Then he steps back with that shaky feral laugh like he’s on the verge of losing control. “How about we grab that early dinner slash late lunch, eh?”
“That sounds great,” I tell him. “And thank you, Madden, for bringing me here. I know it must’ve been hard.”
“We’re going to share everything together,” he says passionately.
Everything.
My womb sings a song of celebration, telling me soon – maybe in a matter of hours – I’m going to give myself to him.
I want it so bad.
I just hope I don’t freak out again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Madden
“Are you sure I look okay?”
I stop in the lobby of the restaurant, turning to stare down at Maddie with fire flaring in my eyes. The question makes me want to beat my chest and roar like the animal I am when I lay eyes on her.
She’s wearing a glittering black dress, hugging her body, outlining the shape of her… enough to get my mind working, and she’s not showing much of her legs or any of her cleavage. She’s like a seductress wrapped up in her dress personally for my pleasure. Her hair has that sex-messy look, and her face is, her face is…
Hell, her face is her.
Just looking at her makes me swell and thrum and burn with need for her.
“Yes, Maddie,” I snarl, almost losing control and darting my hand out for her hips, her beautiful grab-me hips. “You look perfect. Now stop your grumbling or I’ll bend you over right here.”
She flushes at my words, her neck turning a deep shade of red that slides down toward her cleavage. I keep my voice low, not risking anyone hearing. If somebody heard me talking to my woman like this, I’m not sure how I’d react, because goddamn, nobody gets to even think about her like that except for me.
Taking her hand, I lead her toward the entrance. It’s an upscale Italian place, only a few blocks from my apartment building. It’s fairly quiet since we’ve beaten the dinner crowd, and we’re able to take a booth in the corner, overlooking the restaurant’s subtle décor as we order our drinks.
“I’ll take an OJ, please,” my woman says.
“Great. Two orange juices.”
“Of course.”
The waiter leaves and ambles across the room, leaving me free to drink in the sight of my woman, to gorge on the sight of her.
“You never told me.”
She tilts her head. “Told you what?”
“How many kids do you want?”
She taps her chin, pursing her lips, making me think of her lips pursed as she leans down and…
No.
I force the image away, at least for now, because I want to hear what she has to say.
“Maybe four,” she murmurs. “Or five. Is that a crazy amount? I just love the thought of a bunch of little footsteps running around, a house full of laughter and happiness.”
“And since we both work from home,” I say, “they’ll have plenty of love all the time. Except when you’re away on your world book tours, of course.”
She rolls her eyes, waving a hand. “Come on…”
“I mean it,” I say firmly. “You’re going to be big, Maddie. I just know it.”
“I was thinking about that,” she replies.
“Yeah?”
“When I finish my book, I don’t want anyone to know we know each other. When I submit it, I mean. Because if they know I’m your… wait, what am I? God, sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out.”
I chuckle and reach across the table, cradling her cheek, and softly stroke my thumb across her chin.
“You’re whatever you want to be. You’re my life partner, my soulmate, the woman who made me feel like a person again.”
“Does that include girlfriend?” she asks with a cute nervous quirk in her voice.
“Of course it does. Girlfriend doesn’t even come close to describing what you mean to me. But yeah, for the sake of convenience.”
“We are boyfriend and girlfriend,” she says with a wide smile, lighting me up inside, the same way she lit me up when I saw the way she looked at The Endless Searcher.
It was like she knew – she knows – our search is finally over.
“Yes,” I tell her. “One hundred percent.”
“Okay…”
She shakes her head as tears well in her eyes, and then she lets go of my hand and quickly dabs at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. This is crazy. It’s just so amazing.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” I pause, leaning in. “Girlfriend.”
She giggles and waves a hand at me.
“What were you going to say?” I asked.
“Well, boyfriend…”
We both laugh and she goes on.
“I don’t want to get a publishing deal just because I’m your girlfriend. I want it to be on merit.”
“It would be on merit either way,” I say, confidence swelling in my voice. “You’re an incredible writer. I’ve been doing this long enough to be certain of that.”
“But still,” she says. “I don’t like the idea of skipping the queue.”