Savannah approached and placed her hand to the back of Dakota’s head. “I’ll be all right, Kota. I love you,” she said, then turned around, took Erik’s outstretched hand, and walked away.
Dakota bucked in my arms, sobs overtaking her completely as she let it all out. I listed to the side shifting my weight, bent, and hooked her under the knees, lifting her up into a princess hold as I carried her toward the doors. The driver jumped into action at seeing us, dragging our two suitcases well in front of us to a waiting black town car. He opened the door, and I maneuvered both of us inside so that Dakota was sitting across my lap.
She cried a river, not letting up until we arrived at the airport.
As I expected, she wiped her tears away, stiffened her spine, got out of the car, and for the first time ever, reached for my hand.
Pride, pure and free, filled me to bursting. Reaching for me in support was a huge step toward getting my wife exactly where I wanted her to be.
In love with me.
The second the plane took off, Dakota twisted to the side and stared out the window. She refused any food or drink, content to stare into space through the two-hour flight, shutting herself off from the world. If that’s what she needed to come to terms with the direction her new life had taken, I’d give it to her.
Once I got behind the wheel of my truck with her in the passenger seat, the silence was stifling.
“Tired?” I asked trying to find a way to break the tension.
“It’s not like we got a lot of sleep,” she said dryly.
I huffed. “Except for the part where you were sawing logs like a lumberjack between rounds two and three.”
She inhaled sharply. “I most certainly did not snore!” Her deadened eyes suddenly blazed to life.
“Darlin’， you did. You also drool,” I added, to get her hackles to rise even further. I liked angry Dakota. I didn’t much care for the emotionally cold woman she’d become since we left her sister back in Vegas.
She scoffed and made a gagging sound, her temper flaring. “You are lying! And if it wasn’t for you, keeping me up all night long, I may have slept more soundly.”
I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Baby, you fell asleep while riding my cock like a prized mare after you initiated sex for the third time.”
Her mouth fell open in shock before she pointed at me accusingly. “Proof how bored I must have been!”
“Bored? That why you’re walking bow-legged today?” I waggled my brows and grinned before forcing my eyes back on the road.
“Said by a man who never wants to get laid again!” She crossed her arms, lifted her chin, and stared a hole through the passenger window.
“Woman, don’t think I haven’t figured out you’re a wildcat in the bedroom. One I like taming, very, very much. You’re just as hot for me as I am for you. Lying about it won’t make it any less true.”
I could feel the tension paired with her fire filling the cab with electricity.
“I’ll admit that we are compatible in the bedroom. Doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.”
I snorted. “Sure it does.”
“Yeah? How you figure?” she asked flatly, holding back her true feelings. She knew the answer as clearly as I did.
“Means we’re going to have a lot of fun fucking each other silly for the next fifty years.” I smiled, imagining us sitting on the porch in our rocker for two, me with a beer in one hand and my arm wrapped around a gray-haired Dakota looking out over our land. Maybe a couple dogs at our feet and a horde of grandchildren racing around the house.
“Fifty?” She choked. “Hardly. More like 1,094 days, buster.”
“You’re counting down?”
“I’m surprised you’re not. I still have no idea why you purchased me in the first place. It makes no sense.”
I shrugged. “Guess you have over a thousand days to figure it out.”
“Because you’re not going to tell me?” she protested. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.
“I heard that.”
“Wasn’t trying to hide it,” she sneered.
Mission accomplished. Fighting-mad Dakota was far better than sad and silent Dakota.
As she stewed, I turned on the radio, filling the cab with the gentle melody of Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers singing “Islands in the Stream.”
“I love this song,” she said and leaned her head against the glass, humming along.
I reached out and took her hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed her knuckles briefly. “Me too.”