“I know.” He let out a long breath. “And I’m not bailing on you, either.”
Maggie held the photo against her chest. She’d had such a great argument prepared for this moment, and she was summoning the words to explain why he had to go, but Griffin never gave her a chance.
“What if I came down with the flu, right here and now?” he asked, and just as Maggie thought she was going to turn into a puddle of tears, she laughed.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“What if we get home, and I slip on some black ice and break my leg?”
“I know what you’re doing,” she said. “It’s not the same.”
He cocked a brow. “Answer the question, Pippi. If something happened to me, what would you do?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d take care of you.”
The corners of his mouth turned up.
“And if I did break my leg because I fell on black ice, how would you feel about my taking a leisurely winter stroll after I was healed?”
She grabbed his hand and slapped the photograph into his palm.
“This isn’t fair,” she told him. “All of these what ifs aren’t fair. You know going in, that if I come with you, you’re going to spend energy worrying about me that could be better spent on your new job.”
Again he stepped closer, and she had nowhere left to go but against the wall behind her.
“Maggie, I’m going to worry about you whether you are in D.C. or Minneapolis, whether you are in the bed next to me or in another apartment hundreds of miles away. Don’t you get it? I love you. Above any other person or city or job—you matter most. Maybe I was scared to tell you the truth, and you’re right. I shouldn’t have kept any of it from you, and I’m a shit for doing that.”
His palms were on her cheeks now. He was dangerously close to distracting her, and she had to stay focused.
“I was scared,” Griffin said, and she closed her eyes and nodded. She knew fear all too well, knew that she was letting it take the lead with her as much as Griffin had let it with him. “And I’m still scared now—terrified, actually. But not for the reason you think.”
At this her eyes fluttered open, and Griffin’s gaze held her there, frozen in wait for what came next.
“Maggie, I’m not afraid of what will happen if you come with me to D.C. I’m scared of what will happen if you don’t.”
He kissed her then, and she couldn’t do anything but kiss him back, this infuriating man who said all these things that made it impossible for her to stay mad at him.
“You’re everything, Maggie. Everything. I may not have a ring to give you yet, but you have my heart. You have every part of me. It’s not a choice—Washington or you.” His lips found hers again, and then they were on her jaw, her neck, the lobe of her ear. “There is no Washington without you,” he whispered against her. “I know it’s not your dream and that you still have graduation, and if you decide it’s too much…”
“I’ll go with you!” she blurted, and then her hand flew to her mouth as if the sentence escaped her lips without permission.
“What?” Griffin’s voice cracked on the word, and her heart pretty much turned to goo.
“I’m going with you to Washington,” she said, this time with conviction, and Griffin pulled back, his brows furrowing.
“I’d like to instate the WILD card,” he said, “just to be sure,” and Maggie bit her lip.
Ever since the night he’d won her over with a deck of UNO cards, the WILD card had always meant one of them got to ask a question and the other had to answer truthfully, no holds barred.
“Okay…” she said softly, and Griffin cleared his throat.
“Are you coming with me because I pushed too hard?” he asked, and Maggie shook her head.
“Are you coming with me out of guilt?”
“No.”
“Are you coming with me because my legs look ridiculously sexy in a kilt?” He waggled his brows, and her expression broke into a smile.
“Are you planning on wearing the kilt in D.C.?” she asked.
“Not unless you require it.” He was smiling with her now.
“Then no,” she said. He opened his mouth again, but she pressed a finger to it. “I’m going with you because you’re everything, Griffin. Because even though I’ll always be afraid of the unknown, my future isn’t tied to Minneapolis or Florida or Washington, D.C., or any one place.” She ran a hand through his sandy waves, her palm resting on the back of his neck. “But it is tied to you.”
He grinned. “And why is that?”
“Because I love you, Fancy Pants.” Like he had to ask. She gave him a playful push.
“Hey…”
But she silenced him with a kiss, and Griffin pressed his whole body to hers as she parted her lips, and his tongue slipped past to tangle with hers.
In seconds, Maggie felt him firm against her, and her brows shot into outer space.
“You’re…you’re Irish,” she told him, and Griffin took a small step back.
“Aye, love,” he said in an exaggerated brogue, eyes dark with need. “But for about eight more hours, I get to be a true Scotsman.”
Maggie’s eyes fell to Griffin’s kilt, and she licked her lips, then swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as the desert. And Griffin Reed, Scottish for a day, was the only thing that could quench her thirst.
She pushed off the wall and closed the small distance between them, laying her palm over the part of the kilt where she’d felt him moments before. He sucked in a breath.
“You’re not wearing one of those purse thingies,” she said, and he shook his head.
“Pockets in the jacket,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Plus, easier access for—” He sucked in a breath, losing his words completely as Maggie found the overlap in the tartan and slid her hand behind it, where she discovered the treasure she sought, her hand wrapping around his solid length.
“Easier access for whom?” she asked, and he let out a delicious groan.
“You, Pippi. Only and always you.”
He dipped his head and kissed her—soft, sweet, expectant. But when her hand slid up his length, that sweetness turned to hunger, and Maggie’s core burned with desire. She wasn’t sure who needed whom more.
“Got anything interesting in those pockets?” she asked as he rocked into her palm and she stumbled back against the wall.
“Just for you, sweetheart.” And Maggie’s photographs rained onto the floor around them as he produced what she considered the best of the sights so far—a condom.
“Shit,” he said. “Your photos, I’m sorry…”
But she had already grabbed and torn open the foil wrapper.
“I’m not worried about the moments that have already passed,” she told him as she rolled the condom down his length. “I just want to enjoy the ones that are happening now.”
Griffin gripped her thighs and slid her dress up over her hips. He hooked a finger under the hem of her panties and tugged, sliding them down her freckled thighs and to the floor, where she promptly stepped out of them. He was squatting now, and as he rose to meet her again, he placed a soft kiss between her legs, and Maggie let out a small cry.
“Where were we?” he asked once he was standing again. “Oh, that’s right.” He hiked her dress up again, and Maggie followed suit, raising the kilt to expose Griffin’s erection. Then he lifted her onto him, and he sank inside her with ease, a perfect fit.
For the first time that day, Maggie was grateful for her toe-pinching heels. She hadn’t anticipated this benefit, Griffin taking her up against a wall, but damn if these weren’t going to be her favorite shoes from this day forward.
“Is this okay?” he asked, and she giggled that they were so in sync, not only physically but in their thoughts as well.
“Heels,” she told him, and his lips parted in a smile against her.