Kiss.
“What?” I asked, his playful tone making me smile.
“Come with me to every restaurant I open?”
Kiss.
Kiss.
With widened eyes, I asked him, “How many are you opening?”
“The sky’s the limit.” He paused his assault on my lips and brought his hands up to cup the sides of my face, holding me in his stare. “I want to have restaurants worldwide. Maybe it’s ambitious and maybe it won’t work out the way I want it to, but I’m a risk-taker, always have been. That’s how I got to where I am right now. But I want you there because you keep me grounded.”
My heart fluttered, and I clung to his heavily tattooed arms. “I’ll always want to celebrate your ventures, Harris.”
This time, when he kissed me, the playfulness was gone, and in its place were the deep emotions this man carried within. Harris wasn’t the best at verbalizing how he felt, but nevertheless, you could always tell his mood or what he wanted to convey if you took notice of his actions.
I’d learned this lesson the hard way in the past few months of getting to know him. After some initial misunderstandings and huge arguments, I’d begun to accept him as he was and for what he let me see. There would still be arguments, I was sure of that because we were both headstrong, independent, and passionate, but that didn’t matter since I knew we belonged with one another.
It was great belonging with all of the men on this plane. It was unconventional, sure. Falling for six men had taken me by surprise, especially after hiding myself away from the possibility of loving anyone again after Alex’s death. They’d shown me it was okay to love, to have them all in my life. There were teething problems at first, especially when Jack came on the scene, but we were finding a way for it to work. It was incredibly selfless on their part. They were so trusting, and I’d always be grateful to them.
Harris broke the kiss off. “You’re a damn distraction, baby.”
The wolf tattoo on his left bicep became of sudden interest to me, and I traced my finger over it. “I’m not sorry.”
Just when I thought he was going to cave again, he lowered his mouth toward mine once more. “Hand out the cutlery for me.” His lips whispered across mine as he commanded me.
We pulled apart and went about our chores.
Eric took some cutlery from my hand and helped me set it out.
“All right, I’ve figured out a plan.”
We looked at Tate as he rose from his seat by the window.
Byron looked away from his movie. “What kind of plan?”
“An itinerary for London.” Tate waved a piece of paper in his hand.
Royce frowned. “Ahh, what?”
Tate threw his hands out. “What?”
“I tend to wing it when I travel,” Jack countered.
“What, and leave everything to chance? I like to have a schedule.”
Jack folded his arms. “Some of the best times happen when you’re not on a schedule.”
“There needs to be some kind of schedule.”
Tate curled and uncurled his fingers. I went over to him and rested my hand on his chest. “Perhaps a compromise? Some scheduled activities and some spontaneous ones?”
“You’re both right,” Eric said. “If Harris wants Lou with him when he’s looking at spaces for his restaurant and Tate wants you to go with him to the annual Christmas party for the London branch of R.I., then we need to work around those things.”
My mouth dropped open. “We’re going to a Christmas party?”
“I was going to bring that up after dinner.” Tate pinned his younger brother with a brief glare before he looked at me. “Would you mind?”