Forever Mine

“You always run into women?” I tease. The look he gives me is one I think he uses in the courtroom because I’ve never seen it before, and he looks pissed. It’s slightly hot. I swallow, my eyes going to his lips thinking about how he kisses me.

“Where have you been?” He grabs my hand, not waiting for an answer.

“I can come and go as I please. Married or not.”

“I worry.” He locks his fingers with mine, leading me back home. Home. That sounds way too good.

“You went on a date with Meredith. Really, Wy? Of all the women out there. Not to mention it looks like you’ve been making out with someone.” I turn my nose up, hating the jealousy I feel.

“Wy?” He smirks at the nickname. I glare over at him. “Business. Nothing more, nothing less.” I know he wouldn't lie to me. “Promise.” He gives my hand a squeeze.

“She made sure to call me to make sure I knew all about her date with you.”

His hand tightens in mine. “I’d never date that woman. Is that why you left? You think I’d kiss you and then go out with another woman? You know me better than that.”

“I don’t. I’m sorry. This is a lot, and I’m having trouble playing catch up.” He leads me up the stairs to the stoop, opening the front door. He pulls me in. “We should make a list.”

“No more lists, Lucy.” He clicks the lock back into place before taking my jacket from me to hang it up.

“Not exactly a list. More like rules or guidelines. Such as dating.”

“Dating?” He turns back around to face me with that dark look on his face again. I step back, running into the wall.

“I don't think we should be dating other people.”

“There will be no dating.” He takes a step closer to me.

“Right, but what if you meet someone? Someone you think could be your one. Or—”

“Lucy.” He cuts me off, clearing the last of the space between us. “Shut up,” he says before his mouth claims mine, and I indeed shut up.

Chapter Thirteen

Wyatt

The only time Lucy has been unconcerned about the marriage thing is when my fingers were inside her, and I’m okay with that. My fingers can stay inside of her all day and all night as far as I’m concerned.

This is not her studio, though, and the bedroom isn’t five strides away. It’s up a flight of stairs. The closest horizontal surface is the sofa with the fuzzy pink blanket, and my onslaught of her senses hits pause. While I have been planning for this event, our wedding, our union, since we first met, this is all new to Lucy, and she’s having trouble adjusting.

I lift my mouth from hers. “I know I’m rushing you. Tell me what you need to be comfortable here and with me.”

She blinks a few times as if having trouble processing everything. I take her by the hand and draw her up the stairs. “Make a list. I’ll check it twice.” I give her a crooked smile, willing her to return it. She hasn’t been smiling as much, and it bothers me.

“You didn’t like my last list.”

“It didn’t have enough you on it. I expect this list to be all about you. What design changes you want to see. What rooms you want to make your own. Hell, we can even move if you want.”

“You love this place,” she objects.

I stop on the landing to my bedroom. “Things change. I can’t be happy here if you’re not happy. This room too dark for you?” I try to view my bedroom from her eyes. There’s no pink here, and I know she’s a fan of that color. She prefers lighter shades as well. Maybe that’s why I don’t see a pillow or a throw in this room like there is in the living room.

“No. It’s fine.”

“Fine doesn’t sound promising.” I tip her chin up. “I want to hear great or wonderful or my favorite room in the house.”

This tips her lips up a fraction. “My favorite room in the house is the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” I’m shocked. We almost never go down there. Most of the time that she’s here, we order out.

“Yeah. It’s big with tons of counter space and two sinks, and it opens onto the yard.”

She sounds enthused. “The garden is actually my favorite part of this house because it feels like a genuine oasis in this city. I’ve imagined—" She cuts herself off.

“Don’t stop. You imagined what?” I prompt.

She tilts her head and shutters her eyes. “I’ve imagined sitting out there with a cup of coffee I made from the coffee machine. Not from The Daily Drip but homemade coffee.”

I like the picture she’s drawing. “You should’ve done that.”

Her eyelids pop up. “I’m not here in the mornings.”