Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Abby laughed so hard she nearly rocked off the sofa, which was not quite the encouragement I’d been hoping for, but when she popped up again, curls askew, she was grinning ear to ear. “That’s it, Hugh. You nailed it. You’re willing to throw your perfect image out the window. You’re willing for your great romantic love to be a… a platonic text friendship for a little while if that’s what it takes for you to be with him. That’s all in, baby.” She cupped my face in her hand, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I love you, and I believe if anyone can make that prickly bastard change his mind about love, it’s you.” She pushed to her feet. “And if that doesn’t work, we’ll get Rafa involved. He keeps telling me he knows people. Now… you want some of Dad’s spiked eggnog? I made a huge batch.”
By the time Oscar and I made it to Vermont for the wedding later that week, I was exhausted.
I’d spent a large part of Christmas Day FaceTiming with Oscar and his family before having a quiet dinner with Abby and Dex. Somehow, possibly defying the laws of space and time, Oscar managed to make it back to the city before me the following afternoon, and we’d spent the rest of the week lounging around in pajamas, making lazy breakfasts at all hours of the day, strolling hand in hand through the Winter Village in Bryant Park, and… well, having sex.
Copious amounts of sex.
The amount of sex you might have if you thought sex might be outlawed at any moment.
The sex you might have if you thought the world was about to end.
The kind of sex you’d have if you were utterly and completely in love with a man who might not love you back and were trying not to blurt out the truth until you absolutely had to, in case he laughed in your face, or lashed out in anger and accused you of changing the rules, or demanded your immediate departure with a gut-wrenching “I told you so.”
Seriously. So. Much. Sex.
I’d never been insatiable like I was that week. At some point, I’d expected the heat between us to simmer down, for the craving to let up, but it hadn’t. If Oscar even looked at me, my skin itched with need, and my dick filled.
And Oscar was just as bad. The strange anxiety that had come over him shortly before Christmas hadn’t gone away. In fact, it might have gotten worse. I still didn’t know whether it was because he was nervous that he’d finally decided to open his heart to his family or because he was as aware as I was—for good or for bad—that our relationship clock was ticking down, but the only time he seemed to settle was when as much of my skin was touching as much of his skin as humanly possible.
Consequently, by the time we got in Oscar’s private plane for the trip north—Oscar’s second such trip in a week—I was simultaneously wrung out and buzzing on endorphins, terrified and excited, and also low-key wishing Hyacinth and her fiancé would have a falling-out that wasn’t serious enough to cancel the wedding but serious enough to delay it for a few days.
Or weeks.
Or months.
Or years.
Unfortunately for me, sweet Hyacinth stayed happily in love with Dirk, and their wedding day arrived right on schedule.
My hands shook with nerves as I dressed for the occasion in the primary bedroom of Oscar’s beautiful Vermont house. Out in the twilight, beyond the picture window, fairy lights already twinkled in the snow-covered winter garden. Further afield, I imagined the wedding planners were making final preparations in the barn where the ceremony would be. Elsewhere on the property, Oscar’s whole family was probably dressed and ready, eagerly anticipating the festivities. If there were ever a perfect setting for two people to commit themselves to one another, it was here and now.
“I think I might throw up,” I told my reflection in the mirror conversationally.
Oscar poked his head out of the bathroom. “Sorry, what?”
“I said we should get a move on, or we’ll be the last ones there.” I’d finished buttoning my tuxedo shirt and stuffed it into my pants, so I grabbed my cummerbund and wrapped it around my waist before turning to look at him.
His hair was still dark with water from his shower, and tiny droplets clung to his neck and shoulders. Tuxedo pants hung loose and unbuttoned from his waist. His chest was bare, and all those acres of hot, tempting skin and the small red marks where I’d gotten a little aggressive—a little possessive—earlier tonight gleamed in the lamplight. He fumbled with his wristwatch, scowling down at the golden band like it had defied him.