by Elise Faber
“What about apricot . . .”
Ignoring them waxing poetic about jam, Heidi gave Kels a squeeze. “I promise the vows aren’t even registering in Tanner’s brain at all.”
“Even though mine were really freaking lame?”
“Even though.”
Except . . . it wasn’t Heidi replying.
They jumped, their gazes all shot to the door, noticing the three men standing in the hall, Brad closing the door behind them. Tanner, who’d been on a night shoot earlier and who also looked gorgeously rumpled, moved forward, closing the distance between him and Kels and pulling her into his arms. His lips went to her ear, and Heidi deliberately looked away after she heard, “I don’t care, sweetheart. I just am so happy to be married to you, and I want to make babies and—”
Cora glared at Kate’s hubby, talking over the lovey-dovey couple. “How long have you been there?”
“Since the squeeing,” Jaime said dryly, slipping past her to kiss Kate soundly on her lips. “Thank God, Heidi has thick walls,” he added when they’d broken apart for air. “Or else the neighbors would be complaining.”
“I’ll have you know,” Heidi told him, though her eyes were on Brad, her gaze invariably drawn to his. “That I had the sheetrock sound-proofed for precisely that reason.” She nibbled the inside of her mouth, stare dipping down to trace the yumminess that was the man who’d stolen her heart.
He was slender and muscled, the scruff on his jaw making her shiver in memory of how it had felt against her skin, her breasts, her thighs. But it was his eyes that truly drew her in. Because he looked at her just like Jaime looked at Kate, Tanner at Kels. With warmth and love and affection, and his own special brand of lighthearted Brad teasing.
One that made her smile, even now.
“Hi,” he mouthed.
“Hi,” she mouthed back.
His lips twitched.
Her heart thudded. The man was just wearing jeans, a T-shirt, socks, but he was still the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on. Or maybe that was the way he made her feel.
Her gaze dropped down to his feet. To the socked feet.
Socked because he’d put his shoes on the rack.
Without a word from her, he’d noticed that she’d cleared a spot for him on the holder, and she hadn’t even needed to mention it before he put his shoes there. He’d just paid attention and accepted that she liked things to be put in their proper spot. And he’d done it without comment.
And that, combined with the excitement of Kelsey, of her early morning with him, of the last few weeks and all his wonderfulness . . . and also maybe the margaritas—five, it was definitely five—had her blurting, “I love you!”
His eyes widened.
But she was more aware of the room going silent.
It had been filled with chatter, Cora, Kate, and Kels talking with Jaime and Tanner, but her blurt—okay, her yelled-out declaration—had the room going quiet, had five pairs of eyes coming to her. Well, six if she counted Brad, whose pretty hazel eyes were heavy with an emotion she couldn’t read from this far away.
Then he was moving toward her.
More than moving toward her. One moment he was across the room, and the next he was there, one arm wrapping tightly around her hips and tugging her against his chest, the other moving higher, until his fingers slid in her hair, weaving into the strands and gently tilting her head back. “What did you say?” he whispered.
Kate’s voice penetrated the Brad-fog descending around her. “We’ll just go—”
“No,” Cora said. “We’re staying and—ouch! Kels, let go!”
And that was the last she heard of her friends—at least of any words being spoken, because obliquely, she processed them gathering their things, of footsteps moving toward the door, of that panel clicking closed behind them.
Then her condo was empty of everyone except her and Brad.
Who was stroking tiny circles on her scalp, making prickles of sensation trail down her spine, her arms.
“You love me?” he asked.
Her cheeks went hot—and not from the margaritas this time. The tequila was wearing off, and she was feeling exceptionally vulnerable, especially since. He. Hadn’t. Said. It. Back.
“Brad,” she whispered. “You . . . um—” She shook her head, dislodging his fingers, starting to pull away.
His arm around her waist tightened. “You love me?” he repeated.
“I—”
Not. A. Coward.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
Joy in those hazel eyes, and then his mouth was on hers. He kissed her with an intensity that immediately had her pulse skittering, her heart squeezing tight.
Then just as abruptly pulled back.
“Wait,” he said, breath coming in rapid gusts. “Are you too drunk to consent to this?”
“Too”—she blinked—“um . . . what?”
“Baby.” He smoothed back her hair. “Jaime said you were drinking. Are you too drunk to—”
Her heart exploded.
Well, not literally, of course, but for a moment she was frozen in place, unable to believe that she could feel this much for another person. The only caveat, the single thing that crept into that joy, that weighed down her happiness, was that he hadn’t said it back. Maybe it was too soon . . . or maybe it was too much.
Her gut clenched. That bliss was tempered by old insecurities.
Maybe she was destined to be a woman—like her mother had always said—who would end up alone without a person to love her for who she was inside. Maybe she worked too much, was too difficult.
Hell, maybe he’d come across her Twilight collection and had decided that was just a step too far.
Which would certainly put a damper on her feelings for this man.
“I’m not too drunk,” she whispered, tugging at his arm, now feeling sick instead of joyful.
“You sure?”
She nodded, her gaze fixed on a spot over his shoulder when he didn’t release her.
“What’s the matter?”
He was honestly asking her what was the matter? She’d blurted out a huge freaking revelation in front of almost everyone who was important to her, and he had hardly acknowledged she’d told him she loved him, aside from confirming she’d said it in the first place.
Her eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth.
Then froze when she realized he was slowly and inexorably leading her toward—
“Will you stop pushing me around?” she muttered, yanking at his arm.
“No,” he said.
And then he spun her around.
“What—”
He pointed to a piece of paper in the middle of her command center, neatly written and held in place by four purple magnets, one on each corner.
Her jaw fell open.
“Is that what’s the matter?” he whispered into her ear, making her shiver, making her melt back against him.
Because that note, written in sure, firm strokes, said, “I love you.”
“How long has that been there?” she asked.
He turned her in his arms, cupped her cheek. “Since last night.”
A shuddering breath. “Really?”
He nodded.
“You love me?”
Another nod.
“Really?”
His lips quirked up. “Really, really.”
“Are you sure?”
Annoyance had those lips pressing flat, his eyes going serious. “Heidi,” he warned.
She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s just that you haven’t said it.” She nodded at the note. “I mean, writing it isn’t the same as saying it, is it?”
He growled, swept her up in his arms. “I love you, Heidi Greene. I love you so much that it feels like my heart will explode with happiness when I’m with you.” He kissed her briefly, but intensely enough to have her pulse ratcheting up. Then he broke away, his expression gentle. “I love you with every bit of my sou
l, and I’ll love you until that soul is no longer in my body.” His forehead dropped to hers. “I never thought it was possible to feel this way for another person—”
She laughed.
He frowned. “What is it?”
Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “It’s only that I was just thinking the same. I don’t know how you did it, honey, but somehow what I feel for you is more than I ever could have imagined.” She slid a hand to his chest, placed it over his pounding heart. “And this . . . mine . . . it beats for you.”
He went still. “Heidi.”
“What?”
“Fuck, I love you.”
She smiled, lifted up so her lips were just a hairsbreadth from his. “Guess what?”
Affection—no, love—so much fucking love in his eyes. “What?” he asked gently.
“I love you.”
He grinned.
“Also”—closer now, so her lips brushed his with every word she spoke—“the answer to your previous question of whether or not I’m sober enough to consent is . . . yes, baby, I am.”
“Yeah?”
A nod. “What about you?”
He frowned.
“Are you sober enough to consent to my attentions?”
“What do you think?”
She blinked, realized he’d brought her to the bedroom, and then she smiled. “I think—oof!" He dropped her onto the mattress. “I think,” she said again, gasping as he came on top of her, all of those glorious muscles pressing into her, “you’ll do fine.”
A wicked gleam in his eyes, his mouth coming down on top of hers.
And then he showed her just how fine he could be.
Twenty-Three
Brad
He was just finishing up the last bit of design for the latest website when there was a knock on his apartment door.
His eyes flicked to the clock on his computer screen, saw it was past seven.
And blinked.
Because shit, it was past seven.
After quickly saving his work—a habit that had taken just one time of losing copious amounts of data to become engrained in him—he stood and hurried to the door.
Heidi was on the other side.
“Shit, Heid,” he said. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I did call.” She smiled, lightly poked his chest. “But I think you pulled a me and turned off your phone.”
Closing the door behind her after she’d come in, he went to the counter and picked up his cell. It was on. He’d just been so engrossed in what he was doing that he hadn’t heard it go off. Grimacing, he set it back down. “I’m sorry, baby. I lost track of time.” He snagged her hand, brought her close. “Let me grab my shoes, and then we can go meet your friends.”
“Our friends.”
He smiled at that then dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Not sure if my brother can be considered a friend when he tries to order me around all the time.”
A well-placed nudge with her elbow. “That ordering gene must be engrained in the Huntington DNA because you’re sure good at it.”
He affected innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed, and just like every other time he saw her happy, he felt the jagged pieces settle inside him. He lived for that sound, for her joy, more than he’d ever thought possible. It had been a month since that night at her place, since she’d told him she loved him, and it had all been . . . bliss.
More hikes—though not predawn, per her request. They’d gone to dinner, to the movies. He’d convinced her to do another touristy thing and take a ride on a cable car—which they’d both enjoyed much more than Alcatraz, him especially so, since she’d gotten cold on that foggy morning and had cuddled close to him as the rattling streetcar went up and down the hilly streets of San Francisco. Last week, they’d driven down to Santa Cruz and visited some absolutely huge redwoods in the morning then had taken a very bumpy ride on an old wooden roller coaster in the afternoon. And just yesterday, Heidi had taken the day off from the lab, and they’d driven a few hours north to a tiny lighthouse perched above a beach filled with sea glass.
And in between, they’d spent almost every night together, with the odd girl’s night thrown in. On those evenings, he’d hung with Jaime, with Tanner, and occasionally, with a few of Tanner’s friends, Sebastian and Devon Scott. The brothers were cool guys, and the tech worker and former hockey player, respectively, had nicely rounded out the group when they’d brought Max Montgomery along one night. The current skater for the Gold was married to another one of Heidi’s friends, Angie.
It probably should have been overwhelming—that he’d gone from spending so much time by himself to constantly being with people. But instead of too much, every time he opened up, every time he accepted another person into his life, he felt . . . bigger.
No. More complete. Fulfilled.
Like he was finally fully part of the land of the living instead of alone.
And that was fucking incredible.
Even more incredible was that Heidi was just as happy as him. They’d gotten into the habit of mostly staying at her place—frankly, it was nicer, but beyond that, it was also closer to her lab and both highways on which they often began their journeys. He didn’t mind. He loved her place, loved seeing how proud she was of the life she’d built for herself. So on the weekdays, he’d work until she got off then meet her there, and they’d cook dinner or order in. They’d spend the evening together, watching TV—yes, plenty of her reality shows, but he’d also managed to convince her to watch Vikings.
Which she liked for a completely different reason than he did, of course.
He was in for the battles, the politics, the suspense.
She liked all that . . . and the male lead.
Though, if he were being completely truthful, when she’d woven “Viking braids” into her hair a few days ago, he’d certainly been able to see the appeal. So much so that they’d spent a very pleasurable evening on the faux fur rug she had in front of her fireplace.
But more than just spending time together, no matter how pleasurable it was, he enjoyed finding all the different ways to take care of her. They could be small, from setting her coffee pot to brew so she’d have it first thing in the morning to taking her trash out, to filling up her car with gas when she’d mentioned it was getting low. Or they could be larger, more time-intensive, like when he’d spent the better part of an afternoon under her kitchen sink because the garbage disposal had gone out.
He understood now that these were all things he’d avoided like the plague when he’d spent the majority of his time traveling—the strings that would tie him more closely to another person, would make him vulnerable, would put him at risk of being hurt if they left or got sick or, God forbid, died.
But he didn’t feel scared with Heidi.
Because she was in just as deep.
And because she took care of him in her own way.
He’d found throw pillows on his couch the other day. They were in a “manly” (her words, not his) shade of burgundy that went perfectly with the fuzzy blanket she’d gotten for the foot of his bed. She’d had lunch delivered to his place when she’d known he’d been working on a particularly large project with a deadline looming, had texted him a link for hidden places to visit in California with, “Maybe we can go together?” Then there were all the meals she’d cooked, finding out his favorite foods and incorporating them into the menu, stocking up on a certain brand of popcorn since it was his preferred variety, and how she’d cleared a drawer for him so he could leave some clothes at her place.
In two months’ time, he’d gone from feeling unfulfilled and a little lost, to being . . . happy.
Such an inadequate word for all that was in his heart, but it was also the only one that mattered.
Because he was here and happy, and not searching for the next adventure that would bring him a slender thread of that elusive fulfillment for just a moment, before th
at buzz faded and then he was off again, searching for the next thing . . . and the next . . . and the next.
So, yeah, he’d take happy.
Hands down.
“I am sorry about not meeting you,” he said, yanking himself out of his head and focusing on the important thing—that being this woman whom he loved to the edge of reason, who loved him back just as completely.
She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Don’t apologize.” A wink. “I’ve been known to get lost in my work every once in a while. You’ll just have to owe me.” Another wink.
“Is there something in your eye?” he asked innocently.
But she was old hat at his humor by now, so she just reached up and squeezed his cheeks, affecting a baby voice. “Oh, cute little Braddie just thinks he’s so funny.”
“I know I’m funny.”
“You know what’ll be really funny?” she asked, dropping her arms and stepping out of the circle of his.
“What?”
“Me leaving you here in your apartment with a rumbling tummy while I go devour the most delicious Mexican food around.”
Right on cue, his stomach growled.
“See?” she said, lifting a brow. “Hilarious.”
“Not so much.” He kissed her, long and sweet and with every bit of affection he possessed for her. “I love you,” he murmured when they’d pulled back.
She blinked slightly glazed eyes, the hazel irises deepened to swirls of emerald and russet. Then her lips curved further. “I love you, too. But seriously, I will leave your ass here unless you get it in gear.” She pointed toward his closet. “Shoes and jacket on, because it is Friday night, and it’s past time for prickly pear margaritas.”
“It’s going to be a tequila night?”
He’d really enjoyed the last one.
Really enjoyed it.
In fact, he’d enjoyed it so much that his legs had been sore enough the following few days to make navigating curbs difficult. And steps. And lifting his foot enough to pull on his pants. And—
Well, it had been damned good.
“Yes, it’s going to be a tequila night for me. For you”—she waggled her eyebrows—“only if you play your cards right.” A beat. “Which means go get your shoes on.”