Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Killian lets out an expansive breath. “Right then. Scottie’s moonlighting as the manipulative love fairy. And you two are…?” He makes a vague, helpless gesture with his hand, pointing between Rye and me.
Rye stiffens, his jaw bunching. Red tinges his ears, and he stares at the table like it might hold the meaning of life.
I take another bracing breath. “No. Not anymore. We decided to be friends instead.”
I don’t miss the way Rye flinches, his big hands curling into tight fists. I want to reach out and touch him so badly, my bones ache. But I can’t. Not yet.
“Thing is, I don’t want that, Rye.”
His head jerks up, his skin paling. Wide, pained blue eyes meet mine.
My lip wobbles dangerously, and I blunder on. “I promised I would never lie to you, but I did. I lied when I said I was okay with being friends. I’m not.”
His breath is growing uneven, his eyes turning red. But he doesn’t blink, barely moves past the working of his jaw. It’s so silent, I can hear the frantic beating of my own heart.
“You once thought I was worth the risk—” My voice breaks then finds strength. “You’re worth it too. I don’t want to just be your friend, Rye. I want…I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. Wherever I land, whatever I’m doing. Because I…I adore you, Ryland Peterson.”
He takes a sharp, shuddering breath, the sound loud in the thick silence.
“I’m saying it here, in front of everyone we love, because you deserve that. I forced you to hide our relationship from them, like a dirty secret. When you’re…You’re the best man I know, and I’d…I’d be honored to be even a small part of your life. Though, you should know, I want everything. If you’ll…if you’ll have me.”
I stop there, hot and flushed and utterly drained.
Rye doesn’t say a word. No one does. The only sound is the snap-pop of the fire and the rushing of my blood in my ears. Then, abruptly, he stands, knocking back his chair. I stand too; I can’t sit and remain passive. Besides, I’m going to run like hell if he tells me it’s too late.
His nostrils flare, and then he’s stepping up onto the table. He’s tall enough to do it with graceful ease. On a mission, he walks across the table, the dishes rattling, gaze locked with mine as he comes. Lightly, he hops down to stand before me.
I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. He searches my face for one long moment, a man uncertain he’s heard correctly, but then his mouth trembles. When he finally speaks, his voice is deep, so deep, as though the words are coming from the very core of him.
“I always was.”
I can’t quite make my mouth work correctly. “Always was what?”
“Yours.” Tender hands cup my cheeks. “I’ve always been yours. And you…You already are my everything. You’re my music, Bren.”
A sob escapes. “Rye.”
That’s all he needs. He dips his head and kisses me, a bit frantic, a bit tender, and entirely perfect. It’s air, the first true breath I’ve had. I pull him to me, but he’s already there, wrapping me up in his solid warmth, kissing me like I’m his air too.
I’m his music. And he’s my wings.
“Aw,” says a voice, breaking the silence. “That’s an Instagram moment right there.”
Rye pulls back enough to shoot Jax a repressive glare. “Excuse us,” he says to everyone, then hefts me up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his trim waist as he palms my butt. And then he’s kissing me again and walking out of the room.
Faintly, I hear Killian mutter, “And the world was never the same again.”
I smile against Rye’s lips, joy soaring, because he’s right. My world will never be the same.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rye
Somehow, I get us to my room. Somehow, I manage to shut the door behind us without dropping her in my clumsy haste. How am I supposed to function properly when my woman is wrapped around me, eating at my mouth like she’ll never get another taste?
My woman. Holy shit. She’s mine.
Mine.
I press her against the door, my fingers threading through her hair. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”
She laughs against my lips, a soft exhale of cocoa-laced breath. “No dream, buttercup.”
A shot of pure, unfiltered happiness shoots up my spine, and I kiss her deep, my body pressing into hers. She feels so damn good. Warm and real. Delicate.
Fragile.
Shit. I’m too big to be shoving her up against doors without care. Pulling us away from the door, I spin her around to lay her on my bed. She smiles up at me, auburn hair a halo around the oval of her face, as I take off her little fuzzy slippers, tossing them next to mine, before crawling into bed.