Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (23 page)

Well, not all of it
, he reminded himself, thinking of their wedding night. His body hummed with the hope that she’d be in his bed again this Friday.

“Elise Klassan is your
wife
,” said Jessica, obviously impressed. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say…Don’t let her get away this time,” said Brooks from the doorway of Preston’s room, making his way to the bed and plopping down beside Jessica. “Because you have looked like shit for two years, my brother, and you finally look human again.”

“Thanks, Brooks. And good morning to you, too.”

“I’m serious. I know you got your life back on track, but you still weren’t happy. Suddenly you look a lot better.”

“You do,” agreed Jessica. “Is Elise why you moved home from New York? Why you were drinking so much?”

Preston took a deep breath and nodded. “Even though we weren’t ready, it hurt a lot when she walked away.”

“I’d feel like dying if Alex walked away,” said Jessica.

“Or Skye,” agreed Brooks.

“Then you understand how I felt,” said Preston. “I was lost without her. Even though the timing was all wrong, she was my wife, and I…I loved her. I still love her. I’ll always love her. It hurt like hell to be apart.”

“Does she know all of this?” asked Jessica, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Damn, but his little sister loved meddling. Thank God he’d already talked to Elise about everything or he could imagine Jess marching over to Chateau Nouvelle right this minute.

“Yes, she does,” said Preston firmly. “I don’t need any help.”

“Well, I can’t wait to tell everyone that my sister-in-law is a famous actress.”

“Not yet,” said Preston, his eyes full of warning. “We’re still working things out. I mean it, Jess. Mum’s the word for now.”

Jessica nodded solemnly.

“Not to be nosy—” started Brooks.

“Why stop now?” deadpanned Preston.

Brooks gave his little brother a look and continued, “What are you doing here…
alone
?”

“We’re giving it a week.”

“Ugh!” exclaimed Jessica. “What?”

“A week!” Brooks winced. “Why?”

Preston laughed softly at the appalled looks on his siblings faces. Not that he needed to know, and granted, it was sort of a gross thought, but he suspected that they burned as hot for their mates as he did for Elise. And yes, he had to admit that a week felt like hell when holding her was heaven on earth, but…

“Because we’re doing things right this time,” he said softly, looking first at Jessica, and then at Brooks, who nodded in understanding. “Because this time is forever.”

Precisely at six o’clock p.m. on Friday night, Preston pulled up in front of Chateau Nouvelle to pick her up, and Elise bounded down the stairs, leaping into his arms as he exited the car. Never, ever had a week felt so long.

He caught her easily and she cupped his cheeks, covering his face with kisses as she locked her ankles around his waist, held close by his strong hands under her backside. She wouldn’t let him speak, wouldn’t let him do anything but hold her until she’d had her fill of kisses, until she felt like they’d made up for a little bit of the deprivation they’d both suffered during these long, lonely days apart.

“I missed you,” she gasped, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and arching into him when he groaned, his fingers tightening.

“Me too,” he panted, sealing his mouth over hers and thrusting his tongue forward. She circled it with her own, arching her breasts against him, feeling the tight, taut points push against the hard wall of muscle that was his chest.

“Oh, my God, you two! Get a room!”

They broke apart from each other, with glistening lips and dazed, happy eyes, turning in tandem to see Jax standing in the doorway of the mansion, shaking her head.

“There’s still crew wrapping things up out back. And who knows? There could be paparazzi in the bushes!”

As Preston gently lowered Elise to the ground, she noted the manila envelope in her hostess’s hand. Elise’s eyes widened, cutting to Jax’s face, as Preston’s arms tightened around her.

“I take it you don’t need these papers anymore?” Jax asked, waggling the envelope and raising her eyebrows. “I found them in the parlor after you left for the funeral…I peeked inside, but I didn’t think it was any of my business.”

“You were right,” said Preston sharply. “It’s not.”

Jax held out the envelope, rolling her eyes at the neighbor she’d known all her life. “Calm your tits, Winslow. Here you go.”

“You didn’t…tell anyone, did you?” asked Elise.

“Like I said,” said Jax, turning back to the house, “it’s none of my business. But can I give you two a little advice? If you’re going to keep doing
that
, you might want to figure out how to tell the rest of the world that you’ve been married for two years. It’s going to get out, and it’s better to get ahead of these things.” Before closing the door, she faced them once more. “And whenever you’re ready, I’d
love
to hear the whole story.”

Preston turned back to Elise once Jax was gone. “Don’t worry. I’ve known Jax Rousseau forever. She won’t say anything.”

“Okay,” said Elise, feeling relieved.

“So, about tonight…you’ve had a week to think things over…”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re uncertain about my intentions? After that greeting?”

He shrugged, grinning at her. “Just want to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Marriage Summit. You and me. Tonight.”

“And then?” he asked in a gravelly voice, and she could feel his erection through his pants, hard and pulsing, pushing against her belly.

“And then I was thinking we should consummate our marriage…all over again.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re my wife? You’re much bolder than she was.”

“Any complaints?”

“None.”

“She wasn’t ready,” said Elise with a saucy grin. “But
I
am.”

“Thank God.”

He kissed her again, more slowly this time, caressing her tongue with his and loving her lips with gentle nips and tugs. Her legs were jelly when he finally drew away, and she suspected her eyes were just as dark and hungry as his when he opened her door and helped her into the car.

***

Preston had originally decided to order Chinese food and serve it to her at his apartment as an homage to their New York days, but frankly, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to keep their hands off of each other long enough to have an actual conversation, so he decided to park at his apartment building but take her to a small, local French bistro instead. First they’d talk. Then—he smiled to himself, trying to ignore the raging hard-on he’d had since she’d leapt into his arms—they’d re-consummate.

Parking his car in his usual spot, he turned to her. “There’s a place up the street that reminds me of Bistro Chèvrefeuille. I thought we could have dinner there.”

She turned to him and for the first time, he noticed her outfit. It was a strapless, flowered romper with short shorts that made her legs look ten miles long. Her shoulders and neck were bare and he suspected the entire contraption was held up with the hem of rutched elastic just over her breasts, which meant that one little tug would bare her to him. His body tightened with need and his heart throbbed with anticipation.

“I sort of thought we would have dinner at your apartment,” she said softly, licking her lips.

He bit back a groan, adjusting himself in his seat. “If we step foot into my apartment, that provocative little outfit you’re wearing is hitting my floor in a New York second, sweetheart.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” she asked in a low voice, laced with need. Her skin was flushed and her breasts heaved against the floral fabric.

Damn, but this was a rare torture.

“No,” he said, using every last reserve of strength and knowing if she pushed any harder, he’d fold like a beach chair and haul her up to his apartment like a caveman. “But we need to talk first.”

She took a deep breath and unsnapped her seat belt, giving him a much less sultry grin. “You’re right. And besides, I’ve barely eaten today.”

“You need food, wife. I promise you’ll need your strength for later,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it.

He helped her out of the car, took her hand again, and led her out of the garage, onto the bustling sidewalk of his tony Rittenhouse Square neighborhood. The café was very close, and after showing them to a quiet table in the back, the maître-d, who looked at Elise twice, but couldn’t quite place her, handed them menus and left them alone.

She scanned the menu quickly then folded it and placed it on the table beside her napkin, looking at him intently.

“I want to get started,” she said, stretching her hand across the table.

“No small talk? No ‘how was your week?’” he teased, lacing his fingers through hers.

She shook her head. “No. We’ve waited two years to have this conversation. I officially call the Marriage Summit to order…now.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand, excitement and anticipation warring for precedence in his head. Bearing in mind her greeting and flirtation, however, he felt safe letting excitement take the lead.

“What do you want, Elise?” he asked, holding her eyes as she stared back at him.

“I want to stay married to you. I want to be your wife. I love you. I belong with you.”

Relief coursed through his veins, warm and hopeful, and he released the breath he’d been holding.

“What do
you
want?” she asked.

Using the same words, he replied, “I want to stay married to you. I want to be your husband. I love you. I belong with you.” He paused. “I belong
to
you. I have from the very first moment I saw you in that godawful play. I fell hook, line, and sinker when stupid Cyril turned you down and you collapsed on stage. I couldn’t stop thinking about you that night and I haven’t stopped since.”

She blinked back tears, smiling at him with tenderness and love. “For me, it was when you bought me that bouquet of flowers the first night you walked me home. It felt like a fairytale to get an audition for
Ethan Frome
and meet you on the same night. I had to pinch myself later to make sure it hadn’t been a dream.”

“I fell for you all over again when you walked into my sister’s engagement party saying you were sorry for everything that had happened between us. My God, it hurt to watch you walk away.”

“You
made
me go!” she exclaimed.

“I was a cad,” he said sheepishly. “But you shocked the hell out of me showing up like that.”

“I know,” she said, stroking his skin under her thumb. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

She sighed, squirming a little in her seat, the heat from her eyes scorching the air between them. He was dying to be alone with her.

“When you told me that you’d drive me to upstate New York four days later, I couldn’t believe it. You were still so angry with me, but that’s when I knew you still cared.”

They were clasping both hands across the table now, and when the waiter returned, they didn’t pull away. Placing their orders quickly—main courses only, no drinks, no appetizers, go away, please—they turned back to one another.

“What about the rest?” asked Preston. “What about us? Now?”

“I didn’t like L.A.,” she confessed. “It felt so foreign and strange. I didn’t fit in; I didn’t drink or go clubbing. I missed walking everywhere. I missed you.” She took a deep breath. “And I missed the audience. I always loved performing in front of a live audience and a movie set is nothing like an audience. There’s no clapping, no laughing, no gasps or feedback or…energy. Just me, acting in a vacuum, going home alone every night.” She sniffled. “I hated it, Pres. I traded you, someone I loved, for something I ended up hating.”

“Maybe you had to try it,” he said gently.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But you know what I’ve been thinking about this week?”

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

“You had a Plan A—the Olympics—and it didn’t happen. So you went to Plan B, and became a lawyer. Your dream was shattered and you had to choose a new one. But me? I
had
Plan A. I had Broadway in the palm of my hand, but I panicked about us and let my ambition take over my life and I suddenly woke up living this awful Plan B that I never wanted. I traded the right plan for the wrong one. But it’s not too late to go back…to find work on Broadway, where I was happy, where I really felt that I belonged. And stay here…with you.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want? Are you ready to give up Hollywood? And to be clear, I’m not asking you to do that. We’re just talking.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I didn’t tell you this, but I broke my lease when I came out here two weeks ago. I had all of my belongings shipped to a storage facility outside of Philly. I have no open projects in California. When
The Philly Story
is over, I’m free to do what I like.”

Preston’s heart leaped with gladness because he wasn’t expecting this. She had told him that she had returned east for him, but her actions spoke loudly, backing up her words, and he felt relieved and increasingly more hopeful for their future.

“So what do I want?” she summarized, adjusting their hands and stroking his thumb with hers. “I want you. You first. From now on,
always
you first, Pres.”

Her blue eyes were luminous and open, her lips saying words he’d dreamed of for so long, it almost seemed impossible that they’d finally come true. Overcome with emotion and unable to speak, he took a deep breath and nodded at her to continue.

“As long as it fits in with
our
life, I’d like to go back to Broadway. Donny’s ready to set up some auditions as soon as I say the word, and though I’d prefer to live in New York, I could make Philly work. I looked into the train schedules, and it’s not bad. I could commute.”

Her generosity overwhelmed him, and he squeezed her hands again, trying to let her know how much this meant to him.

She smiled—a sweet, shy grin—and continued in a softer voice. “I definitely want children. I wouldn’t mind raising them in New York, if that was okay with you. More than anything, I want to be close to your family and mine. When I’m not working, I’d like to spend weekends with our families. I want for our children to grow up with their cousins. For me, that would be ideal.”

He had tried not to talk while she was speaking, but couldn’t help himself now, his joy bubbling up from a marvelous place deep inside that had always belonged to her. “How many do you want?”

“Two or three,” she answered, her cheeks flushing pink. She shrugged, one creamy shoulder almost kissing the lobe of her ear.

“When?” he asked. “I mean…now?”

“If it happened now, that would be okay with me. But, ideally, I’d like to wait a year or two. I’d like to take a few roles first to re-establish myself in New York so that if I took some time off to be with the baby, I wouldn’t be forgotten.”

Her words made sense and filled him with happiness.

“Sweetheart, are you sure this is what
you
want? I need to be sure you aren’t just making these choices for me.”

“Of course I’m making them for you,” she said, beaming back at him. “And for me. For us. For our marriage. For our future family. And yes, this is what
I
want, Pres. This is what I want more than anything else in the world.”

The waiter stopped by with a basket of bread, and Elise dropped his hands to take a slice, placing it on her bread plate and looking up at him. “What about you?”