Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) (45 page)

“So there was never a photographer?” My hands moved to her hips and immediately disappeared under the bottom of her sweater.

“No photographer.” Her voice was low and sexy as she continued nibbling down my neck.

“This was all planned to surprise me?” My head dipped down, nuzzling her neck while my hands slid farther up her sweater.

She sucked my earlobe between her lips while her hands moved up my stomach toward my chest. “All for you.”

“No pictures?” Breathing into her ear, I placed soft kisses just below it.

“Oh, there will be pictures.” We pulled away from each other’s necks and rested our foreheads together. “We have twenty-four hours of just the two of us. No family checking in, no friends stopping by, no studying, and no calls from work. Just you, me, that big bed, and room service.”

“Gee you’re swell.” I grinned.

I placed a soft kiss on her lips before standing up straight. Our eyes stayed locked. Tweet raised her arms above her head, allowing me to peel off her sweater. The bra she had on was pink with white hearts on it. My eyes landed on her chest, watching as her breathing picked up. I swallowed hard. My fingertips traced the outline of her bra. Starting at the strap, my hand slowly traveled down to the top of one breast, then across to the other, and then to the second strap. I stopped halfway up the strap and slid it off her shoulder, revealing the small scar she had just below her collarbone. The tips of my fingers ran gently over the scar. It was one of the permanent reminders of a terrifying time in our past. I glanced up into water-filled teal eyes.

“No sadness today, Tweet,” I choked out.

“No sadness,” she said, blinking back tears.

I lowered my lips to hers and placed soft kisses over her mouth. Tweet whimpered breathlessly, causing me to deepen the kiss. My tongue connected with hers immediately. My hands slid down her body as hers traveled up mine. Her fingers worked their way into my hair. Grabbing her ass, I lifted her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her down. I took off my shoes, pants, and shirt in record time. Without any hesitation Tweet removed her prosthetic left leg and liner. Reaching toward the nightstand, she grabbed a couple of baby wipes from the container and a hand towel.

Wow, Tweet had planned for our Valentine’s Day in bed.

I loved how comfortable she was with me, no embarrassment or self-consciousness about her amputation.

After she cleaned her stump, she kicked off her right shoe, and shimmied out of her jeans.

Hot damn! The panties matched the bra.

“Leave the bra and panties for me,” I told her, throwing a grin and a cocked eyebrow her way.

Tweet scooted to the middle of the bed. As she settled back, I settled between her legs. Propping myself up on my elbows, I gazed down. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her hair fanned out, and the tip of her tongue kept peeking out between her slightly parted lips.

She brushed the hair away from my forehead, and let her fingertips trail down the side of my face. Her eyebrows knitted together as a deep breath escaped her.

“You okay, Tweet?”

“Yeah… Sometimes I get overwhelmed with how in love I am with you.”

“Ditto.” I grinned.

I teased her, nipping at her lips, her chin, along her jaw, and down her neck.

Giggling, she said, “That tickles.”

Tweet shifted to the side allowing me to move my hand behind her and unclasp her bra. My lips followed the path of the lace as it glided over her nipples. She slipped her arms through the bra straps and tossed it to the floor. Taking one nipple in my mouth, I sucked hard while massaging the other breast. Tweet’s fingers dug into my biceps.

Pulling away, I gasped, “I can’t get enough of your body.”

A low growl escaped her as I placed open-mouth kisses across her chest. I wrapped my lips around her other nipple. Her right leg rubbed up and down my ass, attempting to push down my boxers. I licked down her stomach to her hips. Tweet lifted up enough for me to slide her panties off. I jumped off the bed, causing the mattress and Tweet to bounce. The best laugh in the world came pouring out of her as I frantically stepped out of my boxers.

“This bed is awfully chilly without you.” Her hand traveled down her body.

That’s my girl.

Pouncing on the bed, I wasted no time devouring her. My mouth moved down her body. I was about to nuzzle between her legs when it suddenly hit me.

“Fuuuuuck,” I mumbled against her skin.

“Oh god yes,” she moaned.

“I can’t.”

“What’s wrong?”

I looked up to see her propped up on her elbows, glancing down at me. “I didn’t bring any condoms.”

Even though Tweet was on the pill, we had decided it was better to be safe than sorry and doubled up on protection.

“Front pocket of my jeans,” she said, dropping her head back on the bed. I rolled off of her and grabbed her jeans, finding the condom. “There’s an entire box in the suitcase.”

“Suitcase?” I asked while dropping my boxers.

“I packed a suitcase. It’s in the closet. Noah, I’m so not in the mood to talk luggage right now.”

I rolled on the condom and got back to business. Positioning myself between her thighs, I rocked into her. Our eyes locked. Sweat coated our skin. Tweet’s arms and legs gripped my body as my movements sped up. Moans and a squeaky bed filled the air. A wave of convulsions took over our bodies as the throbbing inside of her intensified and we came together.

The next morning I got up early and left to pick up my original Valentine gift for Tweet. When I returned she was still sound asleep, lying on her side, her hair fanned out over the pillow. To say last night was incredible would be an understatement. We spent the time making love, sleeping, and eating. Repeatedly. She had given me the best Valentine gift I could have asked for. Her. Us.

I placed her gift on the nightstand and crawled into bed beside her. I nuzzled the crook of her neck and whispered, “Wake up, sexy.”

Her eyes stayed closed but a huge grin appeared across her beautiful face. “Mmm… mornin’. Let me sleep a little longer. You gave me quite a workout last night.”

I chuckled. “I have your gift.”

Tweet’s eyes shot open and her head popped off of the pillow. She scanned the room before her gaze found me.

“You got me a gift?” Excitement was in her expression and tone.

“Of course I got you a gift. I’m the boyfriend now.”

She leaned toward me and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Yes you are and a mighty fine one at that.”

“Hmmm… minty fresh.” I looked at her, confused.

“I may have gotten up before you got back and brushed my teeth,” she confessed.

“And here I thought you didn’t even notice I was gone.”

“You know I can’t sleep when your sexy arms aren’t wrapped around me.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, both knowing what the other was thinking. Tweet and I didn’t need words to communicate. We never did.

“When is checkout?” I asked, glancing from her eyes to her mouth.

I wanted her so badly right then. Who was I kidding, I always wanted her.

“In an hour,” she said.

“If I do to you what I want, then I don’t think there’ll be time for your gift before we have to leave. I want to go slow and long.”

“Yeah, slow and long,” she said dreamily.

Clearing my throat, I broke our trance. “Gift time.”

Tweet sat up straight in bed, letting the sheet fall to her waist. She was wearing one of my T-shirts she had packed. I grabbed her gift and sat back down facing her.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers when she saw the huge arrangement of red roses in the crystal vase. “Oh Noah, they’re gorgeous. I love them. I love you. Thank you.”

Resting the vase on the bed, I held it between us. She buried her nose in the flowers and inhaled deeply.

As she pulled back she had a curious look on her face. “The flowers have tiny scraps of paper pinned to them. What are they?”

“Take one and read it,” I instructed.

She plucked the paper from one of the stems. Her face lit up when she read what was written down. “It’s our birthday.”

Smiling at me over the flowers, she picked up another piece of paper. “This is the date of our first Lifehouse concert.”

Her eyes glistened as recognition hit them. “These are all special dates to us.”

“Yeah,” I said in a low voice.

She grabbed another piece of paper. “This one is the date of our first kiss, freshman year in high school.”

“The greatest first kiss in the history of first kisses, baby.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks. She reached in for another scrap of paper. She read the date and confusion crossed her face. She sat in silence for several seconds trying to remember the significance of that date.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember what happened on this date. We were twelve years old.”

She turned the paper in my direction. I didn’t need to read the date. I already knew which one it was.

Never taking my eyes off of her, I said, “It’s the date I stopped loving you and fell in love with you.”

Tweet placed the vase on the nightstand. She launched herself into my arms, knocking me backward onto the bed, and showered my face with kisses. Wrapping my arms tightly around her, I did a full-blown belly laugh.

“You are the most wonderful, most thoughtful, sweetest man in the entire world.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Tweet.” I smiled up at her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Noah.” She smiled down at me.

My hands slid up her naked thighs, up under her T-shirt, landing on her hips. She rocked back and forth. Her hands were planted on either side of my head. Leaning down she sucked on my bottom lip before her tongue slid into my mouth. The kiss was deep and slow.

After several seconds Tweet pulled away slightly. “This is the best first Valentine’s Day in the history of Valentine’s Days.”

“Yeah. You know if we keep going, we’re going to be late for checkout.”

“Screw checkout. I’ll pay for another night.”

That’s my girl.

Tweet had my hand in a vice grip while I stood next to her sitting on the exam table. We hadn’t said much to each other since entering the room, only exchanging nervous glances every few minutes. Each time the sound of a muffled voice on the other side of the closed door passed by, Tweet’s back stiffened. We had been coming to these doctor visits for a year, ever since she completed her chemo. At first it was once a month and then transitioned to every three months. By now we were old pros at the routine, but that didn’t lessen the fact that each visit sent our nerves into high alert mode.

A loud knock hammered against the door, echoing through the room. Tweet flinched while my gaze shot up in the direction of the noise. As the doorknob twisted, I felt her pulse quicken underneath my hand. We both drew in a deep breath before the door opened. Dr. Lang’s gaze was down, reading the folder he carried as he walked in, followed by his nurse. I squeezed Tweet’s hand one more time before letting go and then wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans.

Looking up from the folder, Dr. Lang greeted us. “Amanda… Noah.”

Tweet gave only a weak smile in response.

“Hey Dr. Lang. How are you?”

Handing the folder off to his nurse, Dr. Lang walked back toward the door. Giving the Purell dispenser two pumps, he squirted some into his palm.

“I’m doing just fine,” he said, turning back toward us as he rubbed the sanitizer into his skin. He then turned his attention to Tweet. “How are you feeling, Amanda?”

“Good.” Tweet gave short clipped answers when she was on edge.

“Glad to hear it. Why don’t you lie back and straighten your legs for me.”

Tweet always stayed sitting up, waiting until the last minute to get into position for the exam. She hated being stretched out on her back on the table. She said it made her feel too exposed and vulnerable. The doctor would only be examining her legs, so Tweet was allowed to keep everything on except her pants. The lower half of her body was covered with a sheet. She scooted to the middle of the table before timidly settling back. Picking up her trembling hand, I laced my fingers through hers, as I turned my back to the doctor and focused only on Tweet.

I didn’t need to watch the exam to know the sequence. With each blink and shift in gaze, Tweet told me what the doctor was doing. She blinked, eyes opening wide as her eyebrows crept up into her forehead, with the initial contact of cold hands on her skin. Her brows knitted together and her eyes glazed over as he placed his thumbs on the lower thigh of her amputated leg, his other fingers slipping behind her knee. The glaze washed away, replaced by water filling to the edges of her eyes. Dr. Lang applied pressure, squeezing hard against the bend of her knee, checking for any indication that the cancer had taken up residence in the lymph nodes. Tweet’s eyes closed tight as he moved up to her groin and pushed deep against the area.

When her forehead unwrinkled, I knew the exam was over.

“Amanda, your blood work looks great and I don’t feel any abnormalities around the lymph nodes.”