Chapter Sixteen
Windsor
I’ve moved some of my things into Maverick’s house. I want to surprise him when he gets back from his trip. Hesitantly, Morganna gave me a key to his house. I’m positive she called to ask him first, which totally ruins my surprise.
I have candles scattered around and I put some of my clothes in his closet. I also filled the shelves in his shower with all of my girl products. I love being in his house. It feels like I’m with him, even though he’s not with me. The house suits him perfectly. He’s right, you can tell a lot about someone just by looking at where they live. Albeit a few girly touches, I wouldn’t change a thing.
While he was gone I missed him more than I’m comfortable with. It’s like a warm-up for when he leaves for six months. The thought makes me tear up and cringe at the same time. It’s an odd sensation. I don’t know if I should feel this proprietary after the short amount of time we’ve known each other. I know he feels just as strongly, but he won’t admit it to me. He tells me I’m his everything. I think that is secret code for I love you. I think.
Do people like Maverick Hart say I love you? Do they only think it and assume women should know? He’s good at everything. That fact is obvious when you look around his house…and his garage. And also one glance in his bedroom has my knees shaking, but that’s just me.
It’s unreal I get to call him my boyfriend. Not only that, but the fact that I actually have a relationship after the Nashhole makes me happy. I thought for a long time I’d never get over him. Maverick makes that easy too. I barely even remember Nash and his adulterous ways.
Kathy calls and texts to bitch about how she is lonely, and needs me to come and stay with her again. She misses me. Or she misses someone to drive her to the store when she’s too drunk to drive. I’m sure she doesn’t ask her girlfriends to do that for her. That’d be too embarrassing. It’s a daughter job. You shit on the people you’re closest to. Even though she assures me money isn’t an issue, because she made out during the last divorce, I still worry she’s going to end up living in my spare room any day now.
My cell phone chirps at me from the kitchen counter. It’s a text from Maverick. We got in early. Stone is giving me a ride home. Meet me at my place?
I text back, Sure. I’m disappointed. I wanted to pick him up from the airport and have that run into each other’s arms moment. I hope he feels my irritation through my text. I laugh because that’s insane. Nothing else from Maverick comes through.
I do get a text from Gretchen listing a bunch of crass, dirty sex positions, because she can and that’s Gretchen. I had an actual professional wax my landing strip this time, much to Gretchen’s dismay. My hair is freshly blown out and I had my makeup done—nothing crazy, just simple and pretty. It’s my everyday look enhanced by a professional’s hand. I chose a black, casual cotton dress. It hugs my curves and boosts my chest. I reapply some clear lip-gloss and scrutinize my appearance in a large gothic mirror that hangs on a wall in one of the corridors.
I didn’t snoop through his house, as I’m sure most people would. I want Maverick to show me everything. I want to know what he finds important about his house. What will he show me first? What does he like the most? These things will all help me crack the code. Sleuthing for details about him and his personality take creativity. I think I know something about him and he does a complete one eighty. I never know what to expect from him.
The front door opens. I don’t hear it close. I run down the hallway, my bare feet padding against the solid wood floors. Maverick drops his leather bag from his shoulder and stares at me. Okay, maybe Morganna didn’t tell him she gave me a key. He looks delectable, like always. He looks even bigger than I remember. But the last time I saw him we were in my small, pink bed. Shock crosses his face, mixing with raw emotion. His hands tremble by his sides. I feel my smile fading from my face, praying to God that this is a surprise he’s okay with.
I give him a little wave. “Surprise?” I say, my voice wavering a little.
His gaze hasn’t strayed from my face…my eyes. He’s doing that weird thing when I know for sure he’s trying to get a read off me. I cross over to him, walking slowly but purposefully. He crushes me against his body, leans down, and inhales deeply. His heart is pounding. I actually feel it on my cheek—solid, steady, obviously not the slow normal pace of a heart.
“Is this okay?” I ask hesitantly.
Dipping his head lower, he places his face in my neck. Taking another long, deep breath he says, “This is more than okay. I missed you so much, Win. I missed you,” he whispers into my ear, causing my insides to quiver.
Sweeping my hair away, he kisses my neck, and then my ear, cheek, and now he’s looking at my lips. He doesn’t kiss them. He just stares at them. I smile after a few awkward seconds of lip staring pass.
Then I kiss him, interlocking my hands high, around his strong neck. He slams his eyes shut, almost as if my kiss pains him. I coax his lips open and deepen the kiss, pressing my body as close to his as I can. Candles melt when you light them. I melt when Maverick Hart kisses me. Into. A. Puddle. Of. Mush. His lips give me small doses of delirium. I pull away before I lose myself completely.
His head follows me back and his lips are almost back on mine. “I missed you more. I also made dinner. Morg gave me a key. I moved some of my stuff in while you were gone. I hope you don’t mind,” I give him all the important details in a Windsor ramble. Finally. Finally, the smile appears. He narrows his eyes. “We only have a few weeks until you leave. I wanted to be thorough,” I deadpan.
“My, my. You’ve been busy…and sneaky.” He nips the tip of my nose with his teeth. “I like it though. I like it a lot. You here. Your stuff here. Coming home and you’re here. All of this. I love it all,” Maverick growls. He said the L word. Why do I even care he said it? I wouldn’t notice that word coming out of any other mouth except his.
He picked up on the fact I noticed right away, because he does what he always does when he wants to move past something. He kisses me. Closing the door with a free hand he backs me toward the couch, his lips never breaking from mine. We crash down on the sofa and the scent of expensive, worn leather wraps around me. My hands go to the edge of his shirt automatically. I want it off. I want his skin and all of his glorious muscles as close to me as humanly possible. The second my fingers touch his skin, he pulls away from me.
I scoff at him. “What? I’m not allowed to touch you now? I thought you missed me?” I ask. I’m smiling, so he knows I’m not totally serious. He runs a hand through his crop of hair.
“I want to talk to you. Can we just talk?” His eyes look a little worried, which only worries me. The last time someone told me they wanted to talk with that look on their face was when one of my friends was telling me about Johnny’s affair. I try to avoid talks as a general rule. I nod, tuck my legs under me, and face him on the couch.
“Lets talk,” I urge.
He exhales. “When I’m around you, I don’t think straight. I just want you. I’m crazy. Do you understand that?” His eyebrows knit together. “We don’t talk enough.” A man admitting that we don’t talk enough. Shit. This must be really bad. My pulse skitters, still between my legs, but now also at my throat.
I bite my lip. How best to proceed with this? “You’re not crazy, Mav. We should talk more. I agree. You start,” I tell him, stifling a stutter. Crap.
He shakes his head. Then he launches into a speech about how he doesn’t speak with his family, and how Stone and the guys are the only people he has relationships with. He tells me his past haunts him, that he relives the day he told his father he was going to boot camp in Illinois and then to San Diego to become a Navy SEAL. He rehashes the different ways that conversation could have gone, and then has nightmares because it was the moment when he lost the people he cared most about. Maverick goes into gory detail about how letting people into his life isn’t acceptable. How keeping women at arms’ length in a hotel room is preferable to letting them inside his house and heart. He takes several deep breaths and continues on, connecting all the dots for me. I realize I’m shaking when he places his large hand on my shoulder. He’s talking about me now. About how he knew I was different the first moment he saw me.
“I wanted to let you in. Maybe I was just ready, Win. Maybe you were sent here just for me—because that’s what it feels like to me. I have never been more afraid of fucking something up,” he says, hanging his head to break eye contact. “I have a confession.”
Oh, shit. He can’t even look at me when he admits it.
“A girl came up to me in a bar last night. She offered herself to me within seconds of saying hello,” he says.
I swallow. Please don’t say you accepted. Don’t say it. I’ll break. Just like Kathy said. He’ll break me beyond repair with just a few words. He wouldn’t. Maverick couldn’t do that to me. Could he?
“Say it, Maverick. Just say it,” I mumble.
He looks me in the eye. “I planned the whole thing out in my mind. How I would take her to a hotel and fuck her senseless. So I could come back here to you with a clear head. I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. But I thought about it, and I feel like it’s just as bad,” he grinds out. Thank God. I can deal with this. I can deal with this.
I grab his hand in mine and squeeze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I have sex with Channing Tatum in my head anytime I scroll past his photo on my newsfeed. You don’t even want to know what I do to Zac Efron in my mind when I watch his movies. You can think whatever you want, Mav. You don’t act on it. There’s a difference. It’s a very large difference,” I explain. He seems to relax a tiny bit. “I want you just like this.” I lay my hand on this side of his face. It’s a little pink from time spent in the sun. “Foggy head and all. I want you like this. If you need to fuck someone, I know a willing participant.” I smile at him. He shakes his head, one dimple disappearing.
“I’m no good. I’m telling you I’m crazy. Nothing in my life will ever be what you deserve. I internalize everything, and don’t tell anyone how I feel. I’m reckless where others are careful. I’m also completely at a loss. I have no idea how to keep what I want most,” he says. He didn’t use the word “fuck” once. He’s honestly telling me how he feels. “You.” He finishes his sentence and it’s like a punch to my stomach and heart at the same time.
My palms feel a little sweaty. “If I tell you one more time I’m not going anywhere you’re gonna start thinking I’m lying. I’ve promised a million times, maybe even once while your dick was in my mouth, that I won’t leave you. I’m the one who should be worried, Maverick. You have girls propositioning you on the regular. My prospects are non-existent. I’m just plain Windsor with the boring job and a cheating ex-fiancé. You make me special.”
He pulls me into a hug. It’s warm and comforting and not the least bit sexual. It’s refreshing just to have him reassuring me, with all our clothing on. I crawl into his lap and entwine my body with his.
“Don’t worry. Please. I only told you to try to warn you how messed up my headspace is. I guess I won’t frighten you off after all I’ve admitted. So let’s just be together. I’ve missed you,” he repeats for the fourth time. It’s like a plea.
“I’ve missed your more, I bet. I wasn’t swimming with dolphins or surfing. I was stuck in my office,” I say. I kiss his cheek because it’s right in my face.
He smiles and his boyish good looks appear. He’s two people—the person he turns into when he talks about his past and his issues, and then this one—the most attractive man on the planet who teases, laughs, and just happens to be all mine.
“God, I’m so glad you’re mine,” I whisper. “Even if it was an accident, or weird cosmic powers, I’m glad you picked me. You make me so happy.” His heady gaze locks on mine. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again, sighing. “Where’s my present?” I squeal, when I remember. I love presents and something from Maverick makes me insanely giddy.
A straight white smile assaults me before his lips kiss mine. One hand twists in my hair and the other pulls my waist closer to him. I’m wearing a dress, a fact I didn’t remember until this second when my panties begin to stick to me. My breathing speeds up, his touch sparking every nerve ending to life. God, his hands are like a magic freaking wand. I shudder. He feels it. His lips form a smile against my mouth, his front teeth meet my tongue instead of his own tongue.
“I actually have two,” he whispers.
I shiver again, because I can’t freaking help myself. Having him close completes me in some odd way. I didn’t even feel like this when I was engaged to Nash—something that scares the shit out of me. I would have lived an entire life without this feeling.
He glances over my head into the kitchen. “Lets eat first. You cooked,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“I can cook, Maverick. I use a recipe like a normal human, but I can cook. And no,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Give me the present now. I hate surprises and I don’t do well with anticipation.” I smile. He laughs.
“It seems to me you do quite well with anticipation.” He disentangles our limbs and grabs a scrap piece of paper from the side pocket of his bag. “I hate to drag it out, but you’re going to have to wait a few more minutes. I have to go grab something,” he confesses with a lazy smile. I nod. He disappears into a hallway. When he returns he’s holding a beautiful wood-grain acoustic guitar.
I’m pretty observant, but I still won’t believe what I’m thinking until it’s a done deal. A scrap of paper and a guitar? A song? For me? Holy shit.
My stomach gets all light when he levels me with his gaze and says, “I wrote you a song.” He clears his throat. This. Is. Real. “I’ve never done this before. I usually just jam with my buddies. Bear with me.” His face is a mask of frightened anxiety. His eyes are a little wider than they usually are and the crinkles by his temples are absent. I’m sure the smile I beam back at him is the goofiest, most unattractive thing my face is capable of, but I can’t control it. Or my mouth.
“Are you serious? Oh my God. Oh my God. I’m totally about to have a heart attack over here…or maybe vomit…or something unsightly and embarrassing. You wrote a song for me? That’s the type of thing that only happens in movies and passionate romance novels. It definitely does not happen to me,” I gush.
Damn it. I realize I’m bouncing on the sofa like an animal at the zoo. Not quite at Tom Cruise on Oprah level, but still bad. Trying to assemble some degree of control, I cross my legs and scoot to the edge of the couch. He drops down in the leather chair directly across from me. He’s chuckling under his breath as he twirls some of the knobs on the end of the guitar. I memorize the way he looks right now because I never want to forget this. If it ends badly, which I don’t even think about anymore, I’ll always have this moment. I’ll lock it up so it stays untainted by anything that happens after it. It’s mine.
He strums the strings a few times and then continues fiddling with the knobs. More strumming that already sounds like perfection fills the room. He lays the paper in front of him on the table. Keeping his head down, his eyes flick up to meet mine. Dimples arrive a second later. I squeal. “You’re starting,” I guess. He does.
A haunting guitar solo fills the air. My huge smile fades as I listen to him play. His eyes close as he gets lost in the melody. It’s beautifully simple in pattern, but something bittersweet laces the notes. I find myself leaning toward him, the sensation to comfort him uncontrollable. The muscles of his forearms stretch and flex as he plays. It’s soft, not like bench pressing heavy weights, or carrying big, manly guns. This is a whole new side of Maverick. It’s sensitive. His fingers buzz over the strings with ease and grace.
Then he begins to sing.
His voice is low, soothing, and raspy. It’s freaking hot.
If I asked for forever would you run from right now?
If I gave you a promise would you want to know how?
I need to breathe you inside me til’ I know you can’t leave.
Forever is too long but it’s what feeds my greed.
You twist me in knots, you break me in two.
I want you. You’re everything.
I want you.
I do.
His lips curl around the last words and he looks at me. His gaze steady, questioning.
If I asked you for forever would you run from right now?
My jaw is practically on the floor. His long fingers glide over the strings, repeating the melody from the beginning of the song. I’m glad. It gives me a few seconds to absorb his words, or control my rapid-fire pulse. His song. His gift to me. Maverick looks down to watch his hands work, and I realize he’s giving me time to be alone with my thoughts. His song, my song, says everything I need to hear.
“No,” I say, realizing I have a few tears leaking from my eyes. He looks up, pulls the guitar closer to his body, and slumps over it, his arms dangling over the top. “I won’t run, Mav. I won’t leave,” I clarify.
“Promise me,” he growls. Still with this?
I take a deep breath. “Put the guitar down,” I command.
He props it against a small table. Folding his hands together in his lap, he fixes me with his gaze. I feel my breaths come faster and faster. I fling myself over the coffee table separating us and into his lap. Grabbing his face with both hands, I kiss him quickly once.
“That was for the song. It was seriously perfect,” I admit. Then I kiss him a bit harder. “That’s a promise.” I hug him tightly, fitting myself to him like a puzzle piece. He holds me to him. I pull back and look into his eyes. “Make love to me, Maverick,” I say.
Indecision lights his face. He told me if I begged, he’d cave. I don’t want to beg.
“Because you want to. Not because I beg for you to,” I explain. He stays silent, his eyes drinking in my mouth as I speak. “And because forever isn’t really that long and we’ve wasted too much time already. I want you. Right now. Tomorrow, too. Next year? I’ll want you then as well,” I ramble. The thought comes like a freight train. “Now, you promise me you won’t leave me.” It has to be both ways. My heart is already his.
He shakes his head, disbelieving. Maverick grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head. My heartbeat picks up. This is it. Finally.
My gaze lands on a white bandage on his chest, above his heart. He peels it off to expose an obviously new tattoo. It’s a vertical line of black ink reading 36° 40’ N 076° 36’ W. I trace it around the edges avoiding the raw skin.
“Now you’re always with me. You can never leave. No matter what,” he says, grabbing my wrist. I glance up to his face. “It’s the exact location I fell in love with you,” he whispers.
The tenderness in his eyes breaks me. A tear slips out of the corner of my eye as I lean in and gently press my lips against his. It’s a salty, tear-laced kiss. He pulls my hand to his chest…his heart, bloody, healing tattoo be damned.
“I promise,” he confesses against my lips.
“Where?” I reply. I want to know when. Let’s be honest, I need to know exactly when he fell in love with me.
“Twelve thousand feet in the air, of course.” Date four. Maverick was in love with me after four measly dates and he’s just telling me now. To say I’m shocked is an understatement.
This tattoo is permanently on his body. I can’t stop starting at it. You get a tattoo when you want something on your body when you’re old and wrinkly. When you want to look at it and remember a certain moment. Maverick picked this moment.
He tilts my chin up. “Windsor the rambler is speechless?”
If I started talking now I wouldn’t stop for days. He brushes a tear off my face with his warm thumb.
“Say something or I’ll think you hate it and think I’m…”
I cut him off with a finger against his lips. When he silences I lay my hands on his stubbly face and bring his forehead to mine. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t think you could have done anything more…perfect. This means the world to me—it means more than words ever could.” I rub my hand down to his chest once more, making sure it’s real. His eyes stay locked with mine. The untouchable place inside Maverick is open. To me. “You make me look bad. All I did is make dinner,” I say, giggling a little. The big smile is on his face and doesn’t seem to wane like it usually does.
He stands from the chair, picking me up with him, like I’m a throw pillow. I wrap my legs around his waist and lock my arms around his neck. “I am pretty hungry. Baring my soul really takes it out me. I want to eat whatever smells so delicious, then take a shower to wash off the airplane,” Maverick says, setting me down on a bar stool in front of the plates I’ve set out.
“Then what?” I ask, not releasing his neck.
He leans over and places a scorching kiss on the hollow of my neck. “Then I have a lot of fucking begging to do,” he rasps in my ear, tickling me and sending a thrill directly to my sex.
Tonight is going to be a trifecta of awesome.