“You’ve kept it all this time?” As he helped her spread out the blanket, memories rushed in—the scratch of the blanket on his knees rivaling the softness of Willow’s nubile body. The worry about the abrasions it might leave on her back. The fear of coming too soon, or too hard, or saying the wrong thing.
“I took it with me when I went away to college,” Willow answered. “It’s been with me ever since.”
“Baby . . .” He grasped for words, but how could he put into words emotions that felt like they were expanding too big for his body? “We were so young. Everything was new and bigger than life. And it still feels that way.” He reached for her hand. “You planned all of this? The dress, the tease, the blanket. Wills . . .”
She shook her head, and her hair tumbled forward, framing her beautiful face. “Not the hard part at the restaurant,” she said shyly. “But I had hoped to drive you crazy enough that you’d want me by the time we came here.”
He laughed. “That I’d want you? Was there even a question?”
“Well, you’re not very sexual, so . . .” She hooked her finger into the waist of his pants and tugged open the button, slowly working his zipper. “Sometimes a girl has to . . .” She struggled to tug his pants down his hips. “Go the”—tug, tug—“extra mile.”
“Is that so? I only want you every minute of every day.” He gathered her against him. “Baby, the minute you said you’d help me with this crazy scheme, you went the extra mile. And in doing so, you unlocked my heart and claimed the part of me you’ve always owned.”
The emotions in her eyes rivaled those in his heart. She crossed her arms, gathering the hem of her dress in either hand, and drew it over her head. It floated down to the blanket like a whisper. They didn’t speak, didn’t reach for each other, as they undressed. Their love transcended words, and space, and time. Moonlight shimmered off her skin as they came together, and he lowered her to the blanket. He crushed his mouth to hers, driven by memories of the past and hopes of the future. There was no elegance to their lovemaking, no finesse or careful, tender moments. Raw, unbridled passion propelled them into fierce thrusts, clawing fingers, and moans of pleasure. And still it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her, to be claimed by her.
Holding her tight, he rolled them over, giving her the reins. With the moon at her back, blond tendrils cascading over her flawless breasts and her sexy, full hips moving in time to his thrusts, she rode him hard, looking every bit a goddess. But to Zane, while she was stunning, her hair and physical attributes were like makeup for an actor. They were what everyone else saw, not what made her the woman he loved.
He saw her generous heart, which nearly bubbled out with every smile. He felt her tender and carnal touches, which burned him to his core. He saw treasured memories he’d held for so many years, he knew he’d take them to his grave and follow them up to heaven. When he saw her with Louie, he saw the mother she’d become, and one day, the old and gray doting grandmother she was destined to be.
She flattened her hands on his chest, moving along his shaft with a blissful look in her eyes—the deep pools of emotions that tore at him when they were apart, and drowned him when they were together.
He pulled her down on top of him, kissing her over and over again in a series of chaste, needy kisses, and rolled them over again.
She smiled up at him as he slowed them down.
“You love me,” she said with such confidence it filled him with joy.
“Always have. You’re my best friend, Wills. My frosting queen.” He laced their hands together and lowered himself over her.
“I know. I mean, I really believe it all the way to my bones.” She drew in a ragged breath and turned her face, pressing her lips to their joined hands before meeting his gaze again. “This is our new moment, Z. Our forever moment.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE FLIGHT TO California in Zane’s private plane was long but enjoyable and made even more pleasurable when they joined the mile-high club. Unfortunately, as exciting as it was, it was hardly something Willow could brag about. Which was a shame, because it was hilarious, exhilarating, and naughty. A driver picked them up from the airport in a black sedan, and she snuggled up to Zane in the backseat. A long while later, the driver pulled through a private gate and onto a long, bamboo-shielded driveway. Tall trees and wide bushes lined the pavement all the way up to the house, which was completely secluded from the road. The first thing Willow noticed was how unremarkable the ranch-style bungalow was. It looked like the kind of house the Brady Bunch might have lived in if their family had been smaller.
“Welcome to my world, sweetheart.” Zane helped her from the car and kissed her cheek.
While the driver brought their bags to the door, she took a good look around his cozy little oasis. Even after Patch had told her Zane lived modestly, she’d still envisioned something more glamorous than the small, single-story home nestled among a veritable forest. And now that she was taking a closer look at the two-car garage and slate walkway leading to an arched front door, it reminded her of something else. Sweetwater. The foliage was different, with leafy palms and bamboo instead of the indigenous trees of Upstate New York, but it definitely felt familiar.
Zane took her hand, and a flicker of nervousness danced in his eyes. She found it endearing, like everything else about him.
“It’s not very exciting.”
“Actually, I really like it,” she said as he pushed open the door.
Honey-toned wood floors spilled into an open living room with three sets of glass doors leading out to a deck and a pool. The walls were white with stained wood trim, giving the moderate-size room a spacious feel. A fireplace was built into the far wall, and its bricks were also painted white. A quaint kitchen was tucked into a nook to their left, with butcher-block and stainless-steel countertops. Perfect for baking. The vintage stove was reminiscent of her own.
Zane carried their bags in and closed the door behind them. “Go on, Wills. Take a look around.”
It felt strange to walk into his house after they’d spent so much time in her apartment, which felt like his home as much as hers. She stopped walking, struck by the distance that would soon divide them. What will it feel like going home without you? Sleeping without you? Waking up without you?