Seven(37)

She straightened up suddenly with a sharp inhale. “What? What do you mean?”

“I was waiting for you. I was trying to give you what you wanted and not pressure you into more. Until you were ready.”

“But…” Her mind whirled, trying to understand the last months of their relationship through this piece of information. “For how long?”

“For a while.” He stepped over and pulled her bathrobe closed more tightly. “You were a lot slower than I was.”

She sucked in another gasp. “Are you trying to imply that you beat me somehow because you figured out you loved me first?”

He laughed and pulled her into a tight hug. “Of course, I beat you, love.”

She was nearly strangling on a bizarre mingling of outrage and delight. She finally gave up and dissolved into half-laughter and half-tears.

When she raised her head, she was so happy and so exhausted she could barely support herself. “Do you think we can we go to bed now?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They returned to the bedroom and crawled into bed together. There, they shared a silly, fatuous embrace under the covers.

Amy really was exhausted after a long, draining, and emotional afternoon. Which was the only excuse for what happened next.

Owen had just pulled her backward into his arms so that he was spooning her from behind. His body felt warm and strong and solid, and the stressful uncertainty about their relationship was finally, blissfully ended.

She felt so full and happy that her eyes began to burn, and she choked on a few happy sobs.

“You aren’t crying, are you?” Owen held her tighter, even though his voice was both wry and aggrieved.

“Nope,” she lied.

“Good. Because, after the afternoon I’ve just had, that would be more than I could handle.”

“No crying here,” she snuffled. “I’m just happy and ready for a nap.”

“Me too.”

Amy smiled.

“On both fronts,” he added, gently nuzzling her ear.

She choked up again—since he was letting her know, in his own Owen-like way, that he was as happy as she was.

Since he was clearly in an affection mood, Amy asked, “So what’s your fantasy?”

Owen cleared his throat.

“Well?” she demanded, curiosity buzzing through her chest. “You aren’t going to tell me?”

He didn’t answer immediately. In fact, Amy was starting to resign herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to spill his secret when he finally admitted, “To tell you the truth, it just happened.”

Amy was really tired, and that might explain her slowness. “Oh. You mean you’d had a fantasy about making me come seven times.”

His tone sounded like he was rolling his eyes as he spoke. “Not that.”

Amy thought for a moment. Realized what had just happened, how their relationship—how everything—had just changed. “Oh.”

Evidently, his deepest fantasy had been the same one that she’d had.

She felt such a thrill at the knowledge that she had to hug something. Since he was spooning her, the only part of him she could reach were his forearms, so she grabbed them and squeezed them to her chest.

But all she said was, “That’s pretty sappy. But at least it saves me the trouble of fulfilling some weird, creepy sexual fantasy.”

“Oh, no. I’m sure I’ll think of something else. I won fair and square, after all.”

Amy laughed softly and hugged his forearms to her chest again. She was actually looking forward to whatever fantasy Owen managed to conjure up.

They were silent for a long time, until Amy had a random thought.

She giggled out of the blue at the thought and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder.

Owen, who was still awake, eyed her warily. “What are you laughing about?” he asked, in a decidedly suspicious voice.

“Nothing.” She pulled up one of his hands so she could kiss it. “I was just thinking that I was totally wrongheaded about hesitating in the whole saying ‘I love you’ thing.”

“Okay. But why exactly does that make you so happy?”

“Well, you might think you beat me to the love-realization thing, but it really takes far more strength and courage to confess your feelings first.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So?”

“So that means I won after all.”