My heart thuds and melts, and now I’m the one who needs to reassure him. Because he should never be afraid of that.

“Can you promise to make me laugh?”

He nods.

“And promise that we’ll have fun?”

He nods again, this time with a smile so devastatingly handsome and beautiful, it chases all my nerves away, making them take flight into somewhere in the darkness above us.

“Then you don’t have to be scared either.”

Chapter 32

“Oh, shoot,” Landon says, pushing me to the side when we get through our apartment door.

“Ouch, geez!” I say, catching myself on the card table. So much for the romantic Landon I was with twenty minutes ago.

“Sorry,” he says over his shoulder, “but shit, she wasn’t supposed to drop it off yet.”

“Drop wha—” I stop and furrow my brow at the long white garment bag Landon’s trying—and failing—to hide behind his back. “Is that my dress? Landon! You’re not supposed to look at it!”

“I didn’t. I just picked it up—”

“From the dress place? I didn’t even know you knew where it was.”

“Actually…” he says, swinging it out from behind his back. “It was at Gina’s.”

“Gina…?”

“The costume designer for The Walking Stiff.”

“Wha…”

“You said it didn’t fit, right? And the alterations cost a fortune, so I got it from the dress place and—”

“Wait. This is THE dress.” I scurry over, not really worried about him seeing it anymore as I push the zipper down. And there it is. My dress. My gorgeous, too expensive, yet makes my ass look perfect dress.

“What about the other…?”

“I took it off hold for you,” Landon says, and I look up to him covering his eyes with one hand. “Gina did the alterations as a wedding present. She wants to make sure it fits, so you might wanna—”

“You asked for help.”

“Yeah.”

He drops his hand, keeping his eyes closed as he feels around for the zipper on the bag. I help him out, covering the dress, and then prod his face when it’s safe.

“You hate asking for help,” I say in an incredulous whisper. His lip quirks up in the corner.

“But I love you.”

I meet his eyes, heart drumming a tune that you’d play on Valentine’s Day, and it clicks, like someone’s finally turned on the light in the middle of this engagement horror movie, and…it’s not scary anymore. It’s so much more than the ring on my finger, the setting of dates, the buying of dresses, the sending of invitations. More than trying to rekindle something that I thought was lost, but it wasn’t lost, it’s just more now.

It’s about dealing with all the crap and still finding reasons to stick around.

“Theresa!” I shout, scaring him back a few steps. We’re met with silence, and thank the romance gods we’re alone.

“I’m going to kiss you,” I tell him when neither Alec nor Theresa makes an appearance.

He grins. “Good.”

I push the dress from his hands and swing my arms around his shoulders. He pulls me up, matching my intensity, lips and tongues mating like they haven’t in months. Warmth rushes everywhere, through my chest, arms, neck, lower abdomen, and I don’t want it to stop. I’m not going to stop it this time. I lose. I give in. Two days before the wedding, and I don’t care. I don’t think he does either, because I’m against the wall, he’s getting more aggressive, biting, breathing, kissing

deep

deep

deep,

and I’m thinking I hit the jackpot, because there is probably not a single man in this world who can kiss like Landon can.

“Get me out of this coat,” I breathe. He tugs on the zipper, and before he can get it off my shoulders, I say goodbye to packing my bikini as I take his hands and force them on my breasts. He jokingly squeezes them twice, and I somewhat laugh around his mouth, then tug his hair, begging him to keep on squeezing, keep playing, touch all over, and he kisses down my cleavage as I jabber on and on. His hands find my hips and pull me up. I tear at his coat, cursing at it because it’s in my way. He accidentally pulls hair from their roots when he rips mine off, but small price to pay to get naked.

“You got bit by something radioactive, didn’t you?” I ask him as he effectively gets our coats, both our boots and socks, and my jeans off, all in record time and without dropping me from my spot on the wall.

“You callin’ me Superman?” He grins and kisses me again, swallowing my return smart-ass comment. He palms my cheeks, slick forehead pressed with mine. His breath is hot, heavy, sweet, salty, spirited, and I slide down purposely on the wall, settle against him. Press against him, knowing I’m losing the Bahamas but I’m also winning. I am so, so winning.

“Lizzie…I need this,” he whispers, and I wonder if I’m speaking my thoughts out loud again. “I need this more than Sundance. More than winning. More than anything.”

I press on him farther, nearly tearing the fabric of my panties. “You can have it,” I say, loving the shivers under me, the strong arms holding me up, the heart pounding beneath his graphic tee, the desire sparkling in his gray eyes. He wets his lips, grip sliding slightly on the wall, making me tighten my arms around his neck.

“I’m not talking about sex,” he says on an exhale. “I need…intimacy.”

I blink. My ears buzz. My inner thighs clench. I calm my breathing, because I was about to just hump him to Chocolateville right here in the hallway. But he says the word “intimacy” and I throw the fast ride out the window. Because I need intimacy, too.

Landon’s pulse pounds on his neck, and I lean forward and open-mouth-kiss it, licking away the salty taste of sweat.

“I love you,” I say in his ear. “Do you know how thrilled I am to be your wife?”

He shakes his head, and I take his face, kissing his scruff, his nose, his lips.

“I can’t compare the feeling to anything, because I’ve never felt so unbelievably lucky.” I take one of his hands and place it over my heart. “Feel it pounding? It hasn’t stopped since that day you proposed in the shower.”

“Mmm…I miss showers with you.”

A smile stretches on my lips, and I lift my arms over my head. He grins, fists the hem of my shirt, and pulls it up. A strawberry kiss is placed on my chest, right where our hands were.

I slowly slide my legs from his waist. Licking my lips, I toy with the bottom of his shirt before I lift it achingly slowly from his body. I want to drink in his skin, his lines, the sprinkled hair on his stomach, his pecs, his nipples…and not only them but beyond the surface. His heart, his soul, his spirit. Everything I can see and everything I can’t.

He takes my cheeks and kisses me while I work on his pants. I take my time, fiddling with his belt buckle, playing with his zipper, and he continues to kiss my lips from corner to corner.

I dip my thumbs into his waistband, swirl them around to his backside. Low, labored moans float from his mouth to mine, and I echo them, pull him closer, chest to chest, hip to hip. His hands fall to my shoulders, trickle down, leaving goose bumps in their path. He stops at my elbows and squeezes twice. I squeeze his ass once. And then his fingers find the clasp on my bra.

He pulls back, eyes on mine as he unlocks the top clasp. The bra loosens a bit, my breasts gently bounce, and one strap falls from its place on my shoulder, making me feel so damn hot and wonder how the hell we are managing to go so slowly. His other hand runs over my now bare shoulder, and the touch is so light, so warm, so intimate that my eyes roll back and my head hits the wall.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says, his mouth hovering over my collarbone. I take deep breaths and moan at the ceiling.