: Chapter 27

Jameson

I tap my foot as I crane my neck to look at the traffic backed up in front. Shit.

I press the buzzer to the front of the limo. “Are we going to be late?” I ask Alan.

“No, sir; we’re an hour early. Plenty of time.”

“I don’t want to miss her flight. Go the back way.”

“You won’t. Relax.”

I sit back and try to control my nerves. Emily hasn’t contacted me all weekend, and I’m pretty sure she’s coming home to end it between us. I’ve run and run and run. The only time I have had any semblance of peace is when I’ve pounded the pavement around New York.

I can’t accept the possibility that I won’t be in her life, that she won’t be in mine . . . the thought sickens me. How could I have been so fucking stupid?

I’ve been trying to pull a logical argument together in my head as to what I’m going to say if she ends it . . . so far I’ve come up empty.

The limo pulls up at the airport, and I climb out in a rush. “You’ll be here?” I ask.

“No, I’ll circle. Let me know when you have her, and I’ll come back around. You still have fifty minutes before her plane lands.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” I pat down my pockets as I look around nervously. “Do I have everything?” I’m flustered and vague.

“Yes, sir.”

I drop my shoulders and exhale heavily. “Wish me luck.”

Alan smiles broadly and, with a jovial nod, says, “Good luck, sir.”

I walk into the airport and up to the arrival gate of her plane. I still have forty minutes. I look over to the bar, and it calls my name in a sweet song.

A scotch would be so good right now . . . take the edge off.

No.

I need to cut that shit out. I haven’t allowed myself to have a drink all weekend. Emily deserves more than a drunk.

With nerves racing through my body, I walk to one end of the airport and then back to the arrival lounge. I glance at my watch. Thirty-five minutes to go. I do it again and again.

I can’t sit still.

Not when I know what’s coming.

Emily

I walk with the crowd into the arrivals lounge. My flight has just landed, and my heart is beating hard in my chest.

I’ve dug into the bottom of my soul this weekend, searching for the answers.

Trying to work out what to do with my life and who to do it with.

One thing is clear: the only thing that is clear . . . is who I love.

I can’t deny it.

Jameson Miles is etched into my heart, and as petrified as I am of him hurting me again, his words keep coming back to me. “To love is to be brave.”

I’m going to swallow my pride and be brave. I’m going to let myself go . . . and hope to God I’m doing the right thing, because I can’t go through this again.

He comes into view, and he smiles as our eyes lock. Excitement fills me, and I do a little skip and begin to run, and I jump into his waiting arms. We cling to each other tightly, locked in an embrace. We don’t speak; we don’t kiss; we just hold on.

Clinging desperately to the hope that we can get past this.

My shadows are chased away for a little while.

“I missed you,” he whispers into my hair.

“I missed you too.”

He bends, and his lips take mine as we forget where we are. His tongue slowly strokes through my open lips, and he holds my face in his two hands as we get lost in the moment. His kiss is tender and, more importantly, familiar.

With him, I am home.

An hour later, we walk into my apartment, hand in hand.

We hardly spoke on the way home. I sat on his lap, tucked safely in his big arms, and enjoyed the closeness. His lips dusted back and forth over my temple as he held tight, as if not believing I was here with him.

I’ve missed the closeness. Our closeness.

It’s not even about the sex with us anymore. I mean, it was in the beginning. But my heart has eclipsed any physical need that my mere body desires . . . and I know he’s the same.

He turns me toward him, and his eyes search mine. “Em . . .” He pauses as if trying to get the wording right in his head. “I swear to you, from this moment on . . . you are my everything. Our new life together . . . starts right now.”

I smile up at him as my eyes fill with tears anew. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” We kiss, and unlike the tenderness we have shared over the last hour, a new desperation fills us.

Suddenly I want him . . . all of him. “Take me to bed.”

He scoops me up and carries me into the room like a bride and stands me before him. His lips drop to my neck, and I smile at the ceiling as goose bumps scatter over my skin. He bites me with an edge I remember so well.

Oh, I’ve missed him.

I lift his shirt over his head and throw it to the side, and he does the same to mine. We become animals as we tear each other’s clothes away. There is nothing between us now. Only skin . . . and love.

His lips tenderly take mine as he lays me back on the bed, and his lips go to my neck and then start to go lower, and I cling to him. “No, I need you up here with me.”

We stare at each other in some kind of otherworldly experience. This is special.

I wish I could bottle this moment.

“Now, Jim,” I whisper, “I need you now.”

His eyes close in pleasure as he lies on top of me; our lips are locked, my legs open and cradling his large body as it rocks against mine, searching for its own release.

With one deep purposeful thrust, he slides home deep, and we both moan in pleasure.

“Fuck, Em,” he whispers into my neck.

I cling to him as I ride the pleasure wave between us. “I know, baby, I know.”

He pulls out and pushes back in, my body rising to meet his.

The need for more overwhelms us, and I begin to thrash beneath him. “Fuck me,” I whimper. “God, give it to me hard.”

He pulls out and slams back in, knocking the air from my lungs. He repositions my legs over his shoulders and, with dark eyes watching me struggle to take him, begins to ride me.

Long, sharp, punishing hits—the bed begins to hit the wall, and I can do nothing but watch the perfect male specimen in all his glory.

Jameson Miles is the most sexual being I have ever known.

Everything about him screams “fuck me.”

Watching him in the throes of passion, where he is grappling for control, is every woman’s ultimate fantasy; he’s like a sexual time bomb waiting to explode. Perspiration dusts his skin; his dark hair hangs over his forehead, and his breath begins to quiver as he struggles to hold off his orgasm.

His pumps become piston fast, and the burn of his possession overtakes me as I fall into the abyss. I cry out as an earth-shattering orgasm rips me to shreds.

My body contracts hard around his.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pushes out as he slams repeatedly into me. The sound of the bed hitting the wall with force echoes through the apartment.

He tips his head back, holds himself deep, and moans loud as he comes hard, deep inside of me.

And then we kiss, and my whole world returns to good. To the place I’ve missed so, so much.

The emotion between us is so strong that it brings tears to my eyes.

“Welcome home, fuck bunny,” he whispers against my lips. “Welcome home.”

One week later

“We need to do a follow-up story, a where-are-they-now kind of thing,” Athena says as we stand together at the printer.

“Yes, I know. I’m going to go over the notes this afternoon as soon as I get a chance.”

The office is a hive of activity today; news has broken overnight. A married senator has been caught in a scandal with his secretary, and the phones are ringing off the hook.

People are everywhere as they try to decipher the truth as the rumor mill spins into overdrive.

I’m having trouble concentrating, if I’m honest. I’m on a Jameson high. I think I can successfully say I’ve joined the Miles-High club.

This last week has been . . . magical.

I’m completely and utterly in love with this man. We moved me into his apartment on the weekend. Any trepidation that I had has finally gone.

I hear an unusual sound coming through the office, and Athena and I look up as the office watches on. I hear “The Piña Colada Song,” and I frown as Jameson comes into view through the desks.

Tristan is with him and holding an old-fashioned tape deck, and the familiar tune is blasting through the office.

If you like piña coladas,

And getting caught in the rain.

“What in the world?” I frown.

Jameson smiles hopefully as he approaches me. His eyes search mine.

The office falls silent as they watch on.

“Emily Foster,” he says.

“Yes?”

He drops to his knee, and the office collectively gasps. My hands fly over my mouth.

“Will you marry me?” He opens a black box and holds out a solitaire diamond ring.

I stare at him for a moment as my brain misfires.

Is this real?

I look over to Tristan. I’m in complete and utter shock.

“I’m the DJ.” Tristan grins as he taps the tape recorder as if very proud of himself.

“You are crazy,” I whisper.

“This proves it,” Jameson mutters dryly as he looks up at me from his knee.

My eyes are wide. I’m shocked to my very core.

“Answer the question,” he says.

I nod through giggles as “The Pina Colada Song” echoes through the office. “Yes.”

He slides the ring on my finger. It’s an oval diamond on a thin gold band, and I stare at it, still completely in shock.

I bend to him, and we kiss as the office breaks into laughter and cheers. They clap as we laugh into our kiss.

I can’t believe this is happening.

He stands and takes me into his arms. “Cheesy enough for you?” He smiles down at me.

I giggle as I hold him tight. “Next level cheese—and perfect. I love you, Mr. Miles.”

The song finishes, and Tristan presses play, and the song begins to repeat. The workers all cheer.

Jameson laughs in embarrassment and leans in to kiss me. “The things I would do for you, Emily Foster, the things I would do.”