Page 130 of The Wrong Man

It’s a strange thought. Have I secretly always been this way, or has Dylan changed me? I’m not sure I care how it happened. I’m just glad that it has.

I stare out at London and try to adjust to all the new facets of my soul. It’s a peculiar feeling, but definitely a good one.

My thoughts drift for a while, and then the sound of Dylan’s footsteps snaps me back to reality.

“You have to try that shower!” Dylan exclaims.

I turn to find him standing a few feet away, a white towel slung around his waist, droplets of water adorning the freckles on his naked chest. His hazel eyes are bright. Happy.

I swallow.

Dylan walks toward me. He doesn’t pause, like I expect. He flings his arms around me and gives me a hug, with his warm, effortless affection.

I don’t even mind that he is making me wet.

“I’m so glad you found me,” he whispers

“I was so scared,” I admit, the words rough in my throat. “When I found you gone. When I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. I’ve never been that frightened in my life.”

Dylan pulls back to look at me. His hazel eyes are full of tears now, but he’s smiling. “I knew you’d come. I got your note, but even before that I knew. I just had to hold on until you found me.”

“I will always find you.” I cup his face in my hands, marveling at the fact that I can. That he’s here, that he’s letting me touch him, that against all odds we made it to the other side. “I will always come for you, Dylan. No matter what.”

“I know.” He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. “I know you will.”

We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. The city glitters below us, oblivious to everything we’ve been through. I don’t care about any of it. The only thing that matters is the man in my arms.

“I love you,” I say, because I need him to hear it again. Because I should have said it days ago, weeks ago, should have said it every single hour since the moment I realized it was true. “I love you, Dylan. I’ve never said that to anyone before. I didn’t think I was capable of it. But I love you.”

Dylan’s breath catches. A tear spills down his cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb.

“I love you too,” he whispers.

I kiss him.

It starts gentle, tender, a seal on the words we’ve finally said. But it doesn’t stay gentle for long. All the fear and desperation of the past few days comes flooding back, and suddenly I need more. I need to feel him, to prove to myself that he’s real and whole and mine.

Dylan makes a sound against my mouth, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. He’s kissing me back like he’s drowning, like I’m the only thing keeping him alive.

“Dante,” he breathes when we break apart for air. “Please. I need...”

“I know.” I press my forehead against his. “I need it too.”

I take his hand and lead him toward the bedroom.

He lets me lead him. He follows me, his hand warm in mine, his footsteps eager.

The bedroom lights are off, but the room is lit by a thousand lights of the city. All painting the room in white and yellow and red.

The floor to ceiling windows take up an entire wall and are impressive. I think about finding the button for the blinds, but then I realize we are so high up that nobody can see us.

I can make love to Dylan while the nighttime cityscape acts as a sparkling backdrop.

The bed is huge, with crisp white linens that look like they’ve never been touched. I lead Dylan to it, watching his eyes widen as he takes in the luxurious room.

“This is...” he starts, but I silence him with another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding.

My hands find the towel at his waist, tugging it loose. It falls to the floor with a soft rustle. Dylan shivers, not from cold but from anticipation. I can feel it in the way his body leans into mine, seeking contact.