A Brand New Ending (Page 66)

Yes, they only had two more nights together, but she refused to mope around until he got on the plane. She’d grab every precious second with the man she loved and not waste any of it.

His footsteps echoed on the stairs. He walked in, studying the beautifully set table, and gazed hungrily over her figure. “What is this?”

She smiled. “You finished the script, and we have a big meeting to celebrate. I wanted to cook you a special dinner.”

Those forest-green eyes lit with a fierce love and adoration he didn’t try to hide. “You didn’t have to do this.” His voice came out husky.

She walked to him and pressed a kiss to the curve of his lips, breathing in the spicy scent of musk. “I wanted to,” she murmured. “The end of a story was always an important event. As you once told me, beginnings are necessary and cherished, but it’s the endings that will make a person remember you forever.”

He jerked, his gaze flashing a gleam of emotion. “Yes, I guess I did say that.” He reached for his wine, handed her a glass, and they clinked the crystal together in a toast. “To our own happy ending.”

She took a generous sip, then slid into the chair. “Shall we?”

They feasted on the meal while they gave each other long, heated stares laced with the realization that their time was limited. “Ethan wants to have a family dinner tomorrow night to give you a proper send-off.”

“I’d like that.”

“Are you going to say goodbye to your father?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “I keep going over what his sponsor told me. That AA was about second chances—not as much for the other person, but for yourself.”

She nodded and reached across the table for his hand. “Yeah, I never thought about it like that. But if you can’t forgive yourself for your own mistakes, how can you possibly be ready for a true second chance?”

Their gazes met and locked. “You’re right,” he said softly. “Having you back in my life is everything. And if you hadn’t been willing to try, I would have lost the only woman I ever loved.”

The connection between them surged to life, crackling around them like a lit fuse. She sucked in her breath at the sheer intensity and watched him rise from the chair. He never let go of her hand.

“I need you, Ophelia. I need to make love to my wife.”

Without a word, she followed him into the bedroom. He kissed her long and slow and deep, with a shattering sweetness that made tears burn her eyes. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she fell into him and the kiss, letting her body take the lead and show him all the things in her heart.

He undressed her slowly, lovingly. He laid her out on the mattress, and his hands ran over her naked body, his tongue following the path of his hands to linger between her thighs. He tasted her in slow, long licks that coaxed shudders from her body. She grabbed at his shoulders, ready to explode, desperate for him to slide inside her, but he only lifted her higher, opened her wider with his thumbs, and devoured her whole.

The pleasure was sharp and bold, and it simultaneously ripped her apart and put her back together again. His lips sucked on her swollen clit, and his fingers sunk deep inside her, urging her over the edge.

She gave in, writhing her hips, spilling his name into the darkness.

He rose up and pressed inside her with slow, deliberate precision, his possessive gaze pinned on hers. He buried himself to the hilt until there was no space for anything but him in her body, and heart, and soul. Then he began to move.

He was both sweet lover and wild warrior. Each deep stroke pushed her further toward oblivion as he gave himself to her with his mouth and tongue, with his fingers and body, wringing out every last ounce of pleasure, those burning forest-green eyes never leaving her face.

The orgasm shattered her, claiming the very last of her soul. He followed her over, shouting her name, gripping her hips with a fierceness as he claimed her for his wife.

They drifted down together. Still shuddering with the aftereffects, she pulled the sheets around them and held him tight.

“The time we’ve spent together has changed me, Ophelia,” he said quietly. “I need to know you trust me and believe I’m coming back.”

She propped herself up on an elbow and stared into his beautiful face. Her fingers traced the soft scruff hugging his mouth, the sharp line of his cheekbone, the ridge of his brow. She sensed the truth radiating from his figure, could see the intensity of determination in his eyes.

How she ached to believe him. But deep inside, there was still fear. Fear that, if faced with the choice between producing the story of his own heart and coming back for her, his career would win again.

Her hand dropped to his chest. Right now, in the quiet of her bedroom, with his heart beating under her palm, she gave him the words. She needed to take the final leap and let him go. She needed to believe he would come back.

“Yes, I trust you.”

He kissed her. She kissed him back, pushing away the worry that they were doomed to repeat the past all over again.

For the second time in a week, Kyle knocked on his father’s door.

This time, he recognized the open pleasure on Patrick’s face when he opened the door and saw Kyle on his front porch. The responding rush of satisfaction told him no matter how deep he’d buried his resentment regarding their relationship, it felt good to have his dad finally welcome him.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Patrick said, motioning him in.

Charlie trotted over. Kyle got down on his knees to rub his head. “He looks better. How’s he doing?”

“Good. He’s eating and drinking again. Doc cleaned out his ears, too, so he seems to hear better.” His father gave a quick grin. “He’s a tough one. Manipulative, too. Stands by his jar of gravy bones and gives me a pathetic look, but I know his game.”

“You still give them to him, don’t you?”

“Hell yeah. At his age, he should eat whatever he wants. He deserves it.”

The affection on his dad’s face hit him hard in the chest. His open love for the old dog was so unlike anything the man he once knew would have shown. He unfolded himself from the floor and cleared his throat.

“I came to tell you I’m leaving.”

Disappointment flickered over his father’s face. “Back to Hollywood, huh? For the new screenplay?”

Kyle nodded. “Got a big meeting to try and sell it.” He paused. “Alan Bell.”

Patrick gasped. “No shit? He won an Academy Award, right? Wow, this is the big time. You’re a hell of a writer to get that kind of respect. Congrats.”

The rush of pride he felt from his father’s praise was foreign, and it took him a few moments to even recognize the emotion. “Well, I haven’t sold it yet, so fingers crossed.”

“Don’t worry, you will. How’s Ophelia taking it?”

Kyle rubbed his head. “Fine. She knows I’m coming back. It’s just a short trip to get things in order.”

“So you’ll move back permanently? Help run the inn with her?”

“Yeah, I can do my writing anywhere. There’s really no need for me to be stuck in Hollywood full time at this point.”

“So you have everything you ever wanted.” Patrick laughed. “That’s amazing, son. Well done.”

Kyle turned away, not comfortable with his burgeoning emotions. He hadn’t told the full truth.