It’s been a long-as-hell day. After the boat with Jax, Haley, and our friends arrived and took us back to the resort, the staff doting and worried, we had a doctor check out Annie’s ankle. He confirmed it’s not sprained or broken, but she’s likely to develop an impressive bruise.
Now it’s after midnight, and we’re finally alone.
“How’s it feel?” I ask as I cross back to the living room.
Annie’s in the middle of the couch, her leg elevated in the same position as when she hobbled in fifteen minutes ago.
Her face tips up, the lamp in the corner casting a soft glow over her pale skin as her eyes widen. “Terrible. I sprained my wrist falling during rehearsals for the show last year, but this feels worse.”
I shift onto the couch next to her, brushing the hair behind her ear, and my lips curve.
She frowns. “Why’re you smiling?”
I cut a look toward the clock on the wall. “Because we’re getting married today.”
Her expression softens, those amber eyes warming.
“Did you finish the deal?” she asks softly.
I bend over to her bare feet, running my thumb along her arch and brushing off the sand that stuck there after she took off her sandals at the door.
“No.” My hands move up to the swollen ankle that was wearing an ice pack until a few minutes ago. “Our exclusivity expired tonight, but it doesn’t matter.” I skim up her calves, the hem of the wet dress.
I work the dress up around her hips, one tiny fraction of an inch at a time, while she sits there, watching me. Her fingers find my jaw, stroking.
She starts to rise, and I shake my head. “Sit.”
I reach behind her to the zipper, my gaze on her lap while I work it down. The zipper reaches the bottom, and I slowly tug the dress up over her ribs. She lifts her arms, and I draw it over her shoulders and head, carefully moving her hair when it catches.
“I’m sorry about Wicked.”
I fold the fabric and set it on the end of the couch. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple bra and panties that match her skin. I reach back for the clasp and unfasten it.
Annie’s gaze is heavy on me, and I feel her emotion from here. It radiates off her in waves, the love, the reluctance. I hate that I’ve made her question her feelings for me or mine for her.
She’s the greatest treasure I’ve ever found, the person who made me believe in dreams. Each time we were separated was a wound that never quite closed. Remembering is painful, but it’s right.
“I won’t regret losing Wicked. Not like I’d regret losing you.”
I finish removing her bra. Then I work her panties down her hips. I lay both on top of the dress.
I don’t linger on her skin, how beautiful she is. The hint of dampness turning into a chill is my concern now.
“You can’t lose me. I’m part of you, like you’re part of me.” Her low voice strokes along my skin, reminding me so much of the words I said to Beck on the plane.
But then I took her for granted. I won’t again.
I will spend my life making this up to her. No expense will be too great. Anything this woman wants, she will fucking get.
Before she even asks me, it’s hers.
She reaches for my hair, threads her fingers through it, and lifts my face to meet her gaze. What I find there humbles me.
No amount of adoration from fans, no success, can compare to the love in her eyes.
“You’d love me like this if I was still playing studio gigs and struggling to pay the rent, wouldn’t you?”
“Every bit as much. And we’d have more time for making Rice Krispies squares.”