Jocelyn

After a brief trip downstairs to grab my purse, I return to Boxer’s bedroom, pausing only to peek into Charli’s room on the way back and ensure she’s still sound asleep.

She is, drifting away in dreamland, eyelashes fluttering and small breaths puffing against her pillow. The word to use is sweet, but it’s not strong enough. Her cheeks are strawberry pink, her lips matching, her hair like golden threads curled over the pillow. There’s more beauty in one moment of watching her sleep than a lifetime of what I’ve known so far. The thought is sobering.

“There you are.” Boxer appears at the door to his bedroom, his expression soft. “Come here, Joss.”

I let my feet drag me toward him, my heart pulling me along for the ride. It’s only once we’re tucked safely inside, door shut and locked, that a breath rattles from my chest.

“I told you the other night that I’d fix this whole situation,” I tell him. “And I had an idea.”

“This is your idea?”

I nod, fingers shaking as I dig into my purse. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad?”

Boxer rinsed off in a five minute shower while I ran downstairs to collect my purse, and he is now dressed in shorts and an old Lightning sweatshirt. His hair is somewhat ruffled, and he smells like cedar and soap. I’d give just about everything to sink into his arms and forget about everything else.

“I’m...” I clear my throat. “I’ll let it speak for itself.”

I pull out a celebrity magazine commonly found in the checkout lines at grocery stores and, judging by his expression, he recognizes the name. StarCrossed.

“Page twenty-two,” I say. “It’s dog-eared.”

He flips through the pages, every second taking a bit of my resolve away. My palms are sweaty, my breaths shallow. This might just be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. If I’ve sabotaged everything with Boxer because of this move, I’ll be devastated.

He reads through page twenty-two once, and it takes ages. Years. Centuries.

I clear my throat again, louder, reminding him that hello, I’m still here.

He doesn’t bother to glance up, his expression completely unreadable.

“So?” I prompt. “Initial thoughts? It’s a little late to do anything about it since these’ll hit the stands shortly, but I wanted you to know, to see it first, and... now that I’m here, I’m realizing I should’ve probably talked to you about it first—”

“Lightning Love,” Boxer reads aloud, one eyebrow twitching upward. “Catchy title.”

“Do you hate it? You hate it.”

“I haven’t read it.”

“What?!” I cross the distance between us in two steps. “What have you been doing this whole time?”

“Staring at you—your picture. You are beautiful.”

Boxer turns the magazine around, his finger pointing to the image of me in my pink dress. It’s the very same photo that Rumpert handed over to me on Sunday—the very one he’d been using to blackmail Boxer into signing with him.

“You handed this over to a reporter... voluntarily?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped into a contract with Andy. I know you only signed it in the first place to protect me.”

“But I didn’t sign it accurately.”

“No, but if we tried to keep this a secret, he’d make our life a living hell,” I say, a note of frustration leaking out into my words. “If we’re going to try to make this work, it’s going to come out sooner or later. Me and you. Us. I figured—why not announce it early when we can control it?”

“You’d do this for me?”

“No.”

He looks surprised.

I clear my throat. “For us.”

His eyes return to the photograph. It’s a beautiful moment captured; if I’d seen it on a magazine rack, I’d call it the picture of love.

“Jocelyn Jones sits down with me for what might be her first ever personal interview, Diana Morse writes,” Boxer reads further, his eyes scanning the next sentence. “It seems love is brewing for this well-known...”

Boxer stalls, stumbling over the next words.

“Ice queen,” I fill in. “It’s okay. I approved the story.”

He shakes his head, skips a few paragraphs, and resumes reading the questions from the text. “Do you love him?” His eyes look up, meet mine, and recite the words I’d stated quite clearly for Diana. “Without a doubt.”

I blink, unable to hold his gaze.

“Do you mean it, Joss?”

I nod, raise a hand to wipe the edges of one of my eyes. “Yes, I do,” I tell him. “I mean it a million times over.”

Boxer sets the magazine down on the dresser and pulls me over to the bed in one motion. He’s got his hands on my shoulders, our bare skin zinging against one another.

“You’re hurt,” I whisper, as his mouth trails tantalizing kisses down my neck. “Let’s wait, we’ll have plenty of opportunities.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were in the hospital.”

“Then be gentle.” He pauses for long enough to wink at me. “If you can stand it.”

“Yes, of course. I’m just worried about—”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, his hands reaching for the bottom of my shirt. “Thank you. For being here, for coming to Charli, for what you said to Diana.”

I’m too sensitive, too tender to respond, so I close my eyes and let the sensations of his fingers wash over my body, caress my skin like a gentle waterfall.

He twirls me around, spinning me onto the bed like we’re in some sort of slow dance, a tornado of sensuality. It begins like a gentle gust of wind, soft and tender, spiraling around us like stardust.

His mouth, his hands, our skin brushes against one another. Every touch is electric—building, burning until the breeze turns into a gust, and this thing, this relationship between us is clawing for more, demanding all the other has to give.

Landon lays me on the bed, my nakedness no longer a source of discomfort, but a measure of trust, a display for all that I am. The good, the cold, the fire burning deep within that is melting away the shields I’ve built up year over year.

Fingertips brush over my skin while my own dig into his hips. I pull him close. He pulls me closer. I let my hands roam free underneath his sweatshirt, guiding it gently over his head. His shorts go next. From the nightstand, he retrieves a condom and rolls it on before cradling me in his arms.

We’re tangled together in the bed, my arms around his back, his hands pulling my hips toward him, lifting me off the comforter. The fabric, smooth to the touch, burns against my skin, every sensation intensified.

When his mouth meets mine, he presses against me and pauses, holding there for a long second.

“Please,” I whisper finally.

He moans my name, nestles into my neck as my legs wrap around his back. When he eases inside, our breaths hiss together.

The gentle breeze that started everything now circles us in torrents, wild and free, desperate and crazed in our need to claim one another, to destroy all walls, boundaries, obstacles between us. To destroy the old, to weed away the dead to make room for the new.

We’re spiraling together in a perfect parallel, each of his beats matched with one of my own, until we’re driven to the edge, the fury, when suddenly it breaks, and we slip into the eye of the storm.

He stills, our breathing heavy, and he gives the slightest shake of his head. “I love you, Jocelyn Jones.”

“I love you, too, Landon Boxer,” I say, aching with the fullness of the words, of him.

His hand rises to stroke my cheek, his eyes the most piercing blue as they cut through every facade I’ve created, every layer of protection that exists around my heart.

I close my eyes. I feel too much, too hard when he looks at me. I’m not used to feeling worthy of such love, but when I’m with Boxer, he makes me feel every bit deserving of it, and that’s what scares me the most.

He slides back, presses into me one last time, and together, we release. His name spills from my lips, stifled as I press my mouth to his neck and he rocks us both to a finish that leaves my body limp, my mind drained, my spirit wrung.

When the waves subside, he rolls me to him and curls me into his body.

“Promise me one thing, Miss Jones,” he says.

I turn to face him, my hand rising to press through his hair of its own accord. “Anything.”

“Will you be my agent?”

I still, my hand still ensnarled in his locks. “Are you serious?”

“Who says business and pleasure can’t mix?”

I can only blink.

“I mean it,” he says again. “I want you to be my partner. In love, in life, in business. In everything. If we’re going into this, I’m not going to half-ass it.”

“So we’ll full ass it together?”

He gives a serious nod. “What do you say?”

I lean in, press my lips to his. “I say you’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Boxer.”