by Shandi Boyes
My jaw falls open. I don’t know who this lady is, but I already love her. She reminds me a lot of K, who only left from a week-long visit yesterday. She would be a similar age to K, which I’d guess to be mid-eighties. Her silver hair sits in tight ringlets on the top of her head, and the dreary day hasn’t stopped her from wearing a face full of makeup. She is as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside.
“Suck them dry for every orgasm they’re willing to give,” she advises before strolling out of the bakery with an extra spring in her step.
Her advice has my mind meandering to the start of my marathon fuckfest two months ago. After my accidental announcement of love in Cormack’s private jet, I’ve been reluctant to test his reaction the second time around. I love Cormack, but there is a tiny bit of suspicion in the back of my mind that some of his evasion the weekend we went to Mummo Koti revolved around my confession. Although I’ve tried to talk to him about his vanishing act our first night there, he has done a good job of dodging my interrogation.
Hoping that Izzy’s blossoming relationship with Isaac will bestow upon her a wealth of knowledge my single friends don’t have, I murmur, “I think I’m in love.”
Izzy’s lips furl high as her focus returns to me. “She was pretty cool. I can only hope to be as rocking as her when I’m her age.”
I try to hide it, but the quickest flare of disappointment crosses my face. I love the little old lady as well, but I’m treading in foreign waters here. I need a life jacket, and I need it now.
I can tell the exact moment clarity forms for Izzy. Her lips part as her eyes widen. “Then why do you look so worried? Love isn’t supposed to make you stressed.”
I nearly laugh. I’m not stressed. I’m petrified.
Spotting my greening gills, Izzy clasps my hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Does Cormack feel the same way?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. I know he cares for me—a lot—but I’m honestly lost on the rest.
I lick my dry lips, hoping it will aid in the delivery of my next set of words. “I may have accidentally declared my love during an intense. . . orgasmic experience.”
Izzy throws her head back and laughs. She knows as well as I do that declarations of love during sex are a big no-no in my dating handbook.
Rule 2: Never declare your love when your knees are wrapped around your ears.
“Shut up,” I demand, slapping Izzy’s arm.
I’m not really angry. It is awkward admitting my flaws to anyone, but if I can’t be honest with my best friend, who can I be honest with?
“It was more the fact he didn’t say anything back. I know he heard me because he stopped thrusting, but not a word seeped from his lips. Not even a ‘thanks.’”
Izzy laughs even harder. “One, you would have been mortified if he said ‘thanks.’”
With a grin, I nod. That is very true.
“And two, maybe he thought you said it in the heat of the moment. Have you said it to him outside of the bedroom?”
I shake my head so fast, my brain rattles. “I’m too petrified he won’t say it back,” I blubber out before I can stop myself.
Izzy sighs like she is watching her favorite Disney princess get married. “If he didn’t say it back, would it change how you feel about him?”
I take a moment to consider her question. My verdict never alters. “No. I’d still love him,” I eventually reply. There is not a thing in the world Cormack could do that would stop me from loving him.
Izzy’s brow arches high. “Well, there you go. That is the answer to your question. You have to tell him.”
I’m about to grill her on her double standards, but the quick thrust of her hand steals my words. “Hi Kettle, my name is Pot.”
After accepting her handshake, I pull her across the table. I shouldn’t enjoy her eyes flaring in panic, but I do.
Her worry disperses in an instant when I say, “I love you, stinky butt.”
Her mouth gapes, faking shock, before she replies, “I love you too, Mrs. Magoo.”
I spent the rest of my afternoon pondering my conversation with Izzy. I don’t have anything to lose by admitting I love Cormack. . . other than him. I guess that’s why I am scared? I’d rather hide my feelings from him than lose him. I need to stop being so selfish. What he is giving me is more than enough, so why do I need more? Three words won’t change our relationship for the better. It can’t get any more perfect than it already is.
Cormack’s hand darts down to squeeze mine when I tighten my grip around his waist. With the wind being a little nippy, two leather jackets are the only things separating us as he weaves his bike through the streets of his estate. He promised to take me riding this weekend.
Forever honest, he kept his promise.
When Cormack takes a deep whiff of my hair, I arch a brow, silently demanding he answer my wordless question.
“As sweet as honey.”
My high shoulders slump. “Oh, thank god, because that was disgusting.”
He laughs. He can—it wasn’t his hair that got covered with cow dung when we whizzed past an overloaded cattle truck. My body and face were protected by the gear Cormack makes me wear when we go riding, but my long locks weren’t so lucky.
For a man with a queasy stomach, Cormack did a remarkable job removing the evidence from my hair the past thirty minutes. He shampooed and conditioned my hair three times. He also paid dedicated attention to the regions of my body not affected by stinky cow products, most notably my thrusting chest and achy nether regions.
“Remind me to tuck my hair into my helmet from here on out.”
Cormack nods in agreement before switching off the faucet.
His quick exit from the shower stops when I murmur, “Finished already?”
He returns to his position so fast, I’m confident he’s suffering from whiplash. I love his eagerness. We’ve been together a little over three months, and he’s still as eager as the day we met.
“Is there something I’m forgetting?” he asks, his voice more innocent than his rapidly rising cock. “I cleaned you top to toe, then toe to top. I might have missed a few areas, but the shower gel says it is for external use only. Believe me, I checked. Multiple times.”
He leans in close, causing my lungs to take stock of their oxygen levels. Things are about to get breathless.
“Do you have other areas you’d like me to clean, Harlow? Are you feeling dirty?”
The prompts of my body are accurate. Just the way he said my name made me giddy, and I’m not going to mention his last question. Words won’t do it justice. You need to hear how he said it to fully understand its power.
“I’m still a little dirty,” I admit in a purr.
With the smile of a man who can’t get enough, Cormack switches the faucet back on. He directs the spray at me, his eyes envious of each droplet of water careening down my curves.
“Then I better get back to work. I can’t promise to clean you, then leave you half-dirty.”
He starts at my neck, his thumbs stroking, his lips nibbling. His lips slowly drag down my collarbone before trailing across my breasts. “Hmm,” he groans against my nipple. “Even a truckload of poop can’t alter your sugary scent.”
My breathing shortens when he takes my hard, pink pebble into his mouth. He sucks gently, his tongue circling the bud. “So tasty.”
Just as the warmth of his mouth overtakes the water pumping from the showerhead, he switches his attention to my other breast. He explores it with the same dedication, his movements slow and precise. We don’t always fuck, but we’ve never gone this slow before.
I grow concerned I said my private thoughts out loud when Cormack cups my face to give me a slow and tender kiss. I melt into his embrace, mesmerized by the love displayed in his embrace. He is not in a hurry or being fueled by lust. He is savoring. Devouring. Utterly consuming me.
By the time he draws back, my heart is double its size. I love th
e way he looks at me, like I am worth my weight in gold. The sentiment pumping through my veins is so thick, it has no choice but to seep from other orifices—including my mouth. “I love you.”
Cormack freezes in the same manner he did the last time I uttered these words. When his eyes bounce between mine as if he is waiting for me to say more, I take up the task. “Do you have anything to say?”
“Do you?” His reply is short, but the smile it arrives with makes it seem like so much more. “No praise for my bathroom fixtures, body, or any other item within a one-mile radius?”
He catches my fist mid-swing, raises it to his mouth, then kisses my knuckles. His gesture is as innocent as they come, but the love in his eyes can’t be matched. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” Although he is asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “I never wanted to fall in love until I spun around and saw you. I love you too, Harlow. So very much.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Harlow
“Is everything as requested?”
Before Cormack’s caller can reply, I snatch his cell out of his hand, switch it off, then throw it onto the seat across from us.
“It’s Christmas; no more business calls.”
Before he can argue it isn’t Christmas Day for another four minutes, I mash our lips together. He’s been unusually quiet this week. I thought it was because he was busy finalizing plans for our four-day getaway, but his agitation increased the instant we left the tarmac.
From the way he is acting, you’d swear I was the one who begged him to take time off work, not the other way around. My bakery rarely closes, but its doors will remain closed during the Christmas/New Year period. It was a risky move, but since my relationship with Cormack was at the forefront of my mind during my decision, it made the verdict easier to swallow.
There is more to life than work. My relationship with Cormack is living proof of that. We’ve achieved the perfect balance the past four months, our lives melding together with seamless perfection. Excluding the past week, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
The tenderness of my kiss proves my devotion, but I up the ante just in case. “I love you, Cormack.”
Cormack’s hand runs down my back, drawing me closer. “I love you too.” Even though he had told me a minimum three times a day the past month that he loves me, it never grows old.
I snuggle into his chest before lifting my eyes to his. “So what big plans do we have for this weekend? Trail bikes? Snorkeling?” My eyes widen as my excitement doubles. “Oh, I know! We could visit the Mexican restaurant we missed out on last time?”
He gives an animated shrug. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Jesus, Cormack, could you sound any more enthusiastic?”
When I attempt to scoot off his lap, he remains holding on tight. “I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m just. . .”
“Just?” I prompt, hating his silence.
He replies, but the words he expresses aren’t ones I want to hear. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Recalling the last time he was this quiet, I ask, “Is Isaac okay?”
I sigh when he nods, but instead of his assurance easing my worry, it increases it. I’ve only seen Cormack this panicked once before; it was when Izzy arrested Isaac.
I was absolutely blindsided the morning Isaac called Cormack to advise him he had been arrested. If news of his arrest wasn’t already daunting, discovering Izzy was part of the operation that took him down was overwhelming.
I was lost, shocked, and understandably angry. Not just at Izzy, but Cormack as well. I didn’t know it at the time, but Isaac’s arrest pushed Cormack into damage control mode. He knew of Izzy’s placement in the FBI, but instead of telling Isaac and me, he kept it a secret. He had hoped Izzy’s admiration for Isaac meant she would protect him. He was right, but it took a lot of angst to discover that.
Since I was left in the dark, I had no clue Cormack’s lack of contact the morning of Isaac’s arrest wasn’t related to our relationship. He was merely indisposed as he strived to patch the cracks his deceit caused to his friendship with Isaac. He only discovered my worry when Izzy and Hugo arrived at Destiny Records headquarters not long after Isaac left. He arrived at my bakery thirty minutes later.
That was the day I realized how deeply imbedded Cormack had become in my life. I thought I was losing him—the pain was unbearable.
“Are we okay?” My voice is so weak, it’s barely recognizable. My grim response can’t be helped. I thought things were fantastic between us. Now, I’m not so sure. He seems so withdrawn, as if he wants me but doesn’t, if that makes any sense?
“Yes, Harlow. We’re fine. I promise you; we are fine.”
He kisses me to prove it. It is a mind-hazing kiss full of admiration and mutual respect. Being cherished so thoroughly untethers the rope around my heart, but the burn his pained eyes caused will take a little longer to heal.
I run my hand down his inflamed cheek, across his collarbone, and over the undone buttons on his business shirt before whispering, “Talk to me, Cormack. Let me help.”
Tears build in my eyes, but for the first time ever, I let them form. Perhaps if he sees how much his pain hurts me, he’ll share the burden?
“Harlow.” Cormack sighs before brushing his thumbs across my cheeks. “God. It’s just. . . I just—”
“I love you, Cormack. Nothing you could say or do will ever change that,” I assure him.
My confession eases the worry on his face. It also sends the first droplet of moisture rolling down my cheek in years. It isn’t the anguish clearing from his beautiful blue irises causing my tears; it is his murmured, “Marry me, Harlow?”
“I beg your pardon?” I remain still and utterly shocked. Is this why he has been so quiet? He’s been agonizing about popping the question? If it is, he didn’t need to fret. Our relationship is still fresh by normal standards, but for us, it’s developed at a perfect pace.
Mistaking my wide eyes and thrusting chest as denial, Cormack stammers, “I have the rings. Flowers. A celebrant. Everything is ready.” He thrusts his hand into his trouser pocket to produce three platinum rings; two diamond encrusted ones, and a manly, yet delicate one. “I wasn’t supposed to ask you until we arrived, but my nerves couldn’t wait a second longer.”
The world is falling out from beneath my feet, but thankfully, my startled brain doesn’t take too long to kick back into gear. “Celebrant? You mean now? As in right now?” My words are barely audible through my shocked gasps.
Cormack half-nods, half-shrugs. “Not right now. On Sunday. Well, technically tomorrow,” he explains, noticing it has just ticked over to midnight.
“We can’t get married tomorrow.” My tone is as high as my heart rate. It isn’t a nervous canter but the sprint of an overworked heart.
“Yes, we can. I have everything planned. Your mom and Ziggy fly in first thing Sunday morning. My siblings are already at Mummo Koti for Christmas. We have everyone we need.” The adorable blush on his cheeks reveals his excitement. He truly does have everything planned, but isn’t he missing something?
“What about Isaac and Izzy? I need a maid of honor, and you told Isaac tonight you’d kill him if he gets married without you, so he’ll hold you to the same promise.”
Isaac and Izzy announced their engagement at the Christmas party Cormack’s record label hosts every year. Although their relationship is even fresher than Cormack’s and mine, I’ve always believed when you know you know. Izzy knows, and so do I.
Before another syllable can escape my lips, Cormack says, “A second jet is at the ready. As soon as you say the word, Isaac is prepared to carry Izzy across the tarmac kicking and screaming.”
His reply makes me laugh. It also makes my chest swell. If Isaac is aware of his plans, it means his proposal wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. That makes my decision even easier to make.
“Izzy is terrified of flying. She might not be
impressed with your plans.” I don’t know why I’m delaying the inevitable? Perhaps it has something to do with the energy electrifying the air? Or maybe I’m loving how Cormack’s cheeks inflame more with every second I delay my reply?
“She is,” Cormack agrees, “but she will do anything for you. As will I. I love you, Harlow. If you say yes, I promise to show you that for the rest of our lives.”
His oath expands my heart, but it isn’t the reason I say yes.
I love him. No further explanation needed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Harlow
“Oh, Cormack.” I want to say more, but the crackling of my voice stops me. Hundreds of candles line the foreshore of Mummo Koti. From the ground, their scattering looks random. But from above, they spell out the words he struggled to say only an hour ago.
Will you marry me?
Pretending I haven’t already said yes multiple times since he asked, Cormack lowers on one knee, grasps my left hand in his, and raises his eyes to mine. “I love the man I am when I am with you, and the person you see when you look at me, but it doesn’t compare to the love I have for you. You taught me that love is about expression, not impression. You stole the land from beneath my feet in less than a second. I blame you, Harlow. I will always blame you, so will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I nod, accepting both his blame and his proposal.
“Words, Harlow. I need your words.” You could misconstrue Cormack’s reply as snarky, but his tone doesn’t indicate that. He is as joyful as the smile stretched across his face.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” My last three shouts are barely heard over a ruckus of claps and cheers.
Slinging my head to the side, I spot the cause of the commotion. A handful of the people I interacted with the last time I visited Mummo Koti are intermixed with Cormack’s family. Their eyes are as bright as mine, their smiles just as wide. There is only one person not overcome with jubilation: Clara.