Page 86 of Tough Love
Why is he stalling? “Sure.”
His eyes wrinkle at the sides, his smile wide as he hesitates before saying, “Amelia Harris.”
“Yes, Evan North?”
“Will you be my girlfriend … again?”
I can’t help it, I laugh. And then I cry. Happy tears. Such happy tears. “Of course.”
He steals my next breath, fusing his mouth to mine as he shows me with not only his lips, but his hands, his hips, and his pounding heart what my answer means to him.
I don’t remember the walk to the bedroom, only the way he picks me up effortlessly; the way my legs fit so snugly around his waist, as though the dip was made just for me; the way my heartbeat thunders in my ears as I stare into his eyes; the way the shadows highlight his smile as we cross into the darkened room; the click of the door; and the way he makes me forget about everything past and future as I’m wrapped up in the present with him, ready for wherever this journey takes us next.
“My girl,” he whispers as he lays me down on the bed, still with my legs wrapped around his middle. “I missed the sound of that.”
“So did I.”
He holds himself braced over me, strong arms framing me in the moment. Every hair on my body is electrified, every nerve alive as I reach between us and tease the hem of his T-shirt up. He breaks from my hold, standing tall over me and pulling the shirt over his head in that way that only men can make look utterly and devastatingly sexy.
My breath hitches in my throat when—instead of returning to me like I assumed he would—he takes another step back and flicks the buckle of his belt open, unzipping his jeans, and then ditching the whole lot in one fell swoop.
Those thighs, that six-pack, his chest, and my favourite of all, his strong shoulders.
Heaven help me.I don’t compare to this. He’s perfect.Tooperfect.
“What’s on your mind?” Evan drops his body back over mine, propping himself up on one elbow while he gently strokes my hair away from my face with his free hand.
“You know how hot you are, right?”
“I get the gist, yeah.” He chuckles, low and throaty.
My legs turn to jelly.Thank fuck I’m already lying down.
“Do you, though?” he asks, with nothing but intense interest. “Know how hotyouare?”
I snort, turning my face away. “Average at best.”
My face is forced back to his. “Above average. Top of the range, actually.”
I narrow my gaze on him, silently warning him not to fuck with me. Next thing I know there’s a thick thigh between my legs, and I’m not so gently being shunted up the bed so that he has enough room to kneel before me.Okay, then.
“This”—he strokes my cheek, running a gentle thumb around the swell of my bottom lip—“is not average.”
I shudder as his hands move lower, my body alive and firing off shots of pleasure at will.
“These.” He cups my breasts in his palms, pushing them up and together with a satisfied grumble. “Nope. Not average at all.”
Rough fingertips skim my belly as he slides my shirt higher, and then dips his thumbs into the waist of my jeans.
“This.” He strokes the curve of my waist, massaging the section directly above my pelvic bone. “Certainly not average.” He jerks his hands away, dropping over me with such speed I press back into the mattress to avoid a collision. “And this?” His hands thread through my hair, massaging my scalp. “Exceptional.”
I swallow hard, unsure what to say.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Amelia. But what makes you so fucking hot iswhoyou are, notwhatyou are.”
He’s nailed it, the reason I’ve always felt such a strong pull toward him. “Ditto,” I whisper, tracing my palm down his side. “As much as I love how you’ve developed,” I explain with a touch of humour in my voice, “You’ve always been enough for me just as you are.”
“I wish I hadn’t wasted the past nine years, Mimi.”