She latched onto me so damn tightly and with such enthusiasm, I ended up falling backwards to the floor, taking her with me. Birdie barely acknowledged it, continuing to kiss the hell out of me while showering me with yeses.
When we finally came up for air, I sat us up and pulled her onto my lap. “I hope you’re ready for me now.”
She cocked her head. “In what way?”
My arms circled her and I drew her close. “In every way. I’m done with giving you time and space. If you thought I was pushy before, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Her smile clutched my heart. “I’m ready for you, Winter Morrison. Make me yours and only yours.”
Birdie Beaumont had been mine from the day I set eyes on her. Even when she thought she wasn’t mine, she was. And I intended to spend every day for the rest of my life showing her just how mine she was.
Epilogue
WINTER
One Year Later
* * *
“Come on, Winter, dance with me!” Birdie held her hand out while blasting me with one of her smiles I was helpless to resist.
Max laughed beside me as the live band we sat watching played a song that was made for my woman. It was written in the joy on her face and in the sway of her hips just how fucking much this song was hers.
Actually, it was ours.
Birdie decided that a year ago at our wedding reception. I’d been kicking back having a quiet drink with Max, watching her dance with the girls. When the band started this song, her eyes had lit up and she’d dragged me onto the dance floor. I wasn’t the kind of guy who danced, but I could never resist Birdie and the pull I felt to her. And when Darius Rucker sang about his hands on his woman, it got my woman in the mood for my hands, which got me in the mood for that too.
Not that I ever needed to be persuaded to put my hands on Birdie.
Fuck. No.
I drained my glass of ginger beer as she lifted her hands to her hair and moved her hips with the sexy confidence that slayed me. Shoving my chair back, I eyed my brother. “Get me another drink if you’re having one.”
I barely took in his nod; my attention was back on Birdie, and I was cutting a path to her.
“I’m the luckiest bastard here tonight,” I murmured as my hands slid around her waist.
The flirtatious smile my words elicited was killer. Fuck me. “It’s your lucky night, baby,” she said, bringing her lips to mine and her hands to my hair. Fuck, I loved those hands in my hair.
“It’s my lucky night every night, Angel.”
“That is true, but tonight even more so.”
I ran my hands down over her ass as I danced with her. “Tell me more.”
“I think I’ll keep it a surprise.”
“Fuck, your surprises kill me.”
She continued threading her fingers through my hair. If she kept that up, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t find us a dark spot and demand she wrap those lips of hers around my dick. It wouldn’t be the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. Not with a wife like mine.
Pressing another kiss to my mouth, she said softly, “I like seeing you this relaxed. It doesn’t happen enough lately.”
Guilt sliced through me at her words. She was right; I was wound tight these days. Club shit saw to that. The last year, since Birdie and I had moved to Melbourne and I’d established the Storm chapter down there, had been long and hard. That our relationship had survived this year—hell, that it had thrived in fucking spite of it—told me we could survive anything. But still, I wanted more for us. Better for us. Birdie deserved that.
“No, it doesn’t,” I said roughly, “But I’m working to make that happen.”
She smiled. “I know.”