.
The woman sleeping in my arms isn’t the junior event planner I fell in love with four years ago while she was coordinating Sophia’s wedding. She’s someone who’s built an empire through sheer determination, who commands boardrooms and creates magic for other people, who’s learned to trust her own judgment even when it goes against conventional wisdom. She’s more beautiful now, more confident, more herself in ways that take my breath away.
And somehow, impossibly, she’s chosen to trust me with this again—with her body, her heart, her carefully constructed sanctuary.
But she’s not the only one who’s changed.
I’m not the same man who let family expectations override his own heart either. The man who ended things with her because my parents made it clear she wasn’t suitable for the family bloodline. Four years of building companies like Sterling Industries into something meaningful, of learning that real success comes from purpose rather than just profit, of understanding that the approval I was so desperate for was never worth sacrificing what actually mattered.
Like the woman in my arms.
Like the way she responds to my touch like she’s been waiting for me all this time and the trust she showed last night when she let down every wall she’s built and chose to be vulnerable with me again.
Lianne stirs against me, a soft sound that’s half-sigh, half-contentment, and I feel her consciousness returning gradually. Her hand flexes against my chest, and when she tilts her head back to look at me, her dark eyes are still soft with sleep but completely aware.
“Good morning,” she says, her husky voice sending heat straight through me.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I brush a strand of hair away from her face, marveling at the way she leans into the touch without hesitation. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in weeks,” she admits, and there’s something in her voice that suggests she’s as surprised by that as I am. “You?”
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
As she smiles, I’m struck again by how different this feels from our night in Santa Barbara. Back then, there was desperation, the urgency of rediscovering each other after years apart. This morning, lying in her bed with the sunrise painting everything golden, it feels like we’re building something that can last.
“What time is it?” she asks, though she doesn’t sound like she particularly cares about the answer.
I glance at the clock on her nightstand. “Just after six.”
