“I’ve known for a while. I just . . . decided to stop being an idiot about it. To stop fighting it.” I tilt my head toward the window, where five screaming voices come through. “I love them, too, in case that wasn’t clear. They’re awful and perfect . . . and I love them like they’re mine. Like they’re ours.”
She bites her lip and her eyes go wet and shiny. I step closer. “Please don’t cry. I love—” I choke on the words, throat burning, eyes stinging. “I love you.”
Chelsea sniffles and recrosses her arms, trying so hard to be tough. “Am I just supposed to forget the last few weeks? The things you said—how cold you’ve been?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I was kind of hoping you would . . . yeah.”
She looks down at the floor.
I step in closer, lift her chin with my fingers. “I was trying to protect you. I wanted better for you, Chelsea. For them. A good man. I didn’t think I was capable. I didn’t think I could be what you needed.”
She searches my eyes. “And now?”
“Now I know I can. Because . . . because no one could love you—need you—as much as I do. You’re everything to me—the only thing that matters.”
A tear streaks down her cheek. She drifts closer. “Don’t hurt me again.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t pull away from me again.”
“I can’t.”
She leaps into my arms, squeezing so hard the breath rushes out of me. It’s the best fucking feeling in the whole world. Second only to the feel of her lips against mine. Her legs wrap around my waist, like she can’t get close enough. Her head angles, moves with mine, like she can’t taste deep enough. My fingers dig into her back and our hearts pound.
I set her on the counter, pressing against her, pushing her T-shirt up—needing to feel her skin to skin.
“The kids,” she gasps.
I kiss her neck, her ear, her beautiful face. “We’ll hear them. As long as they’re screaming we’ll know they’re okay.”
And we do hear them, loud and clear, through the window. Still yelling and playing—the good kind of screams.
Her tongue slides against mine and I groan. Then Chelsea pants, “But they could come in any minute. They might see us.”
She’s right. Damn it.
I look around the room, eyes frantic and searching. The pantry! I carry her in, slam the door behind me with my foot, and reach around with my hand to lock it.
Chelsea nips at my lips, sucks on my earlobe. “I always wondered why the pantry had a lock.”
All I’m able to say is, “Locks are awesome.”
She laughs against my mouth. Her feet touch the floor just long enough to peel our clothes off. Then I pick her up, legs around me, back against the wall.
I take my cock in hand and test the waters—they’re slick and wonderfully hot. I push in slow, gentle, ’cause it’s been awhile. When I’m fully seated, when there’s not a breath of space between us, Chelsea whispers, “I missed you so much.”
I start to move, sliding in and out in a smooth rhythm. And it’s so fucking perfect and real. And right. Nothing has ever felt this right in my life.
Her head tilts back and my eyes roll closed. I worship her neck with my mouth. I promise and whisper how beautiful she is. All the things I want to do to her. All the things she means to me.
She squeezes me harder, pulls me closer with her legs, fingers buried in my hair.
Chelsea’s breath hitches. “I . . . love you. Oh god, Jake . . . so much. I love you so much.”
And it’s too much. Overwhelming. And yet, not nearly enough.
The pressure builds, tight and low and fantastic. The purest of pleasure unfurls in my stomach, making my thrusts quicken, chasing that edge with Chelsea. We find it together, pulsing and writhing, clasping hands and moaning voices.
I pant against her cheek, my heart not getting the message yet that it’s time to slow. I brush her hair back from her forehead and gaze into her angel face.
“So . . . you love me, huh?”
Chelsea smiles, even as tears rise in her eyes. “Yes. I’ve loved you since you carried me to bed, sick as a dog, and told me everything was gonna be okay. I love every part of you, even the parts you were afraid to show me. And even though you’re kind of an idiot sometimes, I’m going to love you forever.”
I laugh and kiss her sweetly. “Good to know.”
• • •
I spend that night at Chelsea’s. We make sure all the kids take baths and get to bed. Then we spend half the night talking. Planning. The other half is spent . . . not talking. Nothing coherent anyway.
I hand in my resignation letter the next day, begin to make the necessary arrangements for my departure from Adams & Williamson. And not a thing about it feels wrong.
Chelsea and I are both waiting when the kids get home from school. We gather them in the den, to talk about what we’ve planned.
“I know it seems fast,” Chelsea tells them while I bounce the hell out of Ronan on my leg. “But there was this movie in the eighties—your parents loved it—called When Harry Met Sally—”
“Sounds lame,” Rory interrupts.
“It was kind of lame,” I tell him out the side of my mouth.
But Chelsea hears me. “It was not lame! It was perfect. Anyway, there’s a line from it that says how when you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right away.” She glances at me. “That’s how Jake and I feel about each other.”