Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Author's Note
- · PLAYLIST ·
- · ONE ·
- · TWO ·
- · THREE ·
- · FOUR ·
- · FIVE ·
- · SIX ·
- · SEVEN ·
- · EIGHT ·
- · NINE ·
- · TEN ·
- · ELEVEN ·
- · TWELVE ·
- · THIRTEEN ·
- · FOURTEEN ·
- · FIFTEEN ·
- · SIXTEEN ·
- · SEVENTEEN ·
- · EIGHTEEN ·
- · NINETEEN ·
- · TWENTY ·
- · TWENTY-ONE ·
- · TWENTY-TWO ·
- · TWENTY-THREE ·
- · TWENTY-FOUR ·
- · TWENTY-FIVE ·
- · TWENTY-SIX ·
- · TWENTY-SEVEN ·
- · TWENTY-EIGHT ·
- · TWENTY-NINE ·
- · THIRTY ·
- · THIRTY-ONE ·
- · THIRTY-TWO ·
- · THIRTY-THREE ·
- · THIRTY-FOUR ·
- · THIRTY-FIVE ·
- · THIRTY-SIX ·
- · THIRTY-SEVEN ·
- · ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ·
- · DISCUSSION QUESTIONS ·
- Kate
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
I smile, turning and facing Jamie just as the door slips shut behind him and he crowds me, then lifts me onto a shelf. “I was just getting you tissues.”
“I don’t need tissues. I need you,” he grumbles against my neck, trailing kisses across my collarbone, pressing my thighs apart, pulling me close until I feel how hot and hard and ready he is.
“Again?” I whisper.
“Again. And again. I’ll always need you.” He wraps my legs around his waist as I clutch his shoulders.
His kisses tease my throat, my breasts. I drop my head back in pleasure and smack it on the shelf. “Shit.”
Jamie rubs the back of my head, cupping it in his big hand as he presses a kiss to my temple. “All right. No closet sex after all.”
“It’s a little bump on the head, not a concussion,” I whine, tightening my grip around his waist.
“Considering I’m the physician, Beatrice, I’ll be the one making diagnoses.” He hikes me higher in his arms and kisses me before I can argue further. “Now, open that door.”
Pouting, I reach around him for the door handle, then pretend to not be able to turn it, jiggling it for extra dramatic effect. “Damn. It’s stuck. Guess we’ll just have to stay here and have sex after all.”
His smile is soft and amused. “That would certainly be poetic,” he says, “seeing as this all started with us locked in a storage closet, and it is rather cozy away from all those meddling fools, the nosy, noisy outside world. But”—he reaches behind me and easily turns the knob—“I think we’ve proven we can hold our own out there, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I tell him as he walks us down the hallway, whispering kisses over his beautiful, dear face. “I do.”
Jamie smiles and holds me close, heart to heart. His kisses whisper love. His arms are home.
If this is wrong, I will live long and happily never being right.
· ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ·
I figured when the time came to write acknowledgments for this book, this dream come true wouldn’t still feel like a fantastical figment of my imagination: that the romance novel I wrote, marrying my lit-nerd love of Shakespeare and my conviction that we need stories affirming everyone’s worthiness of happily ever after, somehow found its way into the heart of an agent, then an editor and a publisher, and will soon, I dearly hope, find its way into the hearts of readers, too.
It still feels like a dream.