Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) by Tara Wyatt (electric book reader .TXT) 📗

It was bigger and brighter and more beautiful than anything he’d ever felt before.

It was love.

He squeezed her hand again. “It is. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I didn’t even think…” He shook his head slowly. “I’m not even sure I know how to love someone. But I can’t ignore the feelings I have for you anymore. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to say any of this to you.” He sighed. “You need to know, getting involved with me might be an unmitigated disaster.”

She squeezed his hand back, warmth shining out at him from her gaze. “We’ll figure it all out. Together. But you have to be open with me, okay? You can’t just push me away when you’re scared. You have to let me in.”

He nodded, swallowing. “I know. And that’s going to be hard for me. It’s this defensive instinct I’ve spent the past thirty-six years honing.”

She smiled at him, and it was so full of warmth and care that he wanted to bask in it. “I understand. We’ll cross those bridges as we come to them.”

“Yeah?” he asked, exhaling. He’d held onto his hope, bottling it up in his chest and was finally ready to let some of it out into the open.

“Yeah. I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this before, but you’re worth taking a chance on,” she said, her thumb skimming over his knuckles.

He closed his eyes and then pushed up out of his seat, circling around their table to where she sat. Before she could say anything, he cupped her face and kissed her, pouring everything he was feeling into it. The gratitude for her forgiveness and understanding, the relief that she hadn’t rejected him, the sheer joy that she still wanted him after everything.

He pulled away after a few seconds, his hands lingering on her face. “I don’t deserve you.”

Her lips twisted in a smile. “Yes, you do.”

The waiter returned with another course, so he sat back down, even though he would’ve rather stayed closer to her. As the courses continued to arrive—crab, barrel fish, more salmon and tuna, even sea urchin and eel—the conversation flowed as they talked about their families, gaming, and lots of other small things. As they talked, he kept marveling at the fact that he hadn’t clued in that Fresh Princess was Willa. Now that she was here, sitting with him, telling him a funny story about something that had happened to her in college, it was so blatantly obvious. Who else could it have been?

Once they’d finished their desserts—a silky smooth custard and some fruit—she sat back, sipping her sake. “Did you see the latest update I sent out on Blind Date?” she asked, her foot sliding against his leg under the table. He shifted in his seat, moving his leg so she had easier access to it. God, any part of him she wanted, anything she wanted to do him, he was hers.

He shook his head as her foot rubbed against his calf. “No, not yet.”

“Initial reports show that the compatibility rankings are very accurate. The team ran the stats again and the margin of error was only two percentage points.”

He frowned, heat surging through his veins as her foot reached his knee. “So you’re telling me we might only be 96% compatible? Hmm. Maybe we should call the whole thing off.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling at him, her smile wide and genuine. “Maxwell Prescott! Was that a joke?”

“An attempt at one, yes.”

She grinned at him. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” Her foot slid up his thigh, inch by inch, closer to where he was half hard for her. Slipping his hands under the table, he caught her leg, wrapping his hands around her calf and massaging. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tipped her head back. When he skated his hands higher, his fingertips grazing the back of her thigh, she squirmed in her seat, letting out a shuddery sigh.

“Can we get the bill, please?” she asked him.

He grinned at her and she squirmed a little more. “Why? Somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She sat up, taking her leg back. “Yes. In your bed, with you inside me.”

He practically vaulted out of his seat, tracking down their waiter. When he’d paid their bill, he found Willa standing beside their table, her purse slung over her shoulder.

“How much do I owe you for dinner?” she asked, slipping her hand in his as they walked toward the exit. That small, casual gesture felt so good. So right. Like her hand was exactly where it belonged, safely tucked in his.

He shook his head. “My treat.”

When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, she arched up onto her toes and gripped his shoulder, pulling him down for a peck on the cheek. “Thank you. The food was amazing.”

Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, slow and sweet as the city moved around them.

13

Max tapped his keycard against the panel for the private elevator that went to his penthouse, the beep echoing in the concrete parking garage. Everything around them was quiet, the sounds of the city a dull murmur of traffic and sirens beyond the garage door. The elevator doors slid open and Max led Willa inside, her hand in his. Ever since they’d left the restaurant, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from touching her. Her fingers woven through his, his hand on her knee as he drove, his arm around her waist as they walked. He needed to touch her like he needed air. He felt like he’d been suffocating for years and now he could finally breathe.

As soon as the doors slid closed, he pulled her against him and kissed her. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close as her tongue slid against his, sending lust and need crashing through his veins. His hands circled