An anxious-looking man emerges from the doors, and the kids scream, “Daddy!” before they run and engulf him in tiny-armed hugs. It makes me smile.
More people walk through as friends and family surge forward to greet them. I stand on my toes to see over heads and crane my neck. I understand they’re all happy to be reunited, but they need to get the hell out of the way so I can see the doors.
I catch a flash of messy hair. After pushing between two large men, I see Ethan standing there, tall and gorgeous, frowning as he scans the crowd.
I yell his name. Well, more like scream it. The men beside me turn and stare. My care factor is in negative digits.
Ethan sees me, and for a moment, he freezes. His expression makes my lungs tighten.
Then he pushes through the crowd, apologizing as he all but throws people out of his way to get to me. I’m also too rough.
When he’s a yard away, I launch myself at him. He catches me and buries his head in my neck. I’m dangling off the floor. Holding on for dear life.
He’s here. Home. With me.
I finally breathe.
“Thank God you’re here,” he says, lips against my throat. Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
He lowers me to the floor and cups my face. His focus drops to the heart pendant nestled between my breasts. “Oh … wow. That…” He smiles and shakes his head. “I always knew it would look amazing on you, but that’s just … perfect. You’re perfect.”
He kisses me deeply, and my heart rate doubles. He sucks on my lip, and that’s it. I’m all over him. Hands in his hair, and gripping the back of his neck, him pulling my hips forward, and curving his hards around the top of my ass. I realize we’re engaging in an obnoxious public display of affection, but I don’t even care.
“Baggage claim,” he says breathlessly.
“We need to pick up my bag.”
“Leave it here. We’ll buy you new clothes.”
“Okay. Cab?”
“Yep.”
He kisses me again, and all plans of leaving are temporarily waylaid. He wraps his hands in my hair and pulls, just enough to drive me crazy. More than enough to remind me why we were talking about cabs.
“We have to get out of here,” he says as he pulls me in for a hug. “But first, give me a minute to try and deflate this raging boner. Tell me something horrifying. Distract me from my intense need to fuck you on this ugly carpet.”
“Uh … okay.” I struggle to concentrate. “Well, one of the regular fans who came to the shows this week said she thought Nathan and I had better chemistry than you and me.”
He pulls back and frowns. “The fuck? Are you kidding me?!”
“Nope. She said she liked your performance better, but that Nathan and I made a better couple. He was gentler.”
He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “The reason Nathan’s gentler is because he’s not holding himself back from ripping your clothes off in front of a theater full of people. That’s not chemistry. It’s lack of passion.”
“She also knitted you a cardigan and wanted to know if you were single.”
His incredulity drops. “What did you tell her?”
“That you don’t wear cardigans.”
“I mean, about me being single.”
I run my finger over the pattern on his T-shirt. As if my face wasn’t hot enough, more blood rushes to my cheeks. “I said … that I thought you were spoken for.”
“Thought?”
“Well … yeah.”
He tilts my head up.
“Spoken for? I like the sound of that.”
He kisses me again. Softer but still intense.
“Next time you see her, you tell her I’m most definitely spoken for. And she’s fucking nuts if she thinks Nathan has better chemistry with you. I invented chemistry with you. Everything else is just pretend.”
As if to demonstrate, he kisses my neck, and I swear, he’s trying to kill me in a public place. Everything burns and aches, and if he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, my legs are going to give out.
“Do you think your bag will be at the carousel by now?” I say, short on breath and patience.
“If not, fuck it. There’s nothing in it that can’t be easily replaced. Except my journal.” He ponders for a second. “Actually, we’d better go get it. If anyone finds it, they’ll know how depraved I really am. And it’s all about you.”
He takes my hand and leads me down to baggage claim. His strides are long, and I have to trot a little to keep up.
“Hey, I’m wearing heels. Not so fast.”
He stops and turns to me. “Do you think people would stare if I threw you over my shoulder? Because I really want to do that. Then I can ogle your ass and just run.”
The look in his eye is a little manic. For a second, I think he’s going to do it. Then he spies the heavily armed security officer a few feet away.
“Excuse me, sir?” he says, and the guard looks at him. “Would it be acceptable to carry my girlfriend like a sack of potatoes in order to get out of here quicker and make sweet love to her?”
The guard’s mouth moves, but he resists smiling. “No, sir, that would not be acceptable.”
“Piggyback?”
“Nope.”
“Put her on a trolley?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”