“Do you mind if we talk later?” Vanessa pats my hand as I drive up to the resort’s valet area. “After the reception? I’m a bit tired from the trip… and everything.”

Sure. Words can wait, but I’m not ready to let her leave my side. Not after this two-hour drive with her sweet scent so close, attacking my brain, expanding my need and other things. Two-plus hours, picturing her mile-long legs wrapped around my waist, pussy hot against my groin, and her gorgeous face more vulnerable and open than ever before. I want to touch every square inch of her pale, creamy skin, to stare into her light-colored eyes, to bury my hands in her blonde flowing hair, kiss her pouty red lips until they’re raw and swollen, to feel her erect nipples that press against her lacy bra and thin shirt.

“I know this is a lot for you to take, but no. You don’t want to be alone. Just trust me.”

A bellman helps her out of her seat while another stands at the back of my car, waiting for the trunk to open. They load up our luggage and promptly check us in curbside. Our rooms are on the same floor, so we follow them to the elevator, her hand securely in mine the entire way. She doesn’t put up a fight when I instruct the bellman to bring all the suitcases and suit bags into my suite, or as I lead her inside to the bedroom and pull her into my lap.

Her short breaths against my neck warm my skin, and I’m hard as slate at the feel of her body relaxing into mine, ass in my lap, light locks tumbling down over my hand at her back as I take in her citrusy vanilla scent. I tighten my hold at her back, pressing the softness of her breasts to my firm chest, and her nipples harden through her shirt. Gripping a handful of her hair, I take her mouth hard as I re-explore every detail of her lips, tongue, and teeth that I’ve missed. She breathes a plea into our kiss, begging me to take her. Both our hands busy themselves with removing our clothes between kissing, grinding, and a burning need to take down any remaining barriers between us. Wrapping her legs around my waist, I flip her over and worship her body. Then I take full advantage of the moment.

“Say it,” I order her.

“Hmmm?” she moans out the question.

“Tell me what I want to hear.”

She knows what I’m asking, but saying it doesn’t come easily to her.

Vanessa’s mine to tease, taste, and devour, as long as I want to, but right now, she doesn’t want slow. Her moans plead for immediate relief as I kiss along her neck and jawline, taunting her a little longer while I run playful fingertips over her breasts, tweaking the nipple. Her fingernails dig into my back, chest arched up toward me, her hips grinding to line up her pussy with the tip of my cock.

“Say it,” I repeat, pulling away slightly.

“I’m yours, Liam. I don’t want anyone else…because I need you. I’m all yours.”

Fucking right she’s mine.

One raspy groan at her neck in response and her hands make it to my ass. She jerks her hips up toward me so sharply that it’s game over. I bury into her with a single thrust. Urging me to go on, her hips rise and fall, finding our rhythm. She molds to every part of me, and I pick up the pace, demanding more of her each time I bore deeper into her core until she cries out through her climax and calls me to mine.

Our hips are still locked together when she raises a hand to the side of my face and smiles. Panting hard, I stare down into her face. We’ve crossed an invisible hurdle that somehow, we both recognize. As if marking the moment, her body relaxes.

“You love me,” she whispers the words with a clarity that transcends her voice to her eyes and all through her body to her core.

“Yeah.”

She just stares, her gaze burning into me as though she can finally see what I’ve been about all along.

And it fucking scares her.

I expect her to bolt any second now, but she doesn’t. It’s not an all-out escape this time. She gets up after some time and heads into my bathroom. Letting the jacuzzi tub fill with perfectly heated water, she rolls her smaller suitcase inside and closes the door behind her.

Half-hour later, she’s still in there. I’ve wrapped a towel around my waist as I wait in the living room, working on my third shot of Bushmills whiskey. Waiting. The pre-wedding reception starts in less than an hour. I won’t hazard a guess as to what state of mind she’ll be in when she emerges from hiding. She may turn tail and put more distance between us, or she may stay the course. And I know this because it’s her way. The push and pull of whatever Vanessa went through before me, or years ago, are like storm winds that can blow her either way. But it’s all about to change. Because tomorrow night, after the wedding is over, I’ll make sure she tells me everything. Even if I have to force her.

Vanessa pulls open the bathroom door as my hand hovers the whiskey bottle over my glass for one more shot. She stands there, frozen, silent, naked under the plush, white hotel robe. I have a change of heart that instant. This conversation hanging between us—between Vanessa and the rest of the world—is happening now. It’s written all over her face.

Finding another glass, I forget about shots and pour her a half glass of what I’m drinking, which she gulps down like water before taking a seat on the sofa.