The moment my sister and Mom leave the house, Will and I start to clean the kitchen. Me quietly putting things away while Will rinses off the dishes and sets them in the dishwasher.

“Well, that didn’t go quite the way I planned,” I finally say, coming to stand beside him and help rinse out the pot I used for the rice.

He says nothing for a while. Simply sets silverware into the dishwasher, his movements methodical and careful, just as is his silence. He’s trying to figure out what to say, I think.

“Your sister has a lot going on,” he finally says.

“That’s a nice way to put it.” He’s just being polite.

Bracing his hands on the edge of the sink, he turns to face me. “I also think she’s tired of living in your shadow.”

I turn off the water, irritated. Okay, I didn’t think he’d say that. “I never asked for any of this,” I remind him. “If she’s jealous because everyone focused on me over the years, trust me. I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat. Not that I’d ever wish what happened to me on my sister—”

“I know. I understand. But she doesn’t. No one really does. All she sees is you got all the attention over the years, and she feels like she didn’t get any.” He dries his hands off with a dish towel, tossing it onto the counter before he pulls me into him, his arms going around me and holding me tight. I snuggle close to his chest and breathe in his warm, masculine, undeniably Will scent. “I didn’t think dinner went too bad, despite your sister’s outburst,” he murmurs into my hair.

I agree with him. Mom was nice. Friendly. She loves Molly, but who wouldn’t? Will loved Mom’s pumpkin pie, having two big slices, which pleased her. Once Brenna got over her minor fit and off the wine, she mellowed out, too. Will tried his best to be friendly, but she really didn’t warm to him. That’ll take time, I’m sure.

He’s always watching out for me and I wish Brenna could see that. He’s my own personal guardian angel. I’ve thought that about him from the very start. My wrist still feels empty considering I never took the bracelet he gave me long ago to a jeweler. It still sits on my dresser in my tiny jewelry box, waiting for me to do something about it. After the bracelet fell off my wrist when we were on the Sky Gliders and he’d been able to find it, I never found the time to take it to get fixed. I needed to make time and do that.

“It went well,” I say, smiling up at him. My smile fades when I see the intent in his gaze, the way his head lowers, and then his mouth is on mine. Gently. Then not so gently, with that hint of fire lying just beneath the surface, the hint that tells me he wants more. He’ll take this further.

And I’ll let him. I always let him.

We kiss like we haven’t seen each other in months, standing in front of the sink in the middle of my kitchen, our arms wrapped around each other, mouths fused. My lips part the slightest bit and his tongue is there, touching just the tip of mine. A tease, a promise of what’s to come, and I open my mouth wider, welcoming the invasion. Needing his kiss, his touch, to take me away and help me forget.

Everything.

The tension from dinner eases slowly from my muscles, leaving me a boneless heap in his arms. Still he kisses me, his hand moving up to cup the side of my face, his fingers streaking across my cheek, down my neck, pressing against the spot where my pulse flutters like a wild thing.

I feel a little wild with the way he’s kissing me. Consuming me. Yet his mouth and hands are also like anchors, grounding me, reminding me that I’m a woman and it’s okay for me to have this yearning, all-encompassing need building and growing inside of me. This need is all for him. Only him. He makes me feel alive. Like every light is extra bright, each sound is higher, louder, and his every touch is more intense, more urgent, more now, now, now and mine, mine, mine.

That’s what it feels like, to be with this man. To have his focus centralized only on me. It’s a delicious, heady experience, even while we stand in the kitchen, the dishwasher open, my still-damp hands clinging to the back of his shirt. We can take the ordinary and turn it into something amazing with only a few kisses, a smattering of stolen words, a whispered sign and a muffled moan.

One big hand with splayed fingers slides over my backside, staying there. Reminding me that I belong to him. And I want to belong to him. The more time I spend with Will, the more I know that this was the right choice. That he was the right choice.

We belong together. And no one can ever change that.

“Come on,” he whispers against my lips and I frown, about to ask him what he means when he’s suddenly lifting me up, into his arms. My legs automatically circle his hips and he’s carrying me as if I weigh nothing, Molly padding after us. I point a finger at her, my other arm wrapped around Will’s neck as I cling to him.

“Stay,” I command her, making Will chuckle. Making Molly halt in her tracks in the middle of the hallway.

At least she listens to me.

He pushes open the bedroom door, walking inside, and then I’m sliding down his body, feeling every hard inch of him press into me. I land softly on my feet, my hands at his flannel shirt as I hurriedly undo the buttons. He doesn’t stop me, just watches me with those dark, heated eyes, his chest moving faster and faster as his breathing accelerates.

All for me, I think. His reaction is all mine.

My breaths match his, my trembling fingers fumbling over the last buttons, and he bats my hands away, taking over the job. He shrugs out of his flannel, tears off the white T-shirt he wore underneath, and then there’s just acres of firm, masculine skin on display. Just for me.

I touch him. Press my hands against his pecs, then slide them down, palms flat, brushing against his hot, hard flesh. He’s lean, I can feel his ribs, and I run my fingers over the tattoo, the tattoo I never asked about but now understand.

The angel wings, the words Only us. It’s me. It’s him. It’s us, together.

“Did you get this for me?” I press a kiss to the wings, letting my lips linger, tasting his skin.

“Yeah.” He cups my nape and I gaze up at him. “Took the drawing you gave me into the tattoo shop and the artist re-created it with more detail. You said ‘only us’ in your first letter to me and the words stuck with me.”

I frown up at him. “I did?” I don’t remember, and that makes me feel bad.

He nods. “You said that no one else understood what happened. Only us.”

Only us. The words stuck with him all this time. Permanently. That he would etch those words and the wings I drew him onto his skin forever . . . makes my heart feel like it grew wings and is desperate to take flight.

“I love it, that you did this. For me. For us.” I trace the tattoo again, drift my fingers along his rib cage. Exploring. I was always too shy to closely examine his body at first. And once I got over that, I became too shy to say the words that always seem to clog my throat when we’re together like this.

It’s overwhelming, what I want to say to him. What I want to do to him. But I’m working up my courage, slowly but surely.

Without another word, I touch the tattoo again, tracing the wings, the letters, my fingers sliding down over his firm belly, the indent of his navel, the dark hair that’s just beneath. I draw my index finger along that soft trail until I reach his jeans, curling my fingers around the denim and slipping them inside, my knuckles brushing nothing but warm flesh.

He sucks in a breath and I glance up to catch him closing his eyes, his expression one of pure, unadulterated torture. And pleasure. So much pleasure. He took off his glasses earlier when we started cleaning the kitchen and I stare at his handsome face, seeing his younger features, the ones that remind me so much of my Will from before, the boy who saved me. There’s a tiny hole just beneath his lower lip and I reach up, touching it, knowing exactly what it’s from.

His eyes open and he knows what I’m touching, too. “You remember the lip ring?” he asks quietly.

I nod, never taking my hands off his face, moving my fingers up so I can trace his eyebrow. There had been a ring there, too. Funny, how we’ve never talked about this until now. “What happened to them?”

“Got rid of them when I changed my name.”

“And your hair?” It had been black as night when I first met him. An unnatural color that made him appear totally emo, like some of the kids Brenna had in her class back then. He’d scared me the first time I saw him. All the black, the piercings, though, it was all a façade.

A mask.

“I dyed it for years. Finally shaved it all off and started over.”

“You shaved your head?” All that pretty hair, gone. He has the best hair. Thick and soft, I love to run my fingers through it.

“I wanted a complete change.” He smiles, a teasing light in his gaze. “You want me to repierce my lip? Or maybe my eyebrow?”

Shaking my head, I reach for the silver button and undo it, tugging harder so that the entire button fly comes undone before I spread the denim wide only to discover . . .

Will’s not wearing any underwear.

His smile grows at the precise moment I suck in a harsh breath at my discovery.

“Found out my little secret,” he murmurs, his eyes sparkling.

His little secret makes me feel shy. A little unsure. I still feel somewhat anxious when it comes to sex. Sheila warned me I’d continue to feel that way for a while and here I am, panicking over discovering that he’s naked beneath those jeans. Any other girl would be thrilled. Any other girl would take her opportunity and touch him. Get down on her knees for him and draw him into her mouth, reward him for his pleasant surprise.

But not me. I can’t. I’m still too self-conscious. I’ve never given him a blow job. I wouldn’t know how to do it. I’m not ready to give him one, either, too self-conscious that I might mess it up or worse, that I might freak out. Not that he’s asked for one. I just think he’s so glad that we’re together, he’ll take what he can get from me.

That sounds horrible. Like he’s settling. Is he? I hope not. I know I’m not. He’s all I know.

He’s all I want to know.

“I was in a hurry after I took a shower,” he murmurs, catching my chin with his fingers and tilting my head up so I have to look at him. He looks amused, even a little sheepish. “In such a hurry, I forgot to grab underwear when I picked out my clothes for tonight earlier this afternoon. So I just got dressed and left the house.”

Aw, he picked out clothes to wear special for meeting my mom and sister. That’s so adorable. I know he was worried about tonight, maybe more worried than I was, though he never acted like it. I envied his calm, cool demeanor.

He’s being pretty cool and calm right now, considering I have my hand down his jeans, fingers brushing awfully close to his private parts.

“This would be the moment when most women would tear your jeans off and grab hold of you like they never want to let you go,” I suggest, feeling immediately stupid for even saying it.

He winces. “If you’re referring to my cock, then I don’t know if I want a woman grabbing hold of it like she’s never going to let go.”

I’m blushing so furiously my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. I can’t believe he just said the word cock so casually. I’m even more surprised that I kind of liked hearing him say it. “That does sound a little too fierce,” I concede softly.

“Yeah.” He leans in and kisses me, lifting away to murmur, “It does. And you’re not most women. You’re my woman. That’s all that matters.”

My heart flutters at his words, at the intense look in his eyes, and I melt. Giving me one more lingering kiss, he reaches for me, his hands sneaking under my sweater, and then he’s removing it as well as my bra. I cover my chest when he kneels down and slides my jeans down my legs, his mouth following the same path, and then I forget all modesty, grabbing hold of his shoulders to keep myself from falling. I whimper low in my throat when he presses his mouth against the front of my pink panties.

“So sweet,” he murmurs there, making me shudder. I clutch his shoulders harder for fear my legs will give out and I’ll collapse on the floor.

He slowly rises to his feet, his mouth blazing a trail of damp heat along my skin before he’s finally standing above me. He sheds his jeans, his movements almost awkward in his rush to get naked, and I love seeing his excitement, that he doesn’t care how he looks in front of me. He just wants me.

I lie back onto the mattress and he’s standing at the foot of the bed, completely naked, hard and ready, just for me. I open my arms to him and he falls atop me, his mouth on mine, his hot body pressing me deeper into the mattress. I’m blanketed by his body, his hot skin making me feel like I’m burning up from the inside.

And then he grabs a condom and he’s actually inside of me, our bodies connected. I arch up against him, needing him closer, and when I open my eyes I find that he’s watching me. He runs his fingers through my hair, his hips shifting slowly as he lies atop me, and I slide my legs along his, wrapping them around his hips and sending him even deeper. We both groan and he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine, his features strained.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

“Thank you for allowing me into your life,” he murmurs. “I appreciate you letting me meet your family tonight.”

His words crack my already sensitive, barely held-together heart. I don’t want to talk. Instead I loop my arms around his neck and pull him into me for a kiss, but he breaks away after the first one.

“I mean it, Katie. I love you. I’ve never had a real family. I’ve always been alone, taking care of myself. To the point where I truly believed I didn’t need anyone else. Definitely not a woman.” His voice breaks, and I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions swarming inside of me. “With you, I don’t ever feel alone. With you . . . I feel whole.”

“That’s because you’re not alone, not when you’re with me,” I whisper, opening my eyes to see him smile in response.

“I don’t ever want to lose you. I’ve lived without you for too long. I won’t let anything get between us. Nothing.” The kiss he presses to my lips is almost brutal. Ferocious. As if he’s trying to prove a point. And he is. “You belong with me. We belong together.”

I don’t disagree because I can’t. Fate pushed us together. To lose each other again would only tempt fate to tear us apart.

And I don’t want to tempt fate.