“Do you have a point, Landon?”

“I just thought it was interesting.”

“Hmm…” I’m so tired. Lack of rest and too much work equals automatic sleep. I curl into the sheets, ignoring the cold and the bizarre “slip” question, and start to drift away. Landon’s breathing turns heavy and sleepy not ten minutes in.

I’m cold. November’s temperature is quickly dropping, and nights are the worst because Landon’s next to me, warm and comforting, and he’s even warmer when his shirt rises above his abs and I can press against his skin. So I turn around in the bed and give him the butt. Landon’s hand plops on my hip. Funny…I thought he finally fell asleep. And I don’t have the energy to push it off, so I let him keep it there.

Then it moves to my stomach and pulls me flush against him.

“Mmmm…” I involuntarily moan. He presses a kiss under my ear.

“I love you,” he whispers, and it sends chills up and down my entire body, making me shiver against him in a way that makes him want to spin me around. He kisses me hard, then soft, then hard again. He’s warm. So warm. I feel a sweat coming on as he lifts on his arms and rains kisses up and down, down and up, all over my neck and chest. I arch my back, wanting to press against him, feel his heat and my heat and our heat.

“Landon…” I whimper, nearly at the point of begging. This is torture. He’s revving me up, only to leave me dry.

“I’m not teasing you, Tumbles,” he says, and when I open my eyes I see that he means it.

“You’re…you’re going to…”

His hand rakes up my ribs and purposely rests on my breast. There’s the slightest smile in the corner of his mouth, and I let out a deep groan as he massages my nipple, pulls and tweaks and sends hyperactive beads to Miss Liz. She’s swimming in Chocolateville, waving a plane ticket to the Bahamas. We have won! And I didn’t even have to pretend to work out this time.

Landon reaches up with his other hand so neither breast is forgotten. His lips capture mine, swallowing my moans. I start rocking my hips, needing relief, but I can’t quite get it enough to satisfy. I rub harder, push harder, but it’s not working.

“Landon…”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I need…I want you to…”

I’m so deep in chocolate that I don’t notice that his kisses feel weird. The tongue that traces the valley of my lips is too soft. Squishy. Actually, his whole body is. I open my eyes and it’s Landon. It’s him, but it doesn’t feel like him.

“Come here,” he says, flipping me over. His hands grab my ass, igniting a fire low in my belly as he guides me on top of him. He feels harder now. He’s much harder now that I’m on top. I grind into him, finally relieving some of the pleasure pains.

“Oh my—”

“Liz…”

“Yes. Yes!”

“Liz…”

“Landon…”

“Liz…you need to wake up.”

I am awake. Oh my, am I awake.

“Damn it, Liz!”

My eyes snap open. The room is dark, the bedspread a crumpled heap between my legs. Once my eyes adjust I notice the way I’m wrapped around Landon, clutching at his shirt, breathing hard into the crook of his neck.

He gives me a strained grin. “Even your unconscious mind wants me.”

I drop my gaze to his boxers, a wet bead near the push of his erection against the material. Slowly, I shift my legs, gently peel my sweaty body away from his, and let out a large breath.

“I’m…I’m going to sleep in the spare room.”

I sit up and grab at a pillow, but a hand locks around my wrist.

“What? You can’t leave me like this.”

“I have to.”

He sits up, too. His eyebrows knit together like I’m joking. “Then stay and talk him down. It’s your fault he’s awake.”

“It’s your fault I woke him up.”

“How the hell is this my fault?”

“You know exactly why it’s your fault.” I rip my hand away, flustered and hot and needing space before I leap on him and ride out the stress. “You were all hump talking before.”

“Hump talking?”

“About the accidental slip. And the humping.”

“I didn’t say anything about humping.”

Yes he did! “You said the word ‘thrust.’ ”

He grabs at his hair, and I can’t look at him because even that is turning me on.

“You’re seriously leaving?” he asks.

“If you don’t want me to, then stop me.” I drop the pillow, knowing full well that the nips are up and ready. He pulls at his hair again.

“Damn it, you’re not playing fair!”

“You’re not either!” Him and his cleaning the house and rocking the risky business and talking about thrusting, so much thrusting, and never wearing a shirt or wearing the shirts that are completely awesome on his body, and I can’t look at him without getting frustrated.

“It’s different and you know it,” he says.

“Why? Because you’re a guy?”

“Well, yeah!”

“I’m going through hell, too. I was just humping our bedsheets!”

“I’ve been hard for three months.”

“I’ve been wet for three months.”

“Urgh, stop saying shit like that. You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Then just give in.”

“I can’t.”

“Because of Sundance?”

“Yeah.”

“You go every year, Landon. Why not skip one for our wedding?”

“You don’t get it. It’s inspiring, gets the creative juices flowing. I see what’s out there, who’s out there, get to chat with people who understand. Every year is another step toward directing. I don’t want to miss it.” He rubs his eyes. “Can’t we move the date?”

“I’ve already booked the hall. Our hall. I told you it was the only weekend available unless you wanted to wait a year. But then, a year is still around Sundance, so either way I lose.”

“You’re damn near winning this thing.”

“I’m not talking about the bet!” I chuck my pillow at him. “I’m talking about how you care more about Sundance than our wedding.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying our wedding date is more flexible than Sundance.”

“I just told you about the hall—”

“I don’t care about the hall. We could get married in a McDonald’s and it wouldn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter to you?”

He narrows his eyes, and damn him for looking good doing it. “Stop twisting it. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“That I don’t care where we get married. I just want to get married.”

“For sex? Or for Sundance.”

“Shit, I’m not gonna talk to you right now. You’re just gonna take everything the wrong way.”

“Fine.” I snatch the pillow back and march to the door.

“Congratulations,” he calls out. “You talked him down!”

“Good, because I won’t need him for another two months. Maybe more!”

Then I slam the door, stuff my face in the pillow, and scream.

Chapter 19

“Um, Elizabeth? Try to smile in this one, okay?” Helen, our engagement photographer, says. She’s laughing, but it’s one of those really awkward laughs people use when they just want to get out of the damn place as soon as they can.

I tighten my grip on Landon’s belt loop, my whole body soaked in sweat from my thick wardrobe. Seriously regretting the winter theme as the unusually bright November sun beats down on us in our beanies.

Normally I’d be celebrating this weather, but the frostiness between me and my fiancé trumps it. Landon and I have been practically forced to touch each other. I bet Helen wonders if one of us needs a green card.

“Okay, Landon, relax your hand. Squeeze in together. Elizabeth, smile. Landon, rest your forehead on hers. You have to smile, too. Look each other in the eyes. Elizabeth, keep your finger in his belt loop, but rotate your wrist so we get the ring. Okay…Stay still…one, two, three. And another, one, two, three. One more, smile, don’t drop that smile, Landon, you need to smile.”