Game On (Game On 1)

“Okay,” I agreed. “Okay.”

We waited in line for a full hour, throughout which I continued to get more and more scared. If I’d been with anyone else I would probably have run away way before we got to the front of the line.

When we finally got there I gave one last panicked plea in the hope that he'd take pity on me and take me back to the hotel. No such luck. Radleigh handed over the money and I knew there was no backing out.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, as we stepped into the giant pod. “I think you’re pure evil for making me do this.”

With a small chuckle, Radleigh said, “It's good to face your fears.”

“Face my fears?” I repeated. “I'll have you know, I'm more than happy to live with my fear of heights. I don't need to conquer it by getting on an overgrown ferris wheel!”

“It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“You don’t need to be romantic now, you’ve already got me!”

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As a few more people filed into the pod with us, Radleigh gently manoeuvred me away from them and with a grin, said, “Maybe I haven't got everything I want from you yet.”

“If I promise to do obscene things to you when we get back to the hotel, will you let me out of here?”

“No,” he replied, laughing. “But you can do obscene things to me anyway, if you like?”

“After this? Not a hope!”

A smile spread across my face and he pulled me close to him. I still wasn't used to the happiness that washed over me whenever I was pressed up against him. It felt so safe, so right to be with him.

Running my hands down his back to the waistband of his jeans I said, “So, why did you bring me on here?”

“Partly so I can say I did something in London other than sleep, and partly so we can talk about the things we didn't have time to talk about last night.”

“Ah, cunning. You drag me up here where I can't escape, so you can get some answers from me. And here was I thinking it was about you having your wicked way with me in public.”

“Quit turning me on when I'm trying to be serious,” he groaned.

“Sorry,” I answered, grinning.

“I want you to come back to America with me,” he said, bluntly.

“Well,” I said, my smile fading a little, “that was abrupt.”

“I'm sorry. That's what I want.”

“I know.”

“You don't want to?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Return of the ego.

Although, I suppose to him it would have been a surprise. After I admitted I loved him, the obvious answer was that we would be together. And that was what I wanted.

“I want to be with you,” I told him, carefully. “I'm just … I'm not sure about moving back to America. I don't want to mess this up by pushing things faster than they need to go. We've already made enough of a mess of things.”

“It's different now. We've argued, and we've apologised. Everything's good.”

“It is,” I agreed. “Really good. But I want things to stay that way.”

“By staying in England?” he asked, pulling away from me slightly. “I thought we’d worked everything out?”