2/14/13

Louisville

I don’t know what I’d expected from this day. I don’t know why I’d thought it would be like any other day.

And yet, here it was, turning into a total mental waste.

Because behind Mikey, the restaurant critic, who was shuffling through the newsroom door with a gas station cup in his hand and a shitty grin on his face, was Elvis.

Well, not exactly Elvis. Even from 15 feet away, I could tell his too-shiny, too-black pompadour was a wig. He was wearing a white polyester suit, dripping with rhinestones, but he was a little too old and paunchy even for late-career Vegas Elvis. He had the walk down, though, and the purple mirrored sunglasses.

Oh, and did I mention that he was carrying an enormous bouquet of roses in a crystal vase?

“Someone’s getting laid tonight!” crowed Kate, my beat writer.

I was supposed to be reading her midday blog post, but the words on my computer screen looked like nonsense, squiggly lines. My heart was suddenly pounding.

I hated Valentine’s Day. I always had. The stakes had always seemed too high, artificially high, inflated by the greeting card companies. I’d always found myself alone in the grocery store, debating pints of ice cream while Hall & Oates played on the PA and nervous-looking men clutched bottles of wine in the checkout lanes and a clerk called out for a price check on a single rose. It suited me fine. A year ago, I’d refused to come see Brian or let him come see me. I hadn’t been able to stop him from sending me flowers, but that, as it turned out, wasn’t exclusive to supposed special occasions. It was just another night, I’d said.

Well, a lot had changed in that year, hadn’t it?

I’d woken up grinning this morning. Brian had sent me a tired-eyed but smiling selfie from in front of his house at 1 a.m. “Home sweet home,” he’d typed. Then, “Btw I’m picking u up @ 7:30,” with a kissy face emoji.

Only then had I realized that today, my first time seeing him since we’d mended our relationship more than a month ago, was Valentine’s Day. Of all the damn days. No pressure there.

Especially not with Elvis standing over my desk now.

He set down the roses with a loud, deep thunk. Then he bent down on one knee, right in front of my desk chair.

“Wiiiiiiiiiiise meeeeeeennnnn saaaaaaaay,” he warbled, with a vibrato that was less Elvis than it was Jim Carrey’s Cable Guy character singing Jefferson Airplane, “only foooooooooools ruuuuuuush iiiiinnnnn…”

Catcalls erupted throughout the newsroom. Kate had her phone pointed at me and was laughing hysterically. Dave, my boss, had walked out of his office and was leaning against the wall, smirking at the scene.

As for me, I had started sliding down in my chair as soon as Elvis had walked in, and now my head was near the middle of the back rest. My hands covered the bottom half of my burning face. I was shaking with embarrassed, disbelieving laughter. Well, if Elvis had been sent by the person I suspected was responsible for this, that man certainly knew how to make a girl feel singled out.

My eyes shifted to the roses. There were at least two dozen of them, long-stemmed, all red and pink. Holy crap. Sure, he’d sent me flowers before, but he was not fucking around today. This holiday, man.

Elvis was still at it. “Shaaaaalllllll IIIIIIIII staaaaaaaaaaaay? Would it beeeeeeee aaaaaaa siiiiinnnnnn? If IIIIIIII caaaaaannnnnn’t heeeeelllllp falling in loooooove wiiiiiiiith yoooouuuu.”

He got up and did a passable little hip-swivel, and the whole newsroom burst into applause and cheers. I cast a glare around at them.

“Thank ya. Thank ya very much,” Elvis drawled. He pushed a clipboard toward me that I hadn’t noticed he was carrying, and I pulled myself up in my chair and managed to sign my name with a shaking hand.

“Do you accept tips?” Kate was still laughing.

Elvis winked down at her. “Always, little lady.”

I finally found my voice, and with it my instinctive sarcasm. “Take the vibrato down a notch.” I handed him the clipboard.

As Elvis swaggered out of the room, Scott, the music writer, walked over to me, holding his phone. “You know, I’ve been listening to a little Gym Class Heroes today,” he said. “Get me in the proper frame of mind.”

Kate snorted. “For what? Hanging out with your number-one Valentine, Rosie Palms?”

Scott turned and glared at his boss, Dori, who was cackling in the corner. “Hey, how come she gets to say that, but if I say that, I have to have a—” he made air quotes with his free hand – “‘talk with HR’ about ‘appropriate interactions’?”

Dori was still chortling. “Because it’s funny.”

“Anyway,” Scott said pointedly. He turned back to me and tapped the screen on his phone.

Travie McCoy’s voice filtered through the tiny speakers. “And I know it sounds so old, but Cupid’s got me in a chokehold, and I’m afraid I might give in, towel is on the mat…”

I shook my head at him. “What point are you trying to make by sharing that shitty abuse of a Supertramp sample with me?”

He pointed at the roses with his free hand and sang along, “If that ain’t love, then I don’t know what love is.”

Dori snorted. “That’s not love. That’s consumerism. You’re better off with Rosie.”

“Awwww, no, it’s beautiful.” Kate had finally stopped laughing. She sighed melodramatically, chin resting on one hand.

I didn’t say anything. I mean, it was probably all of the above. But it was definitely love. I should have known. I saw the note nestled among the roses, but Scott got to it first, clearing his throat to read it out loud.

“You’re a hell of a woman, and I’m really lucky you’re mine,” Scott recited. “Counting the minutes until I see you. Love, Brian.” Amid the chorus of saccharine “awwwwws” that followed, he looked down at me, and it was his turn to cackle. “Look at that shitty-ass grin.”

My face was burning, but yes, I was also grinning uncontrollably. I’d always wondered what he would want with a perfectly average person like me. Even now, I went about my sad little life, partnered and yet alone, and every once in a great while, something dropped into my day to remind me that I was loved, that I was special to someone the whole world had once thought was special, that someone important thought I was important. It was, I had no trouble admitting, ridiculously romantic.

Scott tossed the note down on my desk. The music faded as he walked away, but the guy from Fall Out Boy followed him across the room: “Take a look at my girlfriend, she’s the only one I got, not much of a girlfriend…”

“So is he home yet?” Kate said.

I was still staring at the roses. I nodded, then realized she was looking at her laptop and not at me. “Yeah, he got in at, like, midnight. He didn’t let me come pick him up.”

Kate looked up, arching an eyebrow. “He didn’t let you?”

I shrugged. “He said he had something special planned. Don’t know what. He texted last night and told me when he was picking me up, and that’s it.” Kate rolled her eyes, and I shrugged again. “Look, we didn’t even see each other on this day a year ago.”

Kate shook her head and went back to typing. “You’re goin’ soft, boss lady.”

I stared at the roses. My heart was a puddle inside me.

“Probably,” I mumbled, finally turning back to my computer.

The oven clock glowed in my barren kitchen: 7:22. I was alone with my thoughts, in the purple sheath dress I’d worn on our first Kentucky date, hands sweating into a kitchen towel to keep from staining it. The roses were sitting on my counter, and “Cupid’s Chokehold” had been stuck in my head all day.

I hadn’t done any packing. I’d begged for another month on my lease. If I started staying there right away, well, at least I had a couple of weeks to use this place as an overpriced closet and figure out what the hell to do with my furniture.

What a strange situation we were in – about to move in together, yet here I was, my stomach as full of butterflies as if we were going on our first date.

He had told me we needed to “reconnect,” whatever that meant. He was right, of course. We weren’t any less long-distance than when I’d been living in New York, and the last month had felt just a little cautious. It had been, after all, a little over a month since I’d flown to London to try to undo our breakup.

What a strange week that had been. After our reconciliation, the other guys had all hugged me as if I was their long-lost pet, and then they’d begged me to check into a hotel. Nothing personal, they’d said, but it was their house and their workspace, and they didn’t want to hear us having make-up sex. I’d spent the days wandering the picture-perfect streets of London and scribbling in a notebook in cafes, like a character in a moody movie. Brian had come to me at the hotel every night, a hotel that he’d paid for to get the guys off his back, and we’d had, well, true to their predictions, a shitload of make-up sex that still made me blush furiously whenever it popped into my head.

On the night before I’d flown home, Brian had held me close, the air thick with our emotions and glowing with the aftermath of our lovemaking, and said, “We have to figure out our new normal.”

“You mean not hurting each other?” I’d said quietly, naming the elephant in the room as I traced the scar on his chest with a fingertip, making him shiver.

“Yeah, that. But I mean, what it’s going to be like not to be long-distance.” I’d heard the smile in his voice as he tightened his arms around me, tickling me a little to punctuate his next words. “What we’re going to do when we have to actually put up with each other every day.”

I’d rolled my eyes. “Oh, well, when you put it that way.”

He’d pressed his lips to my forehead. “I know. Gross. We have to figure out how to be a real couple.”

What a strange thing to say, I’d thought. “What does that even mean? What do real couples do?”

“Well, for starters…” He’d pulled me on top of him and pretty much ended the conversation, with no complaints from me.

The door buzzer shattered my reverie. My face was already in flames, and now I thought I might be blushing from head to toe. I wiped my hands and jumped to my feet, my heels clicking across the floor as I buzzed the visitor in without a word. It occurred to me that I might not have a date with Brian at all, throwing caution to the wind like that. It might be a rapist, or a Jehovah’s Witness. I stood in front of the door, heart pounding, time seemingly frozen, until I finally heard the tap on the door.

Nerves overwhelmed me, and as my fingers closed around the doorknob, I couldn’t stop myself from squeezing my eyes shut and muttering, “Please don’t be a rapist, please don’t be a rapist.”

“I’m not a rapist,” a Southern-fried voice said as I opened the door. “Why would you even think that?”

I finally opened my eyes, and all the breath rushed out of me. Brian was standing in front of me, holding a bouquet of tiger lilies, and he looked gorgeous. He was wearing a black wool coat I’d never seen before, and I could see a white shirt and a black silk tie peeking out from under it. There were snowflakes on his shoulders and in his hair. When had it started snowing? I could smell his cologne, that scent that made my knees weak every time. And he was here, and he was grinning from ear to ear, and those blue, blue eyes were sparkling, and I couldn’t remember him ever looking more like he’d been chiseled from granite, more handsome.

The sight of him, stepping right out of my dreams and into my home, actually made me nervous. The next chapter of our relationship started right this second.

“Hi,” I whispered. It came out almost shy.

“Hi.” He stepped across the threshold, closer to me. One hand dropped to my free hand. “You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”

I found my voice. “Well, you know, I had George Clooney on standby in case your flight got canceled.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is George Clooney a known rapist?”

“I don’t ask questions.” The nearness of him overwhelmed me. I reached up with both hands, grabbed the lapel of his coat and pulled him in for a kiss to silence us both.

I’d just wanted to kiss him hello, but passion flamed between us instantly. His arm slipped around my waist and pulled me closer, crushing the flowers between our bodies, so that heady fragrance filled my nose. Kissing him, at the end of all this time apart, was like grabbing a life preserver, and his lips clung to mine as our tongues got to know each other again.

When we came up for air, his lips lingered near mine. The air between us felt electric. “Well, hey there, Miz Michaels,” he whispered.

“You should have expected that.” I jerked my head at the flowers. “That was very sweet, even for you.”

He pulled back enough to look past me, nodding in approval. “And the Elvis impersonator? That was the florist’s idea, not mine, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to make a scene in your office.” He winked down at me.

I poked him in the chest. “That was completely unnecessary and ridiculously cute. A little on the fat-Elvis side, though.”

He grinned down at me. “Next year, I’ll just get an Elvis costume and show up at your work myself.” His voice dropped several octaves as he wiggled his hips against mine. “I’m just a hunka hunka burnin’ love…”

Boy, he knew just what to say. I sighed and let go of his coat. “And you were being so romantic.”

“You’re right.” He held out the forgotten tiger lilies, which didn’t look too bad considering they’d gotten caught in the crossfire of our makeout session. “Do these make up any ground?”

“They do.” I took the flowers from him and smelled them. They really were beautiful. And I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud today, but they beat the pants off roses.

He plucked a blossom from the bouquet and tucked it behind my ear. It was pretty transparently an excuse to run his fingers through my hair, trail them down my cheek. His eyes were full of love and longing fulfilled.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I missed your face, Meg.”

“I missed you, too.” Every word wrapped around my heart and squeezed. It all felt so different now. Maybe it was because this was the first time we’d seen each other since making up, but maybe it was because there was no return flight, no expiration date on this time together. I caught his hand and pressed my lips to his open palm.

He looked over his shoulder at the oven clock, which now read 7:30 straight up. “C’mon. We have reservations at 8.”

As he picked up my coat from a kitchen chair, I found an old vase in the cabinet, left over from a previous floral surprise, and hastily filled it with water for the tiger lilies. “Where are we going?”

He walked over and put my coat on my shoulders, helping me into it. “Oh, you can guess, can’t you? You wore the right dress. Our first date here and all that.”

I turned around and smiled at him as I buttoned up my coat. “What can I say? We’re both rank sentimentalists.”

He kissed my cheek. “I know. It’s your biggest secret.”

The snow was falling in big, fat flakes that made the other drivers freak out and slow down to about 30 on the highway. I wanted to make Brian pull over and let me drive, winter-hardened former Illinoisan that I was, but he was holding my hand so tenderly and looked so handsome silhouetted by the orange highway lights that I couldn’t bring myself to be all that irritated with him for driving like a frightened old lady.

About the fifth time I glanced at the clock, I said, “Are they going to give our table away?”

He lifted my hand to his lips. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” He shot a wink at me. “I might have thrown my weight around a little bit.”

Coming from someone who went out halfway in disguise half the time, that meant a lot. I smiled at him. “You spoil me.”

“Well, you should be spoiled. Today’s a good excuse.” He craned his neck to look around the car in front of him, which had slowed to an even more glacial pace as the exit approached.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, right. Did you need one?”

“No, not really.” His eyes were on the road, but his smile was just for me, I knew.

I looked out the window at the falling snow, which was just starting to cling to the grass on the shoulder. “You know, I’d have been just as happy to sit at your house in our PJs, eating takeout and watching the snow fall.”

“I know that. And so would I.” He kissed the back of my hand again. “But we have all the nights in the world to do that.” Now he finally looked at me sidelong. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” I shook my head, lips pressed together against a smile, and he went on, “See, so let me have one night to be all romantic and pull out all the stops and woo you. Like I said, today’s a good excuse for it.” He grinned. “Not just because it’s Valentine’s Day, but because it’s my first day home. Our first night of not being long-distance.”

Warmth suffused me, but I was still stuck on “woo.” “I’m sorry, woo me?” I repeated.

“Yeah, you know…” We were off the highway now, sitting at a red light. He leaned across the car, cupped my cheek in his hand and kissed me, so sweetly I almost couldn’t bear it, in the glow of the streetlights and the snow-grayed sky. Then he pulled back just enough to pump his fist and half-yell, like a sports fan, echoing off the walls of the Jeep, “Wooooooo!”

I sighed and leaned back in my seat. “You’re a pain in the ass.” But I couldn’t keep from smiling.

Quiet and elegant as it was supposed to be, Corbett’s was a complete madhouse. 8:00 was probably the seating of choice. There were at least four other couples in front of us at the host station. But the hostess looked about the right age to know who Brian was, and she elbowed the other employee standing next to her, who retrieved an envelope from the host station and walked over to us.

“What’s this about?” I whispered to Brian, who still had his coat on, as I unbuttoned mine.

“It’s OK. Keep your coat on.” His hand covered and stilled mine as the host walked over and inclined his head toward the front door.

“Aren’t they gonna think we’re being thrown out?” I whispered as I followed them back out into the snow, focusing all my energy on not eating shit on the cold, wet pavement.

Brian grinned down at me. “Beats having people watch us eat dinner, doesn’t it?”

The host led us to a side entry that opened into a private room, with its own wood-carved bar and windows that looked out into a snow-covered garden. It was totally empty, except for a single table for two, with a candle and a single red rose in the middle.

My hands flew to my mouth. Nerves overcame me and held my feet to the spot.

Brian turned to me when I didn’t immediately follow him in out of the cold. He kissed my cheek, and I heard the barely suppressed laughter in his voice. “Before you say anything, no, that’s not what’s happening here.”

“Am I that transparent?” I muttered into his ear.

He grabbed my hand and led me into the room. “Your poker face leaves a lot to be desired,” he said as he helped me out of my coat. “You think I didn’t learn anything about timing?”

The host hovered next to us. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Littrell?”

Brian smiled at the guy. “No, I think that’ll be all. I’ll ask if we do.”

My jaw was still hanging open as Brian pulled out my chair for me to sit down. “So you just…did this? For funsies?”

“Pretty much.” He sat down across from me. “Like I said, I didn’t want a bunch of people watching us eat a nice dinner together.” His hand reached across the table for mine. “This is sort of a celebration, you know. We aren’t long-distance anymore.” He grinned. “Finally. Took us long enough.”

His smile was infectious. I laced my fingers through his. “But I bet I’m the only girl in town relieved not to be being proposed to,” I said lightly, realizing too late what unpleasant power my words wielded.

He didn’t even blink. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.” Now, though, he winked. “But you’re not off the hook forever, you know.”

Oddly, that was an even bigger relief.

The appetizer was oysters, and I was immediately grateful we were alone. I wouldn’t have wanted a bunch of tables around us, staring at me as I tried to figure out how to eat an oyster. They were fantastic, but I couldn’t figure out how they qualified as an aphrodisiac; the sight of a person slurping oyster meat had to be a huge turn-off. I was a little too focused on eating mine to watch Brian eat his, but when I saw him out of the corner of my eye, I still didn’t quite get it.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Well, that’s one to check off the bucket list,” I said, washing the briny taste out of my mouth with my glass of wine.

“You’ve never had oysters?” Brian winked at me across the table. “I had no idea.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Great work, Sherlock.”

“Well, I’ve obviously failed you if that was your first time.” He sat back as the waiter arrived to refill his water.

“I think I told you once I’d be just as happy with a really great slice of pizza. You really don’t need to impress me.” I took another drink of wine, satisfied that my mouth tasted more like dry red grapes than salty oyster. It was my turn to wink at him over the rim of my glass. “But I do like it when you try.”

He smiled at me, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Guess I should try more often.”

“You have plenty of time.” I set down my glass and leaned forward, resisting the urge to put my elbows on the table. Doubt crept in, against my best efforts. “You do, don’t you?”

“As far as I know.” He looked out the window, in the general direction of the snowy garden. His eyes turned thoughtful. “I remember you saying we get to be our own bosses now. This is me being mine. I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”

He turned back to me and held his hand out across the table, and I placed mine in it without hesitating. “I also remember you saying, the other time I brought you here, ‘It’s not always gonna be just weekends, is it?’” He smiled, and the reassurance in his voice melted my heart. “And now it’s not.”

And now it’s not. He would be mine every night. We would share a home. We would wake up together every morning, and I would finally, really come home to him every night. Every single day together. They weren’t just dreams. They were finally reality.

I squeezed his hands. “You know what’s been good about being long-distance, though?”

“Getting all the blankets to yourself?” He tickled the inside of my wrist with his fingertips. “’Cause you’re kinda sorta the biggest blanket hog in the Western Hemisphere.”

“You’re killin’ me, Littrell.” I sighed melodramatically. “I was going to try to say something real. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“All right, all right.” He winked at me.

I looked down into what was left of my wine. “I feel like…like we’ve gotten really good at just juicing all the happiness out of every moment,” I said slowly. “Like we don’t take anything for granted. Like every time I look at you, I need to just memorize you and your face and your laugh to get me through when you aren’t here. And it feels so much more important since I almost lost you.”

I took a deep breath, waiting for my voice to break or my eyes to flood, but they didn’t. He was about the only thing in the world worth crying over, but maybe I’d cried my lifetime allotment of tears, after all we’d been through.

I finally looked up at him. “So let’s don’t start taking anything for granted now, OK?”

He was half-smiling, half-biting his lip. His eyes were shining with pleasure. “Those are some fancy words, Meg.”

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected him to say. I shrugged. “I’m not good for much else, Brian,” I parried.

He tugged on my hand. “Come here.”

I got up from my chair and walked over to him. He scooted out from the table, pulled me down into his lap and kissed me. His other hand crept up to slide into my hair as his lips lingered on mine.

“You’re just good, period,” he whispered when we parted. He ran his hand through my hair again and twirled a curl around his finger. “I love you, sweet girl.”

A throat cleared behind us. I looked over my shoulder to see a waiter standing there with the salads, looking mildly mortified.

Oh, let him. I kissed Brian again. “I love you, too.”

It was almost 10:30 when we got back in the car. The drive back into town would not exactly be short, especially not now that there was snow on the roads, but the air practically hummed with anticipation. Maybe that was just me. My body felt soft with good food and wine and, damn it, yes, some aphrodisiac quality of it all, and with the closeness of the man I’d shared it with.

“Well…” Brian turned on the engine, punched a couple of buttons to heat up the seats. “It’s kinda late. Should I take you home?”

It was so obviously a question he hated asking that I almost laughed out loud. Instead, I stared a hole in him, trying desperately to squelch a filthy smile at all the possibilities we both knew the night still held.

“I think you should take me home with you,” I said calmly.

His smile lit up the car. I was surprised the tires didn’t squeal as he gunned the Jeep out of there.

The house looked like something out of a storybook when we pulled up. Snow covered the lawn, and the front window glowed softly. The sky was a dull gray, almost as bright as midday from the reflection of the still-falling snow, as he opened my car door and offered me his hand.

“You spoil me.” I steadied my shaking legs as my feet hit the ground. “Are you always gonna be this perfect of a gentleman to me?”

“I give it about…” He looked at an imaginary watch. “Fifteen minutes, max, before I’m not.”

His voice was low, and the smile on his face, in his darkening eyes, made my toes curl in my shoes. I reached for the lapels of his coat. “I’m not sure I want you to wait that long,” I whispered in the most seductive voice I could muster as I pulled him closer.

Our lips met only for a moment before he stepped back and grabbed my hand again. “Oh, no, no, no. We’re going inside. I have this all planned out.”

I liked it when he planned things. It didn’t always happen, but when it did, it usually had an exceptionally happy ending. Sometimes several. I could feel a blush starting in my cheeks and heading south.

Inside the house, he took off his coat, then mine, and hung them on a black iron coat tree next to the door. Then he turned to me, squeezed my hands, and took a deep breath. “OK. I need you to wait right here for a couple of minutes.”

I crossed my arms in mock indignation. “I don’t know what you keep making me wait around for.”

He grinned so naughtily that I caught my breath and leaned in close to whisper in my ear, “You’re gonna be glad I did.” Then he walked away before I could say something else smart.

I could faintly hear sounds coming from the kitchen, his shoes clicking on the hallway floor, back and forth. I stepped out of my shoes, enjoying the rush of blood back to my feet, though it didn’t last; the blood was needed elsewhere. My heart was racing, my pulse drumming in every cell of me, my body already softening with heat and anticipation. He’d seemed almost nervous for a second there, and frankly, so was I. Our first time sleeping together after time away was always loaded with emotions and longing – that, and a monumental physical struggle not to just come on the spot when we touched. It all felt so much more intense, knowing that it was our first night of many together, at last. I wondered if I had spent my last night in that old apartment. I was sort of counting on it.

Finally, he came walking back into the foyer and held out his hand to me. “OK. Close your eyes.”

I took a deep breath, which hitched in my throat, and placed my hand in his as I closed my eyes. I felt the brief touch of his lips on mine, and then he was pulling me down the hall, both our footsteps silent.

I knew when we reached his bedroom because his scent surrounded me, even though I didn’t feel him anywhere near me. He let go of my hand for a moment. I heard the soft rustling of fabric, and then music started playing softly. “Tequila Sunrise.” Memories flooded me of a night when I hadn’t even been able to imagine this moment, this love in full bloom.

“OK, you can open your eyes,” he whispered in my ear.

I opened my eyes. Brian was standing right in front of me, his black jacket gone, tie loose, feet bare. There were candles all over the dresser and both nightstands. On one nightstand, they were sharing space with an ice bucket with an open champagne bottle sticking out of it, two glasses of champagne, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. The bed was covered with rose petals. I didn’t know where the music was coming from, but it sounded a lot better than his phone.

It was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen. Whatever was still solid in me melted.

“Holy shit,” I couldn’t stop myself from whispering.

He picked up my hand and bowed gallantly over it, brushing his lips over my knuckles. He glanced up at me with a playful, sexy smile. “May I have this dance, Miz Michaels?”

It was exactly what had popped into my head – our first dance together all over again. I took his hand and answered him just as I had then, with a little fake curtsy, a bend of knees I didn’t trust. My voice came out considerably more shaky this time, though. “Why, Mr. Littrell, I do declare,” I whispered.

He twirled me around and pulled me close against him, one hand on the small of my back, the other holding mine. I reached up and held on to his shoulder for dear life as we swayed back and forth to that sad ballad of a hired hand working on the dreams he planned to try.

“Oh, you are a hopeless romantic,” I whispered, suddenly breathless.

He winked down at me. “I’ll make one out of you yet.”

I laid my head on his shoulder and breathed him in. “It’s funny. I don’t hardly remember what it felt like now, not knowing you like I do, not knowing, you know…your intentions.”

He chuckled softly. “I don’t know, I thought my intentions were pretty damn clear.” I looked up at him. The corners of his mouth lifted in a sexy smirk. “I wanted to get in your pants. And your heart. But not least, your pants.”

I couldn’t stop a little laugh from escaping me. “Oh, yes, that’s very romantic.”

“Hey, I was a gentleman that night.”

“Right up until you pushed me up against the wall and made out with me.”

“I could have done it a lot sooner.” He paused. In the background, Glenn Frey sang, She wasn’t just another woman, and I couldn’t keep from coming on, it’s been so long… He smiled down at me. “I remember looking down at you right when I heard that and wanting to kiss you so bad. I didn’t think you’d be too happy with me if I did that.”

And I remembered looking up at him in that moment and realizing I’d fallen in love with him. I wondered if he’d known I’d felt that way. I wondered if he’d known it himself yet.

“And now?” I whispered finally.

He didn’t say anything, just bent his head and kissed me, our mouths melting into each other, finally reunited, as the music melted into the prettiest guitar part.

We stood there together, swaying together, our bodies relaxing into each other as the music flowed from song to song. He’d made a great playlist, lots of Van Morrison. My body felt electrified, as if sparks might actually fly out of my pores if we kissed again, and a huge part of me wanted to shove him down on the bed and ride him to the stars. As close as we were, I could feel him stirring to life, too. An equally important part of me, though, just wanted to hold him and feel the way our bodies fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle, no matter what physically separated us.

Eventually, he placed my hand on his chest, covering it with his hand for a moment before sliding that arm around my waist to join the other one. He hummed along with the song: “She’s as sweet as Tupelo honey, she’s an angel in the first degree…”

I could feel his heartbeat against my palm, fast but sure. I fingered the silk tie he was still wearing. For some reason, I’d seen but not really noticed it.

“How come you’re still wearing your tie?” I said softly.

I felt his smile against my hair. “Oh, I wanted to keep it close. Figured we could have some fun with that.” His voice was low, husky, teasing, and it stole my breath.

I lifted my head, finally, and winked at him. “I think you’re letting this Valentine’s Day crap go to your head.”

“I happen to like this day. This one in particular.” He nuzzled his nose against mine. “It’s like I said earlier. It’s a good excuse to spoil you.”

I slipped my arms around his waist. “You say that like you need one,” I teased him.

“You’re right. I don’t. The sun coming up is a good excuse to spoil you.”

His hands were restless on my back now, and my breath was short again. “Someday I’m gonna have to figure out how to pay you back for all this spoiling.”

He looked thoughtfully down at me, and I realized that I saw what perhaps no one else did: how much he needed reassuring, every ounce as much as I did.

“Just love me, sweet girl,” he whispered. “That’s all. And let me love you.”

The word pushed out of me. Even if I could have stopped it, I wouldn’t have. “Always,” I whispered back, and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him.

The passion of our kiss hello earlier tonight flamed again, and now, nothing stood in our way, not time nor obligation. There was no hurry, no frantic pace, but no lack of heat, either. I wrapped my arms around his neck and ran my fingers through his hair, falling ever deeper into the kiss, getting drunk on the taste of him. We were at the point of no return.

His arms tightened around me. One of his hands found its way into my hair, cradling my head. Then it was on my dress’ zipper, easing it down and sliding inside to splay over my skin. I felt a little sound of pleasure rise in my throat at the touch of his hand.

I broke the kiss, with considerable effort, and took a few steps backward. “Oh, no, allow me,” I whispered, and reached back to finish unzipping my dress before I slid out of it. The look in his eyes made me really, really glad I had driven out to the mall and paid old Victoria a visit last night. The bra and panties were nothing but red lace, skimpy and totally impractical, and they were probably going to be on the floor in a few seconds, but those smoldering eyes were worth it.

“Damn,” he whispered.

I reached out, grabbed his tie and pulled him closer. “You’re wearing too many clothes.” I pressed my lips to his neck as my fingers, shaking now with pent-up desire, found the buttons on his shirt and started to undo them.

I heard him blow out a shaky breath. “I think you are, too.” His hands roamed over my back, sliding lower to cup my ass and pull me against him. At the feel of his hardness pressed low against my belly, I closed my eyes, and my hands fell from his shirt, landing on his belt buckle. I dared to drop them a little further, brushing the backs of my fingers over the bulge in his pants.

He stopped, grabbed my hand and stumbled backward. “Nope.” He grinned ruefully. “It’s been a little too long for you to do that.”

“How do you think I feel?” I murmured.

“Well…” He stepped closer to me again, but didn’t put his hands on me again. Instead, he reached out and brushed his fingertips against me through my panties. My knees disappeared. I forgot my own name. He leaned closer to me, nuzzling my hair aside, and his voice in my ear threatened to melt me into a puddle on the spot. “The difference is, you’re gonna come over and over again. That’s a promise.”

I realized I was holding my breath, struggling to keep it together. He dropped his hand, and I fell onto the bed, my legs useless. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he undressed.

“That lacy stuff looks damn good on you, girl,” he murmured. “It’s gonna look a lot better on the floor.”

I managed to roll my eyes as I scooted backward on the bed, toward the pillows. “Real original, Brian.”

“You like it.” He dropped his boxers to the floor. My mouth went dry. It had definitely been a while.

He walked over to the bed and crawled toward me. His mouth landed hard on mine, muffling my moan as his hand found my breast. The scent of roses surrounded us, and I remembered the petals crushed under our bodies.

His lips left mine and trailed down my neck. His hands went to the clasp on my bra. “You are definitely wearing too much,” he growled against my skin as he unhooked my bra and stripped it away. He sat up and looked down at me, and the way his eyes devoured me made me shiver.

“See, now doesn’t that look so much better on the floor?” he whispered.

I held his gaze. “You aren’t even looking at the floor.”

“Nope.” He reached out and picked up one of the glasses of champagne. His eyes traveled up and down my body as he took a sip. “I missed you so much. I missed your body. Your skin. Your smell.”

He took another long drink of champagne, and then he leaned down and started kissing my breasts, taking my nipple in his mouth, which was still fizzy from the champagne. I gasped at the sensation of the little bubbles on his skilled tongue. It was like a million little explosions on my skin. His hand traveled lower and slipped into my panties.

At the first brush of his fingers against my flesh, I came apart under his hands and mouth, crying out his name. He stayed with me, his tongue swirling around my nipple as his fingertip swirled around my clit, drawing out the pleasure.

When my body stilled, I heard him laugh a little. “That was quick.” He lifted his head and kissed me, gently now, stroking my hair.

“Oh, shut up,” I whispered against his lips, my breath still ragged. “You know I missed you.”

I managed to prop myself up on my elbows. “Anyway…” I glanced at the nightstand, surveying the strawberries for the first time, selecting an especially juicy-looking one with lots of chocolate. I turned back to him and lightly pushed him onto his back. “If that’s how you’re going to play…”

He watched me expectantly as I brought the strawberry to my mouth and swirled my tongue around the chocolatey tip. I hadn’t really thought this through, but what the hell. I took the strawberry and swirled it around on his chest, moving lower, tracing a thin line of chocolate on his skin, drawing little patterns on his stomach, then still lower, stopping just short of his manhood, which twitched as I got closer.

“Oh, you little she-devil,” he murmured, watching my hand, his eyes dark with pleasure.

I grinned down at him. “You have no idea,” I whispered, before lowering my head to the end of the trail and tracing over the chocolate with my tongue, licking up every drop.

I heard a long groan escape him and grinned against his skin. One of his hands tangled in my hair. “Oh, fuck, Meg,” he groaned again. “You’re making me crazy.”

When I reached the end of the chocolate, his hand closed around my hair and, no, not gently at all now, he yanked me up so our lips could meet in a fiery kiss. His other arm snaked around my waist and hauled my body against his, my breasts pressing into his chest, only my panties separating us. His hands traveled down, and I heard fabric ripping, and then my panties were gone.

Damn. It had never been like this between us. I must have done something right.

I thought he’d guide me down onto his cock, which throbbed between us as my own body cried out for him to fill me. Instead, he rolled off me, and then he was pulling me to the edge of the bed so that my legs dangled off. I still had the strawberry clutched in my hand, chocolate melting all over my fingers, and he grabbed it from me.

“Gimme that,” he whispered. “You’re gonna get it now.”

He stood up and moved to part my legs and kneel between them, which were shaking with anticipation. I propped myself up on my elbows again and watched as he ran the strawberry up the inside of my thigh. At the touch of his tongue licking it up, I squeezed my eyes shut and drew in a sharp breath.

Then I felt the strawberry there, brushing back and forth against the entrance to me.

“That’s not fair,” I gasped.

“Probably not.” I heard the grin in his voice. “Look at me.”

I dragged my eyes open. The candlelight danced on his face, in his eyes. He took a big bite out of the strawberry. “That’s sweet.” He licked his lips, and his eyes left mine, focusing on the prize in front of him. “Not as sweet as you, though.”

He slid his hands under my ass, pulled my legs over his shoulders and buried his face between my legs in an openmouthed kiss. A scream escaped me as he licked up the chocolate he’d left there and kept going. I reached down to tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him to the spot, but he reached up blindly and closed a hand over my wrist. His mouth was tender and skilled and, oh, so wickedly gentle as his tongue explored me.

I could feel my body tensing again, winding up tightly, and then the world shattered around me again. His mouth lingered on me as pleasure crashed on me like waves. And then, just as the waves started to recede, he got up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and kissed me, covering my body with his. I could still taste the traces of chocolate and myself on his lips.

“Yeah, that’s a sweet girl,” he murmured against my lips. He slid a hand between us. His fingers teased my too-sensitive flesh and slipped inside me again.

“Oh, God, what are you doing to me?” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut against the assault on my senses.

“Hey, I keep my promises.” He nibbled the junction of my shoulder and neck, and then he pulled back. “Look at me,” he said again. With effort, I opened my eyes. He grinned down at me, but his voice was ragged. “I want you to look at me when I make you come.”

He pressed his finger down in exactly that spot, and I saw stars, as blue as his eyes, which never left mine. I struggled to keep watching him like he’d asked as pleasure consumed me again, leaving me breathless, half-moaning, half-gasping. The masculine triumph in his eyes made me feel as special as anything he’d ever said or done, as wanted as anything he’d ever done to me.

His fingers slowed as I came down. I was still catching my breath as he hauled my legs back onto the bed. I was a rag doll. He could do whatever the hell he wanted with me.

I felt the mattress give and squeak as he climbed back onto the bed and hovered over me, parting my legs again with his knee. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” he whispered in my ear. “You make me crazy.”

My heart was pounding like I’d run a marathon. I still couldn’t quite get a breath in. “I…I didn’t do much of anything.”

He ran his hand through my hair, winding a disheveled curl around his finger. I opened my eyes to see him watching me again, the lust and longing mixed with love and tenderness.

“You were you, sweet girl,” he whispered, pulling me up for another long, passionate kiss as he finally entered me.

I sighed into his mouth as our bodies finally joined. This moment, after our time apart, was always so sublime. It was even better now, knowing it wasn’t a stolen moment, knowing we had earned it at last.

I wrapped my leg around his hip, pulling him closer as he started to move in me. I could feel his muscles tense as I dropped back against the pillows and ran my restless hands up and down his back. I knew he was trying to keep it slow; I could see the effort on his face.

I reached up and stroked his face. “Let it go, baby,” I whispered. I pulled him down to me and kissed him hard as his thrusts sped up.

It would never have been just sex between us. I’d always known it. It was why I’d forced myself not to sleep with him until we could finally be honest with each other. There was no separating this from our love. This was love. The universe was as small as this bed, as small as the place where our bodies joined.

When the moment came, I arched against him and screamed again. He slammed into me one last time, pulsing inside me, collapsing on top of me, and I heard my name slip out on a loud groan.

Slowly, I returned to Earth. I stroked his hair, sweaty now, as he kissed my neck softly. He pulled out of me and rolled over, taking me with him. I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat drumming against my cheek, frantic, then slowing. His fingers traced lines up and down my shoulder, my back, the curve of my waist.

He kissed my forehead. “Did I say I missed you?”

“You might have mentioned it.” I pressed my lips to the scar next to my face. “Did I say I missed you?”

“Maybe once.” He tilted my chin up, but didn’t kiss me, just looked into my eyes. “That was incredible,” he whispered. “I’m never leaving you again.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, well, if I’d’ve known that was all it takes to get you to stay with me...”

He tickled me around my waist. “Girl, you and your smart mouth.”

“Oh, you missed it. You said so yourself.” I reached down and tried to grab his hand.

My eyes caught the clock radio on the nightstand, almost hidden behind the champagne and strawberries. It was past midnight. Jesus. Midnight? It was past midnight, and I had no way home, no clothes, and no work bag. I couldn’t quite stifle a laugh.

“It’s so late,” I giggled.

Brian rolled over so we were facing each other, his hand still at the curve of my waist. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said huskily, but he was still grinning.

“Well, you’re gonna have to take me home way earlier than you think tomorrow.” I paused, a plan percolating in my head. “But when I get home from work, I’m gonna start packing. I’m gonna get some stuff together, and then I’m gonna come over here.” I inched closer to him and planted a brief kiss on his lips. “And then I’m afraid you’re gonna be well and truly stuck with me.”

His hand slid around to the small of my back, where his fingertip traced little circles. “Is that a promise?”

I smiled into his hopeful eyes as warmth rose in me again. “Yeah. We have nothing but time now.”