Page 106 of Whiskey Proposal

She laughs so loud that we turn heads. We’re surrounded by my family and they all aim indulgent looks our way. Good. She doesn’t need melancholy. Tonight is for celebration.

The slow song passes into a faster one, but I don’t pick up the pace. No one around us minds.

“You realize that’s my plan?” she says. “I’m going to make it big on egg money, and then I’ll fly away in my own private jet.”

I chuckle, but a primal instinct rises up. Wherever that plane flies, I’ll be right behind her.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Emerson

As Lane drives us home, I press my face against the glass. Stars dot the night sky. Or is it early morning?

The newest Hennessy couple knows how to party. Fun. Relaxed. Done at a decent time.

What if you could do it again?

The way my heart dropped off a cliff. Do it again? Does he know about the divorce papers getting drawn up? Did he hire a lawyer of his own? Mine would’ve said something, right?

I don’t know. I’ve never done it.

He pulls in his yard and parks beside my dad’s old pickup. My Mercedes hasn’t left his garage since I first got behind the wheel of the truck Lane fixed up for me.

“The sky is beautiful tonight,” I murmur.

“Yeah, it is.” He kills the engine and we’re in the dark. Frogs and crickets serenade us.

“That was a really nice wedding. I know I said it already, but tonight was . . . magical.”

“I enjoyed it more with you.”

“Yeah?” I twist in my seat to face him. “What was different about being with me?”

“I would’ve been helping behind the bar, jumping in to give the caterers a hand, trying to get a dance in with Mae.”

I lean over the console to caress his face. A hint of stubble dusts his jaw. “You want to take care of them all.”

“I do, but that’s not why.” He grips my wrist and tugs gently. I kick my boots off and climb over the center to straddle him. He reclines the seat, then he pushes my hair away and frames my face with his hands. “I think it was because I was there with someone I love.”

A puff of air escapes my lips. Did he really— Did I hear him correctly? I’m imagining all this. A full-body tremor rolls through me.

“I love you, Emerson.”

“Lane.” I grab his head and plant my mouth on his. He said it. And he said it first. The words are a warm blanket on a cold night. They’re a soft bed when I’ve had a long day. They wrap around me, comforting me in a way I’ve tried to do for myself for so long. Lane can do it in three words.

A tattoo couldn’t convince me, but hearing him say that? I’m in.

He brushes his hands up my thighs and under my dress. When he grabs my ass, I grind against him and lick into his mouth. The sweetness of the marble wedding cake lingers on his tongue.

He said he loves me. I want to savor this moment. Commemorate it. I don’t want to worry about tomorrow or the day after. But there’s no worry to push away. Lane has done nothing but make me feel safe and secure. He’s reassured me over and over again. He’s . . . my husband.

I twine my tongue around his, straining against the door and the console to get closer to him. Releasing his head, I dig between us and unzip his pants. Seconds later, his hot erection is in my hand.

He’s trying to lift my skirt, but it’s getting tangled. I have to break the kiss to help drag the fabric out of the way. My ass bumps against the steering wheel as I position myself.

I’m a second away from being filled with him, but I stop.

Tension lines his jaw, and his eyes are dark pools I can get lost in. His hair’s been mussed by my fingers and the top button of his shirt gapes open.