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  “Okay.”

  As soon as the door closed, Rory was in a potent combination of heaven and hell. He was near enough to Olive in the back seat that their thighs brushed, but he wasn’t sure if she wanted to be touched yet. So he just waited. Waited, breathed and stayed as still as possible so he wouldn’t lunge for the girl staring up at him with the most incredible eyes on the planet. The girl he loved so much, he was half-delirious just sharing the same oxygen with her.

  Olive’s inhale was stuttered. “The morning I asked you to leave, I woke up to a text from my mother. They’d turned my old bedroom into a toy unboxing space. For the channel.” Her audible swallow mingled with the rain pelting the rear window. “It was like being abandoned all over again and then I c-couldn’t think of anything but the time you left. And how bad it would hurt if you did it again. And I just got so scared.” Her fingers twisted in the damp hemline of her dress. “I invented reasons you probably like me, because I was so positive you would stop a-and leave again. Maybe you liked me because you needed to rescue someone, because of the time you couldn’t.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I just needed a reason—any reason—to push you away so I could avoid being…dropped. So maybe I am a naïve girl, Rory. Maybe I am. Because being without you is terrible no matter how it happens and I’ve sped it along.” A sob pushed out of her mouth, her body beginning to shake. “And I’m in love with you and you won’t even hold me now. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve—”

  Rory’s arms were around her in a split second, gathering her tightly against his chest and dragging her back across the seat into his lap. She straddled him as natural as could be, their bodies locking together like two halves of a whole. His heart lurched repeatedly, shocked over going from broken to complete so fast, and he pressed a hoarse sound into her hair, running his hands over every inch of her he could reach. Her head, her back, her hips, her face. “Did you just say you’re in love with me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, nodding. “Yes. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean what I said. About needing only people from school in my life. I was lying. D-did I ruin this—”

  “Olive.” Every ounce of feeling inside of him—disbelief, honor, relief—went into that single use of her name. His mind raced between every word she’d said, no idea where to land first, returning over and over again to the last part. This girl loved him. She loved him back. Was he dreaming? No. No, the weight of her in his lap was real. She was there. Craving eye contact, he clasped her face in his hands, bringing their heads together. “I love you. I fucking love you. I always will. Always. Let’s get that straight first.”

  A shudder passed through her and she sagged against his chest.

  “Don’t you dare be relieved by that. You think I could stop loving you?”

  Looking into his eyes, she shook her head. “No.”

  “I didn’t hold you at first because I would have broken if you were just here to keep a promise. And not because you needed me.”

  “I’m here because I need you,” she said against his mouth, scooting closer on his lap. “I’m here because I need you so bad.”

  Olive’s pussy pressed down, so hot and sweet on his cock and the flesh filled with pressure. That horrible, wonderful weight only she could satisfy. While they breathed against each other’s mouths, faster and faster, her hips starting to roll, the rain began coming down hard, turning the back seat into its own private world where they were the only two people who existed. “Look at me.” Never taking his attention off of her, Rory dug his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it on the seat, his fingers searching for the square foil packet he kept tucked in the billfold. “Olive, baby. Do you honestly think I rescued you? I’m the one who was drowning before you pulled me to shore. Look at me, sitting outside my mother’s birthday party, someplace I wasn’t sure I’d ever find myself. All because you believed in me.”

  Her eyes were soft and damp, running over his face. “I’m sorry I doubted how you feel.”

  “No. Don’t apologize,” he said gruffly, peeling the wet hem of her dress up, up her thighs, bunching the sodden material around her hips. “I just wish you’d told me about the text message, baby. About what they’d done. I’m so sorry. It’s hard for me to understand how someone could know you…and not want to keep you close as possible. It makes me feel so fucking helpless because I can’t fix it.”

  “I don’t need you to fix anything for me,” she said, brushing their lips together, side to side. “Just…”

  “Just what?”

  She looked down. “I don’t like knowing that you were waiting for me to break up with you. That you had some plan to leave me alone, let me live my life, at the first sign of trouble.”

  Rory understood Olive more in that moment. She didn’t want casual. She needed to be secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t budging. That his presence in her life was as solid and indestructible. If it took from now until the end of time, he would make sure she never questioned that he’d be standing beside her forever.

  Unable to wait another second, Rory teased her mouth into a reunion kiss that escalated quickly, tongues finding each other and mating, heads slanting. Her thighs turned restless around his hips almost immediately, her fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. And fuck, he’d missed those little whimper sounds.

  Rory reached down between their bodies and unzipped his jeans, wincing as he pulled out the source of his ache. He covered himself quickly with the condom, pushing aside Olive’s thong with the head of his dick, leaving himself positioned at her entrance. But not quite inside. Just pressing, pressing, letting her wetness coat the latex.

  “It’s yours whenever you want to start riding it,” he gritted out, leaning back so he could watch the lips of her pussy part, hugging his cock and sliding down a few inches, Olive working her hips to take him inside, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “When I’m deep as you can handle me, we’re going to have a little talk.”

  “Okay,” she gasped, turning glassy-eyed. “Talk. S-sure.”

  Rory’s heart swelled with love, but lust surged up and demanded attention as Olive’s tight pussy rippled and squeezed around the entire throbbing length of him. “Good girl,” he managed, finding her taut ass cheeks in his hands, easing her into a rhythm that made her mouth form an O. “That’s right, baby. It’s a perfect fit.” He slapped her bottom lightly, the smack sound echoing in the back seat. “Fuck your man.”

  “Rory,” she moaned, seeking out his mouth for a kiss. He gave it to her and then some, growling deep in his throat as she rolled into a faster pace, learning on the fly exactly how to angle her hips so that sweet clit rubbed on his cock every time she moved. “I’m going to come so fast. I can’t help it. Missed you. Need you.”

  “Time for our talk, Olive.” The love inside him expanded to include a little darkness. A lot of possessiveness. Those things had always been there, ready to bleed into the intense feelings she’d stirred, but Rory’s instinct rose up and set them free now. To plunder. Because his soul told him Olive needed them. “I’m done being noble. If you ever ask me to leave again,” he rasped against her mouth. “I won’t. Fucking. Go. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Olive’s nod was jerky, excitement lighting her gray eyes. “Yes.”

  He brought his mouth over to her ear, breathing against it. “You’ll have to call the cops, Olive. Tell them to bring an army. That’s what it’ll taken to drag me out. Away from my girl.”

  “It won’t happen. It’ll never happen.”

  “If it does, I’ll still come back.” He kissed her hard, swallowing her sobs with a greedy mouth. “This is how obsession works. Is. This. What you need?”

  “Yes,” she cried out, riding him hard. Fast. “That’s what I need, Rory.”

  “Done.” Rory began lifting his hips in sharp thrusts, meeting every twist and grind of her hips, and Olive gasped, increasing her pace, gaining more and more momentum. “Christ, baby. Baby. You’re getting me off
so good.” Knowing if she didn’t come in the next thirty seconds, he was in danger of peaking first, Rory undid the top three buttons of her dress, pushing aside the wet material to suck her nipples through the thin silk of her bra—and her pussy seized up around him, broken versions of his name filling the car as she shook through an orgasm.

  Rory surged up into her tightness one final time and roared, the climax pounding through him with such force, his lungs wouldn’t fill for long moments, his vision blurring. There was nothing but Olive and the love overflowing their hearts into the back seat of the car. They clung to each other for several minutes as the rain slowed into a pitter patter, their mouths meeting in slow, meandering kisses, their hearts pounding closely together, as if attempting to merge into one.

  “I love you, Olive. My God, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, Rory.” She kissed his chin, his cheek, his mouth, resting her cheek on his shoulder with a contented sigh he planned to hear every day for the rest of his life. “Are you ready to go inside?”

  “I’m ready for anything, as long as you’re mine.” He wrapped her in a bear hug. “And we’re not just going to see my family. We’re going to see yours, Olive.”

  She lifted her head and gifted him with a beautiful smile. And a few minutes later when they knocked on the door and Rory’s mother answered, bursting into tears and pulling him into her arms, he wondered how a man could do anything but succeed with so much love coming at him from two directions. The remaining cracks in his foundation were filled with hope. Knowledge that the future would be nothing but bright, especially when his mother hugged Olive, too, already halfway to loving his girlfriend. As if anyone could help it. Rory vowed to himself that Olive would have a special place with his family. It would be hers, as much as his.

  Everything he was capable of giving would be hers.

  For as long as he was breathing.

  THE END

  Want more from Tessa Bailey?

  Here’s a sneak peek at RUNAWAY GIRL…

  A swoony, sexy romance between a gruff, military man and a beauty pageant coach that just ditched her own wedding…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Naomi

  I’m fifteen minutes away from marrying the man who ordered me the wrong white wine at our rehearsal dinner last night. There are definitely far better reasons to get cold feet, but the lemony Pinot Grigio clings to all sides of my throat now like a reminder.

  He doesn’t know you.

  I scan my reflection in the mirror, looking for flaws. The smallest thing counts. A flyaway blonde hair, a wrinkle in my custom Pnina Tornai wedding dress, my diamond pendant being slightly off center. But no. I may as well have stepped right out of a bridal magazine. A real life Photoshop job, primped, airbrushed and ready to be shipped down the aisle.

  That’s exactly what this feels like. I’ve been packaged. My attributes were all selected from a pull down menu. Pageant queen. Check. Hostess skills. A must for any southern housewife! Writes a mean thank you card. Why, of course!

  After all, I’m preparing to marry the next mayor of Charleston. The rest of my life will be lived beneath the finicky microscope of old money and my own peers, who judge twice as harshly. I’ve been groomed for this my whole life. Cotillion. Finishing school. Private tutors. Non-stop critiques from my mother. I am in this to win it.

  But with ten minutes on the clock, I’m not sure what winning is anymore.

  What. Is. Winning?

  I fall onto a cushy divan—gracefully of course—and force air to enter my nose and leave my mouth. In. Out. In the full length mirror’s reflection, I watch my bridesmaids plow through a bottle of champagne behind me, speculating in hushed tones on what my wedding guests will wear to the big day. It’s the tip of spring so yellows, blues and pinks are likely to make an appearance. They talk about it like the weather report. I should get up and join them, right? Any second now, they’re going to realize I’ve been quiet too long. I have been quiet too long. Where are my manners? They’re here for me. I should be thanking them for their support and handing out their wedding party gifts, but all I can do is think of Pinot Grigio.

  I’m a Sauvignon Blanc girl. Everyone knows that.

  A little hiccup leaves my mouth, but I disguise it with a polite cough and stand up once more, smoothing creases from the embroidered satin of my dress. I notice my maid of honor watching me with a wrinkled brow and give her a pinky wave, forcing a smile until she returns to a conversation which has now turned to which of the groomsmen are single.

  Five minutes. Oh God.

  The sick citrus flavor has now traveled to my stomach, stewing and gurgling. I haven’t thrown up due to nerves since my first pageant at age four. I won’t start now. I can’t. This is a thirty-thousand-dollar dress. A vomit stain wouldn’t exactly match the beading. And worse, my friends have eagle eyes. They would definitely notice and they would know. They would know I’m panicking. I can’t have that. The future mayor’s wife is a cool customer. Unflappable. She makes everything look easy. That is who I am. Not a jittery girl with back sweat.

  A flash of black outside catches my eye. Not exactly an eye-catching color, but among the pastels, the dark figure crossing the street outside the church draws me closer to the window. It takes me a moment to place the identity of the black-haired woman stomping up the church steps with a defiant expression, but when I do, my feet go from cold to frostbitten.

  Addison Potts.

  What is my estranged cousin doing at my wedding? Lord knows she wasn’t invited. Her side of the family hasn’t been welcome at so much as Sunday brunch in decades. I haven’t seen her in Charleston since we were in our twenties. Possibly longer than that, since we never ran in the same circles. My circle is currently popping open their second bottle of champagne—and an answering pop happens somewhere in my midsection as Addison pauses outside the church doors. Not hesitating, exactly. Just giving guests a chance to look at her. Encouraging them.

  Shaking things up.

  A small laugh puffs out of me, creating condensation on the window.

  Where has she been? What has she been doing while I prepared to be the keeper of someone’s social calendar? I don’t know. But I bet whatever she did…she did it for herself. On her own terms. She’s been living. That much is clear.

  Addison frowns and glances up at the window, but I duck back before she sees me. My heart beats wildly in my throat. What would Addison see if she looked at me? Exactly what I am. A pampered southern belle with the appropriate amount of friends. An inner circle of four, an immediate network of thirty-two and a broader outer circle of two hundred and fifty. A blonde beauty queen whose interests include scrapbooking, creating signature cocktails for parties and fancy gift wrapping. My long lost cousin would probably laugh at me.

  Maybe she should.

  When I look back down at the church steps, Addison has disappeared into the church, leaving a stir in her wake. And for the first time in my life, I understand envy. I’ve never caused a stir. Not once. I’ve inspired approval. Matching sweater sets don’t exactly drop jaws, do they?

  “Naomi,” calls my maid of honor, Harper. “I promised your mother we’d have you walking down the aisle at three o’clock sharp. We should head down.”

  A bridesmaid leans a lazy hip against the liquor cart, jostling the bottles. “Yes, let’s not cross the woman. I want to make it to the reception with my limbs intact.”

  Despite the cyclone brewing in her belly, Naomi’s tinkling laugh filled the room. “Ladies, would you mind terribly if I had a moment alone with Harper? We’ll be down in a shake.”

  “Of course,” chirped three bridesmaids, far too brightly.

  What am I doing? This impromptu meeting is not on the agenda. A quick glance at the clock tells me I am now late for my own wedding. If my mother has to come up the steps, she will be breathing fire and that’s the last thing I need right now. We don’t want to keep Elijah waiting. No. No, we never want to do anything to
upset this perfectly perfect ideal life I’ve landed. This is what I’ve always wanted. Wifehood to a rich, respected man. A military hero who inspires sighs of gratitude when he walks down the street.

  A good man. An honest man who will stay true to his vows. A kind, compassionate human being. That is Elijah Montgomery DuPont, the next mayor of this fine town. He just happens to think I prefer Pinot Grigio. That’s only the tip of the iceberg, though, isn’t it? I spent hours getting coiffed for the rehearsal dinner last night and he looked right through me. Sure, he kissed my cheek and nodded as I spoke. Made sure I arrived to my assigned seat without injury or assault. I love Elijah.

  He just doesn’t love me. And after seeing Addison Potts outside on the church steps, I know exactly why. Where my cousin is vivacious and exciting, I’m a cookie cutter, boring-as-beige debutante who’s never lived outside of the staunch parameters laid out for her. I haven’t experienced anything, unless someone planned it for me. I’m not interesting or worthy of anyone’s undivided attention. My fiancé is probably standing in front of the altar right now, dreading the next fifty years of eye-glazing conversation about the country club and charity planning committees.

  Me. I’m going to be inflicting the boring.

  Oh Lord. No. I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it.

  I have to get out of here. I have to save Elijah.

  And, more importantly—I think—I have to go do some living. Just for me.

  “Naomi.” Harper waves a hand in front of my face. “I’ve been calling your name, honey. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I’m not going down there,” I whisper, wide-eyed.