Eli embraced me, kissed the top of my head. “I believe someone’s waiting for you.”
He released me, and I looked in the direction of his gaze.
Jeff stood apart from everyone else, eyes shining with love and face beaming with happiness. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy.
He grinned, held out a hand.
I walked to him, biting my lip to hold back a grin that felt like it would have split my face. But he was impatient. He stepped forward, met me in the middle, and cupped my face in his hands.
“I love you, Fallon Keene. I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you. And I will love you every day and night for the rest of my life.”
Tears blossomed. “I love you, too.”
With my family cheering and applauding around us, Jeff Christopher kissed me.
And for the first time, all was right with the world.
He’d made me wait in the living room, and I stood in front of the giant fish tank that stood opposite the picture window, watching clown fish dart back and forth across the water.
When the bedroom door opened, I glanced back. Jeff stood in the doorway in a pair of silk boxers. I’d only seen him naked when we’d shifted, but that meant I wasn’t exactly paying attention to his nakedness.
Jeff may have been lean, but he was well-hewn. He had the body of an endurance athlete, every inch and plane smoothed with muscle.
“My eyes are up here, Fallon.”
I took the admonishment, looked up at him with a grin, and found him smiling back with me.
He held out a hand and beckoned me forward. And I followed him. In the doorway, he kissed me softly, then gestured toward the room.
“Madam, your palace.”
The bed was covered in pink rose petals, and a bottle of champagne was cooling in a sterling silver stand. A woman’s throaty voice crooned softly in the background.
“This is . . . impressive,” I said.
“Just wait.” He turned off the lights, and two dozen candles sprang to life around the room, which now glowed softly.
“Magic?” I wondered.
He grinned. “LEDs. I connected them to a circuit”—he began, but waved off the thought. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, we’re here. And I wanted this to be romantic. Just for us.”
I nodded, but the intimacy in his eyes made me feel suddenly shy.
He took my hand. Squeezed it. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, and looked away to avoid the intimacy in his eyes. But he tipped my chin back to meet him again.
“Honesty between us,” he said. “Just me and you. Okay?”
I looked at him, remembered the trust I’d already put him, and nodded. “Just nervous. It’s me and you—and we’re—well, you know.”
He smiled. “I know. But it’s me and you. And we don’t have a timetable.”
He led me to the bed and tugged the belt on the robe he’d let me borrow. It fell to the ground, revealing the long, black negligee I’d worn beneath it, a slick fall of bias-cut silk.
“You look . . . absolutely amazing.” The adoration in his eyes left little doubt of his sincerity.
“Thank you. You look pretty delectable yourself.”
He put his arms around me, drew me forward against the long line of his body, and kissed me. And this time, there was no restraint, no fear, no caution. His kiss was possessive—and also victorious.
We tumbled onto the bed, Jeff apologizing when he tangled in the silk that fell to my ankles. He rolled me atop him, plucked a rose petal from my hair, then pulled my mouth to his and kissed me again.
His lips were so soft, the kiss so tender. But somehow, missing something.
He drew back, pushed the hair away from my face. “Are you alright?”
I propped my arms on either side of his head. “Honestly, I still feel a little ungainly right now.”
He squinted, scratched at his temple. “I kind of know what you mean.”
He sat up, surveyed the room. “I think maybe this isn’t us. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I like romance as well as the next guy.” He picked up a handful of rose petals, and let them fall like water from his hand. “I’m just not sure this is our kind of romance.”
I looked around at the scene he’d prepared. It was all perfect, and right out of the romance playbook. But maybe not our particular romance playbook. “I think you’re right. What do we do?”
He looked over at me. “Do you think you can juggle?”
As it turned out, I could juggle. With some instruction.
He’d stuck to boxers, but I’d switched out the negligee for another “Jakob’s Quest” T-shirt for the lesson, and we’d reassembled in the living room, where we had plenty of space to maneuver.
Jeff was a marvel. Having seen him in full gaming frenzy, I didn’t doubt he had great hand-eye coordination. But watching him whip beanbags through the air in smooth and fluid arcs was seriously impressive.
He taught me to toss one, then two, and I was feeling optimistic. But tossing the beanbags he’d pulled from a drawer with syncopation just wasn’t happening.
I smiled at the pile of beanbags on the floor. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” he assured me, standing behind, hands at my waist to ensure I was standing up right and kept my elbows at my side.
The beanbags hit the floor again . . . and then again . . . and then again.
And then, by some miracle of gravity and inertia, I had it. The bags moved like competing waves, slipping by each other—and somehow landing in hand, where I tossed them into the air again.
“I got it,” I said through clenched teeth, afraid to move. “I think I got it.”
“You got it,” he said behind me, his excitement a buzz of magic at my back.
And then . . . I didn’t have it.
One of the bags bounced awkwardly off my hand, and when I instinctively reached for it, I tossed another off course. It plopped into the fish tank with a gurgle, the fish darting to their corners like boxers at the bell.
Jeff punched both arms into the air. “Touchdown!” he screamed out, like I’d just made the winning throw at the Super Bowl.
I burst out laughing . . . and couldn’t stop. I laughed until tears flowed from the corner of my eyes, until I was on my knees on the carpeted floor, until my stomach was aching from it.
“The crowd goes wild!” Jeff shouted, running around the living room in a victory lap, pumping his arms in the air. He spiraled back to me, and held out his hand, fisted to hold an imaginary microphone.
“Ms. Keene, you’ve just scored your fourteenth winning touchdown in this record-setting game. How are you going to celebrate?”
Still hiccupping with laughs, I mopped at my cheeks and looked up at him, grinning foolishly. Grinning adorably.
This, I realized, was us. Not playing at a kind of movie and magazine romance that didn’t really interest us.
But laughing together. Learning together. Loving together. That was our particular romance. And it was a heady brew.
He was still crouched in front of me when I saw the sudden intensity in his eyes, that shift from humor to seduction. This time, I didn’t shy away.
I reached out, put a hand to his cheek, and swooned when he closed his eyes, lips curving with pleasure. I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his and kissed him softly. Just a small kiss, a small enticement.
He opened his eyes, surprise on his face. “You’ve never kissed me like that.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you needed to do it.”
Love swamped me, ferocious in its desire to make him see what I’d known for a very long time. That he’d always been the only one, even if I’d denied it.
I put my hands on his face, met his gaze. “I need you. I’ve always needed you. I just didn’t allow myself to admit it.”
He growled low in his throat, and his mouth was on mine before I’d even processed the sound. It was less a kiss than a battle, and we both intended to win.