On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,104

a way that would have been horrifically embarrassing with anyone but Beale. “Well, I’ve stopped waiting for bad things to come to me, because I realized I have the power to not let them happen. And I know I’m not your soul mate, Beale, but—”

“But you are.” Beale turned toward me. “That’s exactly what I was trying to say, and maybe it didn’t come out right, but you are. You’re the only one I want because—”

“I love you,” we both said together.

Beale’s slow smile was like sunrise in the middle of the night, and I was pretty sure I was smiling just as brightly.

I was such a sap.

But so was Beale, so I was okay with that.

I sniffled again, because that was a thing I did now. “I was going to come to Florida and tell you that I was keeping you, whether you liked it or not, and your soul mate could fight me for you whenever he came along. I decided you needed someone who loved you epically, and I am a very epic sort of person—”

“You are, baby,” he agreed solemnly.

“And that you deserved someone who’d fight for you. And I haven’t been that person, but I want to be. For you. With you.”

“Ah, shit.” Beale’s hand at my neck pulled me forward so he could kiss me, hot and openmouthed. “I love you, Toby,” he whispered against my lips. Then he tipped me back against the pillows to straddle me.

“I love you, too.” I tilted my head to give him better access as he sucked and nibbled at the skin of my neck. My restless legs rubbed against his, and my hips rolled against him, trying to get friction on my hardening cock. “God. It’s absurd. It’s… it’s… it’s—fuck, yeah, right there—preposterous, really. It’s too fast, and we don’t have enough in common, and I don’t care.”

Beale paused with his nose nuzzled into my armpit, then lifted his face to smile at me. “That was the end of my letter.”

“Huh?” I blinked at him. “The what?”

“That was the end of my Dear Hagatha letter.” He patted around the mattress and found the world’s most precious—and now most wrinkled—vomit bag. “It’s too fast, and we don’t have enough in common, and I don’t care. How can I convince him to take a chance on me? Signed, Not-So-Virgo-Somewhere-Over-West-Virginia-I-Think.” Beale threw the bag aside and shrugged. “I kinda lost my creativity at the end there.”

He stared down at me expectantly, and my brain was so thoroughly fogged by love and lust and relief that it took me a whole second to realize he was waiting for an answer.

For Hagatha’s answer.

“Beale, precious? I already told you I don’t require convincing, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Because I love you and want to be with you?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, wonderingly.

“And you love me and want to be with me?”

“Fuck, yes. So much.” But he still watched me steadily.

“Right.” I cleared my throat and rolled my eyes just a little.

Good Lord, the things I did to hook up with a hot guy.

With one particular hot guy.

With this particular hot guy, who’d be the one and only guy in my life from here on out, if I had anything to say about it.

“Dear Not So Virgo, I know what will make the man you love agree to pretty much anything, especially when it’s something he’s already agreed to and wants as much as you do.”

Beale quirked an eyebrow at me, and I reached up to push his hair off his face.

God, he really was beautiful. God, I really was lucky.

“Blow jobs,” I whispered encouragingly. “They change lives.”

Epilogue

Help Me Hagatha

(Hagatha’s private files)

Dear Aunt Hagatha:

Is it possible to be happier than we are right now?

Beale in Bed

(As in, our ultra-plush bed.)

(All alone.)

Dear Beale,

Your methods of reminding me when it’s time to stop working grow more devious. I approve. I’ll be there in thirty seconds. Don’t start without me… or actually, do.

I love you,

Toby

“Four point eight million!” Jonquil exclaimed, her eyes as round and wide as the martini glass in front of her as she took in the latest fundraising tallies. “Four point eight million?”

Marius Wynott and Dale Jennings exchanged an approving smile. My brother Rafe grinned and said, “Hells, yes.” Shannon Tate, who was back on the Key for the summer to reopen her art gallery, shook her head in amazement. My dad’s eyes got so shiny, he had to mop them with a cocktail napkin and nearly turned over a pitcher of beer in the process. Mason, who