Tipping his head, Jamie traces my mouth with his thumb, the rough callus of his fingertip brushing my sensitive skin. “I’ve considered that. I think that’s the fear talking. We’ve been on our best behavior around the meddlers, but what about all the hours we’ve spent, just you and me, being ourselves? We were never trying to impress each other or win each other over. In fact, I think I’ve been my most insufferable self with you because it felt safe to do so.”

Safe.

“Safe,” I whisper. “You’re right. But it’s still . . . it’s such a mindfuck.”

“It is.” His hand slides down my waist, drawing me close to him. “We don’t have to run headlong into this. There’s no rush, Bea.”

My eyes slip shut for just a moment as I feel the pleasure of being tucked against his body, the heat and height and hardness of him. “I’m in a bit of a rush. I feel no reason to go slow.”

His mouth tips in one of those almost smiles that make my heart crackle to life like a summertime sparkler. “Does that mean . . . you want this?” he asks. “To be real?”

“Yes.” The truth lurches from the heart of me, leaving a raw tenderness in its wake that reminds me how vulnerable this makes me feel. “But I’m scared. I’m scared you’re going to wake up tomorrow and realize that sure, we dry hump and kiss like champs and have a blast teasing the shit out of each other, but you don’t really want someone as chaotic as me in the picture for the long haul.”

“You’re not alone. I’m scared, too. I’m afraid you’ll get tired of me,” he admits. “That you’ll get sick of my neurotic rigidity.”

Giving him a saucy smile, I run my hand down his chest. “I like your rigidity.”

“Beatrice.”

“James.”

He sighs. “I’m serious.”

“You are serious, Jamie. And I’m pretty gone for it.”

Now it’s Jamie’s turn to look unsure, to hold me tight like he’s worried I’ll vanish in his grip and this moment will morph into a mirage. “What are you saying?”

I press on tiptoe and steal a long, slow kiss, then whisper, “I’m asking. If you want this to be real, too. You and me, together.”

His eyes search mine, his expression serious, tense. “What about the plan to break up and get your revenge? Our revenge? You’ll just . . . let that go?”

“Mmm . . .” I tip my head in thought. “I think our happiness is revenge enough.”

“How so?”