“No, you don’t. You have a lifetime to do that, remember?” He kisses me, stealing my breath, but not quite stealing all of my thoughts.
I rest my hand on his chest, stopping him. “Do you think this is going to work? Really?”
His smile is slow. Breathtaking. He touches my cheek. Drifts his fingers across my skin. “Yes, I do. No one else tolerates my rude ass like you do.”
I burst out laughing, joy making my chest hurt. “And no one else understands me like you do.”
He kisses me. “There’s one.”
I frown. “One what?”
“Kiss. I think I’m going to keep track of how many kisses I give you from now on.”
“That’s impossible.”
He kisses me again. “You think so? Watch me.”
Another kiss.
“That’s three.”
And another one.
“Four…”
I climb on top of him, silencing his new countdown with my lips.
We don’t need to keep count.
I know he’s going to give me at least a million more.
EPILOGUE
Crew
Two years later…
We’re at my parents’ house in the Hamptons, celebrating Christmas. Why we’re out here, I’m not quite sure, but my mother wanted to do something different this year, and she didn’t want to spend it with the other Lancasters.
“We have our own family now,” she explained. “With Grant and Alyssa, and Perry and Charlotte. Oh, and you and Wren. And soon there will be plenty of grandchildren.”
She told me this at Thanksgiving, when she called me. Talk about making my balls shrivel up.
“Yeah, well, don’t expect any grandchildren from us yet,” I told her with a nervous chuckle.
Wren just shot me a dirty look, though her eyes were dancing, as if she found my sudden pain hilarious.
She’s a bad girl.
My bad girl.
Presents were already opened earlier this morning. Brunch had been served hours ago and now we’re getting ready for dinner. A formal affair, we’ve all been notified that the men wear suits and the women wear semi-formal dresses.
This sent Wren into distress.
“I don’t know what to wear.” She has four dresses hanging on the closet door, contemplating them as she chews on her fingernail.
I come to stand beside her, tilting my head to the side. “I like that one.”
It’s black and stretchy looking, the fabric shot through with silver sparkly thread. It’ll cling to her like a glove and have me lusting for her the entire night.
I’m into torturing myself when it comes to Wren and her unequivocal hotness, so I’m down.
“Really?” She waves a hand at the dress covered with gold sequins. “I like that one better.”
I shake my head. “Save that one for New Year’s.”
She turns to smile at me. “That’s a good idea.”
Decision made, she grabs the dress and goes inside the walk-in closet to put it on, shutting the door behind her.
“I’ve seen you naked before,” I remind her.
Soft laughter is my answer.
“Why are you getting dressed in there?” I shuck my jeans and slip on a pair of black trousers, realizing I’ll only be able to change into half my outfit because my shirt is hanging in the closet, which is currently occupied by Wren.
“I want it to be a surprise,” she tells me.
I tear off my sweater and stand there waiting for her shirtless. She takes her sweet time, which I know is how she operates, yet I’m impatient anyway. She fusses over her tits and worries they’ll look too big and I have to reassure her that they’re perfect. Because they are.
Just like she is.
The past two years we’ve spent together nonstop, traveling the world. We decided to forego college and get some real-life experience, with Wren adding to her growing art collection during our travels. She came into a small trust fund when she turned eighteen from her mother’s side of the family, and she’s been investing wisely in unique pieces of art ever since.
I might buy her a piece or two, but she deters more than encourages my indulgence in her. Her parents recent divorce and subsequent division of assets has put worry in her, and I hate that.
The Beaumont art collection is a wondrous thing, and it was recently sold in two separate auctions with Sotheby’s. Her parents made an absolute killing. Cecily has already started a new collection.
Wren cried both days of the auction, too overcome at the loss of all that art. She doesn’t know about the piece I bought for her at a different auction, a piece her mother spotted in the Sotheby’s catalog and called me right away to tell me about it.