Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Owen
Six Months Later
The sky’s been threatening rain all afternoon, but I’m hoping it will hold off for our walk along the coastline.
Ivy is relaxed in rolled-up baggy jeans and a sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s barefoot. She skips ahead a few steps and bends to pick up a seashell.
Ever since her comeback performance, she’s been different.
It’s as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders. She’s lighter and happier, but more grounded at the same time.
And since the girls know about us and approve, we don’t have to sneak into the pantry to kiss.
I can’t get over the fact that she’s in my life.
It’s time to make things official. I’m going to ask Ivy to be my wife tonight.
I have it all planned out. My parents took the girls for weekend, and Ivy’s favorite meal—my world-famous meatloaf—is keeping warm in the oven.
Here’s hoping this rain holds off so I can show her my favorite spot on the beach and ask her to be mine.
If she says yes, it will be the picture-perfect moment.
If she says no, at least the rugged coastline will provide a distraction from my misery.
She drops my hand runs ahead a few steps, and bends to pick up a seashell.
My heart skips, and my nerves threaten to get the best of me.
She runs back and shows me the shell she found. The pure joy of her expression over a seashell makes me smile. I take the shell and examine it as if it’s the world’s most beautiful treasure.
I take her hand and lead her along the beach where the rocky formations create a stunning backdrop.
A splat of rain hits the back of my neck. Then another on my arm. Ivy looks up.
“Uh-oh.”
Then the sky cracks open.
Ivy squeals as she bolts down the beach. I chase after her, feeling like a damn fool who missed his chance. I should have asked her earlier instead of waiting until we reached the perfect spot.
Now my plan is ruined.
We’re soaked to the skin by the time we reach my house. I fling open with the door, and we hurry inside, shivering in our wet clothes.
Ivy laughs and plucks at her sweater. “We look like we just swam home.”
“Wet looks good on you,” I say, brushing the hair off her forehead.
Her gaze drifts down to my chest. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The rain drums against the roof, steady and rhythmic. We’re both breathless from running.
“We should get out of these wet clothes,” I say, reaching for the hem of her sweater.
“I’d hate to mess up your nice floors.”
“The floors will survive.” I pull her sweater over her head and drop it to the floor.
Goosebumps pebble her skin, and her nipples push against the pink lace of her bra. Lust surges through me like a lightning strike.
She finds the hem of my soaked shirt and tugs it off. “You look good enough to eat.”
I shiver as she reaches for my belt buckle. “Save some room. I made your favorite.”
“World-famous Chicken Parm?” she asks, unzipping my pants.
I catch her hands. “Is that your favorite?”
Her gaze drifts over my body, and she licks her lips. “I have lots of favorites.”
I yank her into my arms, and she gasps, her arms flying around my neck.
“Owen—”
I pull her to my bedroom, wet footprints following us across the wood floor.
Our mouths meet. Wet and hungry. When our tongues tangle, I lose whatever patience I had left.
I kiss her throat, tasting salt and rain. “Tell me if you want me to slow down.”
“Don’t you dare.” She shoves at my pants.
Her hands roam down my back, nails dragging just enough to make me groan. It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to be alone, and I don’t want to rush it. But the need to be inside her, to be one with her, is overpowering.
We fall onto the bed, discarding our wet clothes in a pile. I’m so consumed with kissing her, I don’t even take the time to pick them up.
I force myself to slow down and remember why I arranged this weekend, but she’s kissing me back with so much urgency, I can’t stop.
There will be plenty of time for romance later. Right now, there is only desire. Only us.
We can’t get enough of each other. Hands gliding, tongues tasting, bodies rocking together.
She’s wet and ready, hips shifting to meet me when I guide myself inside her. I push in, slow at first, savoring every inch.
Her eyes flutter shut, and her lips part on a soft, aching moan.
I don’t move right away. Just hold there, inside her, forehead pressed to hers. So damn full of her.
“You feel…”
“I know…”
She kisses me again, deeper this time. Her leg hooks around my hip, pinning me. When we finally start to move, and it feels so damn good, we both groan.
The world narrows to just the two of us. The light touch of her hand fluttering down my back. The taste of rain and salt on her skin. The sound of our bodies moving together and the drum of rain on the roof.
It’s enough to make me think I’ve dreamed this up. A fantasy of the perfect night to ask someone to be my wife.
My heart slams in my chest, and every thought I have is about her. Pleasing her. Watching her. Loving her.
Forever.
I watch her come apart, and it’s all I need.
Hands fisting in the sheets, I follow her, letting everything pour out of me. She takes it, clutching my head in her hands, wrapping herself around me as I come.
We stay tangled like that, not wanting to let go of each other.
She strokes my hair as we lie there, heartbeats slowing. “I want more weekends like this,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her collarbone. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
She turns her head toward me, a little amused smile playing at her lips. “Go on.”
I take a breath. “Will you consider taking this to the next level?”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that.
“I know how complicated our lives have been. But this…” I reach for her hand and link our fingers. “This doesn’t feel complicated.”
She blinks at me, emotion flickering behind her eyes. “I know. We just…make sense.”
“I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. Not just here, in bed, on weekends away when we can get coverage for the girls. I want to be the guy you come home to every day. The guy you wake up with. I want the messy stuff, the real-life stuff. All of it—with you.”
She squeezes my hand. “I want that, too.”
“So…” I lean in, brushing her nose with mine. “Will you marry me?”
She goes very still, her breath barely audible. “I haven’t thought about getting married since I was about fifteen.”
I press a kiss to her knuckles. “Fifteen-year-old me would’ve passed out if someone like you agreed to even go out with him.”
“Well, lucky for you, thirty-something me thinks you’re pretty incredible.”
“Are you saying yes?” I turn on my side to face her.
She grins. “Absolutely.”
I kiss her then, slow and lingering, like it’s the first kiss. The start of something.
The start of everything.