Page 217 of Bridesmaid By Chance
He shakes his head. “You will find someone better, Sloane. Someone younger. Someone you can relate to more. As for me, I’ve had a taste of joy because of you, and I’m going to savor it, but I can survive without it.”
“Survive? Is that what you want? To survive through life, Hudson? That’s really sad. Not to mention, I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” My hands fall to his chest. “I want you. I want us. I want this marriage.”
“Don’t…don’t say that,” he says, dropping his head.
I lift up his chin with my fingers and force him to look me in the eyes. “I mean that, Hudson. I mean that with everything in me. I want us. Twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t want anything to do with you. But you showed me why we work well together. We push and pull, but we end up meeting in the middle. I thought I hated you because I felt so fucking hurt by your actions. But because you talked to me, shared what was actually happening inside your heart, I forgave you. I want this. I…I’m falling for you, and I’ll be damned if I let my brother dictate whether or not I can be with you.”
“Sloane—”
“Tell me you don’t want me. Go ahead, say it and I will stop this conversation right now.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Tell me you want a divorce.”
“No,” he says again.
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re done with me.”
His beautiful eyes meet mine as he says, “Never.”
I grip his cheeks, and he wraps his arms around me as our foreheads connect. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” he says softly.
“Tell me you want this, us.”
“I fucking want us,” he says, his voice tortured.
“Tell me you have feelings for me.”
“I fucking…I fucking love you, Sloane.” And I feel the world stop spinning in this moment, with those three little words. “It’s why, fuck, it’s why I’m willing to give you up, to salvage your relationship with your brother.”
“Don’t,” I say, my heart filling with joy, with nerves, with a flooding sense of energy that I’ve never felt before. “This is between us, not him.” I wet my lips. “Tell me you want this marriage.”
“I want it, baby.” His hand slides into my hair. “I fucking want it.”
“I want it too,” I say and press my lips to his. He reciprocates the kiss, his hand cupping the back of my head, holding me in close.
The intensity of the kiss sets off a dull throb between my legs.
The way his tongue works over mine creates a wave of adrenaline that rushes over me.
And when he leans back onto the mattress, I lift my sweatshirt up and over my head. Then I reach behind me and undo my bra before I pull his shirt over his head. I kiss along his chest, over his pecs, and up his neck.
When I reach his ear, I whisper, “I love you too.” And then kiss his jaw. “Don’t let me go, Hudson. Don’t give me up.”
His grip on me grows stronger as he says, “I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.” I lift up and look him in the eyes. “Then don’t.”
Hudson is asleep, looking incredibly peaceful in his first-class pod. Which I’m grateful for, because I need him to relax. After we made love, he changed our flight to a later one and then held on to me in bed. Tightly. He kissed my head every so often, murmured that he loved me, and glided his fingers up and down my back and arm. It was as if he was trying to soak in every last moment, despite me telling him not to let me go.
When we were in the airport, he looked sick to his stomach.
When we took off, I could practically see the anguish in his eyes.
And it occurred to me in that moment: he truly has no idea how to handle this.
