by Elise Faber
“Aunt Heather!” Hunter’s loud voice made Heather wince and hold the phone away from her ear.
“Hey, buddy,” she said. “How’s it going?”
A toddler babbled in the background. “Hang on, Carter wants to say hi.” Rustling before the voices sounded further away. Having been through this pony show before, Heather knew she was now on speaker. “Hey, Carter.”
“He-he!”
“Great,” she muttered, “and now my nickname is the same as the chicken from Moana.”
“You love that movie,” Hunter said, still loud, still wince-worthy. “You made me watch it again last time you came over because you love the music.”
She pointed a warning finger at Clay when he snorted and mouthed, “Moana.” Obviously, her nephews didn’t have an issue with volume if he could hear every word they said.
Ignoring him, she told Hunter, “The soundtrack is incredible.”
“It’s a girls’ movie.” She imagined he was wrinkling his nose.
“Girls,” Carter parroted.
And great. “We’ll talk gender stereotypes later,” she declared. “But all I have to say for the moment is . . . lies in a trash can.”
Hunter giggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure, it does.” She smacked Clay when he snorted again. “It means take all of those lies and stick ‘em in the trash can.”
“Gross,” Hunter said.
“G-luss,” Carter repeated.
“Boys,” came Abby’s voice in the background. “Let’s give your aunt’s ear a break for a second, okay?”
“Okay!”
The noise dimmed dramatically as Abby snagged the phone. “So?” her sister-in-law asked.
“So, what?”
“Is he coming over to visit?” Abby whispered.
“Abs,” Heather warned. “We talked about this. Meeting everyone is a lot of pressure for him, and things are still so—”
Clay plucked the phone out of her hand. “Is this Abigail?” A pause. “Yes, it’s so nice to finally talk to you. I’ve heard a lot about your work.” Heather launched herself across the car, trying to grab the phone back, but he just manacled both of her wrists in one of his hands and held her away from him. Clay’s side of the conversation made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t ready. She—
Well, fuck it all.
It was happening whether she was ready or not.
“Yes, I see. No, she didn’t.” His eyes flicked to hers. “Of course, she’s going to come. Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Another beat. “Absolutely. Well then, we’ll both see you tomorrow.”
He hung up at the same time as he released her wrists.
A pause then, “Birthday party?”
She winced. Shit. Hunter’s party. They were celebrating early since his actual birthday was so close to Christmas and his friends often couldn’t make it to a party when it was held over the winter holidays. “It totally slipped my mind. Damn. Seriously, I’m the worst aunt ever.”
“Abby had a few gift suggestions. Should we stop off for a present?”
“Clay,” she began. “This isn’t—”
His brows pulled together. “I hope you aren’t going to finish that sentence with something along the lines of this isn’t something you need to do.”
“Well, it’s just so soon.” She stared out the window. Lame excuse, O’Keith.
He cupped her cheek, turned her face toward his. “We’re married.”
“Kind of.”
Lush lips pressed flat. “What does that mean? I thought last night—Did you change your mind now that—”
“Stop,” she said, placing one finger across his mouth and taking a deep breath. “This is coming out all wrong. Let me try and explain, okay?”
His eyes blazed in frustration, but he nodded.
“I know we’re married,” she said softly. “And I meant what I said last night. I want all the things. I want to try to make this work.”
“But?” A murmur against her finger.
“But, it is still very new. And a birthday party is a pretty big step, especially when it comes to my nephew.”
Clarity across the face she knew almost better than her own. “You’re protective.”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose, sighed because . . . “I’m also scared.”
He tugged her finger away from his mouth, interwove it with his own. “And look at us discussing it like rational adults.”
Sighing, she smacked a hand across his chest. “You don’t have any sympathy, do you?”
“Nope.” A press of his lips to hers. “Now, I’m going to say something that is guaranteed to freak you out, but I don’t want you to say anything in return. Instead, I want you to just accept the words.”
“Wh-what?”
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Just promise me you’ll keep talking, okay?”
“Clay?” Her heart thudded.
“Don’t shut me out, sweetheart.” His eyes were calm, his mouth warm against hers.
She gripped his fingers tight when he pulled back. “I could never shut you out, Clay.”
His smile lit up her heart. “Excellent,” he said in his best evil genius voice before all notes of teasing left his face. “Because I love you, Heather O’Keith.”
Oh fuck.
All the butterflies.
All the feels.
But nowhere in there was fear.
Her lips parted to say the words back, but before they could emerge, Clay kissed her, long and deep and hot.
“Not yet, baby,” he said when he pulled back, both of their chests heaving. “Just wait until it’s right for you.”
So, she held tight to the words, tucked them safely against her heart.
And then, just because she could, she kissed him again.
Hunter’s present could wait until the morning.
Heather collapsed back onto her bed, exhaustion in every cell of her body.
Clay, who had flopped down next to her, was first to regain the ability to form words. “I had no idea that kids’ birthday parties were so tiring.”
She lifted a sneaker-clad foot. “I’m wearing tennis shoes, and my feet still hurt.”
They had arrived at Hunter’s party several hours earlier to find that twenty-something kids between the ages of two and ten had descended upon Jordan and Abby’s house to jump in an inflatable house, play video games, gorge on junk food, and just be kids.
It had been loud and chaotic and . . . everything a kid’s birthday should be.
Friends, cake, and gaming, little brothers tagging along and disrupting everything. Heather grinned at the memory of Hunter handing Carter his controller in the middle of the game, just because he’d asked and not getting mad when his little brother had spent more time drooling on it than actually pressing any buttons.
Even baby Emma had gotten in on the action, demanding loudly to be fed as the kiddos were being served cake.
Damn straight. She’d needed sustenance, just like the other kids, and Heather approved of the little munchkin going after what she wanted.
Have to start these girls off on the right foot while they’re still young, she thought drowsily.
“Your nephews are good kids,” Clay murmured.
Heather rolled to face him, a smile lighting her face. “Yes, they are.”
“And the baby was cute.”
“Emma’s a doll.”
She had shared—of her our volition, thank her very much, she was rocking this relationship thing—that Hunter had dealt with some serious health issues a few years ago, including a congenital heart condition that had ultimately required a heart transplant. He was healthy and well-adjusted now but obviously had dealt with obstacles no kid his age should have been exposed to. And even aside from his health, his dad had died, his mom had left, and Jordan and Abby had adopted him after his heart transplant. That would have been a lot for anyone, let alone a
little kid, but it was great to see that he’d made it through to the other side relatively unscathed.
“I think he liked the Legos,” she said, toeing off her sneakers.
“Are you kidding?” Clay said. “I’m not a ten-year-old kid, and I wanted that set, just for me.”
She snuggled closer. “Are you trying to give me a hint for your birthday present?” A kiss to his throat. “When is it anyway?”
“June fourteenth.”
“Noted.” Her tongue flicked out, loving the way he tasted. “Mentally ordering all the Legos.”
“Smart ass.”
Her fingers snagged his wrists, drawing his palms down until he cupped her ass.
“Is this my hint?” he teased.
“Literally. Mmm.” She moaned when he squeezed then pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips.
A raised brow. “I thought you were exhausted.”
“Funny”—she tilted her hips, riding the hard ridge of his cock through the layers of their clothes and making them both groan—“I’m not feeling tired at the moment.”
Clay flipped her onto her back. “Me neither.”
“Hey—”
His mouth slanted across hers, cutting off her words. At the same time, his fingers moved to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them and her underwear off her in one quick movement.
“Clay—”
“Shh.” A smirk as he shoved up her shirt. “Lay back and rest that tired body of yours.” His tongue traced circles on her stomach, lower. Lower still.
Her eyes slid closed on a moan, and she was thanking all the various deities for gifting the world such a glorious mouth when he used his fingers to spread her wide and gave her a kiss that had her crying out and seeing stars.
“Oh, oh God.”
Heat spiraled through her, tensing her muscles, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out all over her skin. Too fast, she was at the precipice, trying to control her fall, to slow down and wait for him.
One finger teased the entrance to her body, slid inside.
And there was no hope of waiting, the orgasm had its claws in her, and it yanked her down the other side.
She screamed. Which she would deny outright later because Heather O’Keith didn’t do something as uncouth as shriek like a banshee in bed.
But it had definitely been a scream.
Clay rose with a smirk—which she had to face, he’d earned the right to wear—and stripped off his shirt, wiping his chin with it. A stroke of warm hands up the outside of her bare thighs. “I like you like this.”
“Bottomless?” she asked, her throat slightly hoarse.
He chuckled, and her insides quivered, banked heat unfurling, spreading out to her limbs.
She didn’t know what it was about Clay that made her insatiable, but she loved it anyway.
She loved him.
Her pulse was a rapid tattoo against her skin. Not in panic, not this time. The words were right, a piece that fit perfectly into the rest of the puzzle that was her and Clay, completing the image, a perfect fit.
Her lips parted to tell him, to repeat the sentiment he’d given her the night before, not wanting to wait when everything was finally, perfectly awesome.
But Clay didn’t give her a chance.
He tugged her shirt and bra up and off and he kissed her, tangling his tongue with hers until she forgot what was so important to tell him, until she forgot her own name, until she forgot anything except sensation and desire.
She gripped his head when he feasted on her breasts, but when he would have slid lower again, she gripped his shoulders.
“No.”
Heat in his eyes, but his head shook and he started to extract himself from her hold.
At least, until she reached down to stroke him.
He groaned and dropped his head to her chest, thrusting into her hand.
“Inside, baby,” she whispered. “Now.”
A nod, his stare filled with emotion as it stayed locked with hers. Then he was sliding home, and she was holding him tight as they both groaned.
“I love you,” he said.
And the words came, natural and reflexive. “I love you, too.”
His hips froze, his eyes went wide in shock, but it only took him a second to recover, for his smile to brand itself into a special place of her heart.
“I thought you were going to wait,” he said.
She leaned up, pressed a fast kiss to his mouth. “I didn’t need to.” And then she clenched her inner muscles, making him hiss in pleasure. “Now move because I’m about to go gray waiting for my next orgasm.”
Mocha eyes lighting with amusement, with affection. With love.
“You are perfect, Heather O’Keith.”
She touched his cheek, sensations running over her body, emotions wrapping tightly around her heart, but she had regained enough of herself to say, “I know.”
His chuckle morphed into groan halfway through.
But Heather didn’t mind at all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Clay
Clay had never felt more optimistic or enthusiastic about something that wasn’t business-related.
But here he was, smiling like a fool as Heather talked about a book “the girls” had recommended. It had, apparently, made their friend CeCe flush bright red when they’d all video-conferenced to discuss a notorious scene in Chapter Sixteen.
“I didn’t realize that someone’s cheeks could be that exact shade of crimson, but then Colin snuck onto the screen—they’re still on their honeymoon, you know?” She paused, waited for him to nod. “And so, Colin came onto the screen and said, ‘I thought we’d already tried that?’ And then he laid this kiss on her . . .” She cackled. “It was so fucking hot, and I can’t wait to give her shit about it for all eternity!”
“You guys are cruel.”
She snorted. “No, I’d fully expect teasing in return, and I know they will give me the hardest of all hard times when we eventually cop to a drunken wedding in Vegas.” A huff. “And plus”—she lifted one hand—“CeCe knows we love her.”
“I hope that’s true.”
“Oh, hey”—she closed her laptop, the screen now free of her gaggle of friends—“I meant to ask you, how did you like the book I sent you?”
Since he’d learned a lot from that particular volume of literature, most especially, what his woman liked in bed, Clay just grinned, slid his own computer to the side, and tugged Heather into his lap. “I found Chapter Twenty-Two particularly informative.”
“Twenty—” Her head tilted, brows coming together in recollection. Then her lips curved. “Oh, you liked that part, did you?”
“I did, but I also think that you would like it, too.”
“Hmm.” She nuzzled his throat, sending goose bumps down his arms. God, he loved when she did that. “Maybe I would like it.”
His fingers drifted down, teasing under the edge of her shirt, button-free today.
Her skin was like silk, and he found himself forgetting about the book, about the scene that he’d imagined Heather would like. Instead, he stroked along her ribs, the undersides of her breasts, inching higher and higher until—
The doorbell rang.
“Fuuck,” she muttered and pushed herself up from his lap. “That must be the pizza. You have to answer it”—she pointed at her nipples, hard points that made it obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra—“I can’t go like this.”
Clay snorted and pointed down to where his cock threatened to poke a hole in his jeans. “My problem’s worse. I’ll scare the delivery boy.” But he rose to his feet anyway, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before crossing the room to answer the buzzer when it rang a second time.
After confirming it was, in fact, the pizza they’d ordered, he pressed the button to open the gate and slipped out the front door, hoping that the cool air would take care of his problem.
Luckily, it did the trick.
That, along with mentally reciting som
e data for the business venture he wanted to show Heather that night.
He was still at her house, having spent all of one night at his own apartment in the city over the last few weeks. Knowing it was a total waste, he made a mental note to ask Heather about selling it and moving in here or selling both of their places and buying something together. . . but he made that mental note set about a month from then. No way did he want to push her, to scare her when he’d finally got what he wanted.
Slow and steady had been his motto with Heather.
Aside from the whole drunken marriage thing, he imagined her retorting, which put a smile on his lips that the delivery boy probably thought was for him.
“Thanks, man,” the kid said when Clay tipped him an extra twenty for being the creepy, weird, smiling old guy.
“Have a good one,” he told the kid with a wave, waiting until the car had driven off and the gate closed behind it before going back inside and locking the front door. He would probably always be extra aware of gates and doors and locks, but Clay’s fear had eased. He didn’t check them repeatedly as he had in the past. He didn’t panic when something wasn’t secure.
He was getting there, but he also knew it was something inside him that would never be truly “fixed.”
And he’d take being a little overcautious—especially when it came to protecting Heather.
Speaking of which, she’d snagged some plates and napkins along with a bottle of wine and was lounging on the floor of her living room. She’d cleared the coffee table of their laptops and files and squeezed in between to recline against the couch.
“How’s your problem?” he asked.
“They’re great.” Her hands came up to cup her breasts through her shirt.
He almost dropped the pizza. “And you’re dangerous.”
A smirk. “Hell yes, I am. How’s your little problem?”
After placing the pizza safely on the table, Clay took advantage of her distraction of the meat and cheese to reach down and tweak her nipple.
“Hey!” She jumped back.
He mock-glared. “Little?”
Her eyes danced with mirth. “I’m sorry, I meant gigantic, so big it’s an almost painful problem.”