Chapter 31 Sturdier than a Suitcase
STURDIER THAN A SUITCASE
SKYLAR
Before she even introduces herself, I know who she is. I see it in her gaze. In the possessive way her pretty brown eyes—of course she’s pretty, but I don’t care—roam up and down him.
“Ford, so good to see you,” she says, with a smile so falsely sweet it makes my teeth hurt.
“Brittany,” he says tightly, giving a crisp nod.
But how is he really feeling? What is he thinking? I wish I knew. Does she want to win him back? Fuck her. Not going to happen, lady. Not today. Not on my watch.
Before he can ask why she’s here, Brittany answers the unspoken question. “I’ve become a big supporter of your mother’s charity. I wondered if she’d told you.” She bats her lashes.
Sucking up to his mother? I’m ready to take off my earrings. Instead, I turn to Ford and mouth privately, “Hold my smoothie.”
Then I turn to Brittany. “That’s funny. I’ve had a lot of conversations with Maggie Devon, and she didn’t say a thing about that.”
Ford squeezes my hand, and I feel the touch as a thank you.
Brittany whips her head toward me so fast it gives me whiplash. “You must be Skylar,” she says, eyes wide and smile bright.
Wait. She knows who I am?
“Yes, I am,” I say, trying to keep it cool, but I’m definitely thrown off. The mother-charity opening line wasn’t her real intention?
“I’m actually starting a new line of upcycled furniture, and I thought it would be such a fun thing for us to talk about!”
Ford scoffs. “You’re here to suck up to my girlfriend?”
I love his protective side—truly, I do. But I’m also so damn curious about her furniture I can’t help myself. Nosy by nature wins. “I’d love to hear about it,” I say.
Ford shoots me a what the hell look. But I give him one right back that says Trust me.
“I was really hoping we could chat,” Brittany says, offering her hand.
I take it. Her handshake is limp. I bet her ideas will be too.
“I’m already envisioning ways we can potentially partner, since we’re both in the sustainability space. I just absolutely love what you’re doing,” she says, sounding exactly like the kind of fake-bubbly person who would do…exactly what she’s doing.
“Oh, right. Of course. Because we have so much in common,” I say, egging her on.
“Exactly! When I heard you two were a couple, I immediately thought we could work together. Women supporting women, eco-friendly entrepreneurship—it’s so important. That’s why I thought it’d be great if I could develop a partnership with you.”
“Tell me more,” I say, dripping with faux enthusiasm. “Tell me all about what you’re designing.”
She rolls her lips like she’s holding in all her excitement. “I’m designing a line of furniture made from old suitcases!”
Did she really just say that? “Suitcases?” I blink. “Like...actual luggage?”
“Isn’t it brilliant? Just think about it—so many suitcases wind up in landfills. But instead of throwing them away, we can turn them into furniture. Can’t you just imagine an entire house full of couches that used to be suitcases? And we’d be saving the planet together.”
“That’s...incredible to envision,” I say, smiling like I mean it.
“I’m so glad you’re excited! Maybe we could set a time to meet and talk more?”
“Why don’t you have your people call my people?”
She claps like an overeager cheerleader. “I’m totally going to do that! Would you give me your number?”
“Of course, of course,” I say, then shrug apologetically. “I don’t have my phone with me right now, but go ahead and take my number and text me. I’ll answer it later.”
Ford knits his brow. Then I rattle off a number that Ford will instantly know is fake. He snickers as Brittany taps it into her phone.
“I can’t wait to talk more, Skylar,” she says.
“I can’t wait for you to roll out your line of suitcase furniture,” I add with a sugary smile.
“Yay! Me too.” She turns to Ford. “You look different,” she says, tilting her head. “But I can’t quite figure out what it is.”
Ford doesn’t even pause. “I’m happier, Brittany.” Then once more, for good measure, he says, “I’m happier.”
My heart soars. Last week, I’m pretty sure I started letting go of my worries about getting involved with a client and a neighbor. Now, with that lovely word—happier—I can feel myself letting go of the bigger one.
The one that has lived inside me.
Without a second look at his ex, Ford drops a kiss on my cheek and says, “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
I wave goodbye. “Can’t wait to see the chairs made out of carry-ons.”
And soon, we sail off into the night.
The second our dogs are let back into my place, Ford is on me. He’s cupping my cheeks and devouring my mouth. No—he’s claiming me, kissing me so thoroughly, my head spins. Everything’s a beautiful blur. My body’s awash in lust. In happiness. In him.
His tongue tangles with mine, then he nips the corner of my mouth and moves down my throat, murmuring praise. So pretty. So beautiful. Want you so much.
His words hit differently this time.
The need in them.
When he looks up, he grabs my chin. “I had this fantasy of fucking you up against the wall. Of you in some…dress. Of us…just—” His words rasp, like he can barely get them out in the right order. Then he picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me to the couch.
It’s not made out of suitcases. But it’s sturdy enough to survive this man manhandling me. When he sets me down, he makes sure I’m straddling his lap and the very hard, very insistent ridge of his erection.
I shudder at the feel of him. Then he’s kissing me again, blazing a trail of open-mouthed caresses down my neck till he reaches the top of the bodice. The whole time he’s inching up my skirt, sliding the material along my legs, then bunching it at my waist.
When my panties are revealed, he lets out a feral groan. “Fuck, baby. You’re too much.”
They’re pale yellow. “Want to get lucky?” I ask playfully.
He doesn’t smile—he just shakes his head, maybe in amazement, and says, “I am lucky. I’m so lucky I met you.”
My heart feels like the sun is shining from inside me. “I feel the same,” I say, my voice wobbly with emotion.
“Yeah?”
“I really do,” I say, my throat tightening as nerves wing through me along with all my deep-seated fears. Fears of being second best. Fears of being left behind. But he’s only given me reason to believe I’m one of his priorities.
And it’s a feeling I relish now.
So much that I say, “I’m on protection, and I’ve been tested. Negative.”
He goes quiet for a moment, his blue eyes flickering with passion and promise. “Me too,” he says, blowing out a weighty breath. “I want to feel you with nothing between us.”
Hastily, I tug at his pants, undo his tie, and unbutton his shirt as he maneuvers off my panties, and in no time his hard, throbbing cock is free and beautifully ready for me.
Just like I’m ready for him.
I sink down on him, my eyes falling closed, my breath stuttering, and my world narrowing to just him and me.
“Skylar,” he groans, my name said like he cherishes me.
And that’s how he fucks me.
With a white-hot need and a deep, tender passion. He holds me tight, guides me up and down, and kisses me fiercely as I ride his cock until we’re both falling apart.
Later, we’re in bed, and he says, “It was good to see Brittany tonight.”
I tense. “Um, why?”
“Because it’s good to know when your past is truly behind you.”
My heart’s beating outside my body. “It is. It really is.”
Then he kisses me like I’m his future.