Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
CAMRYN
Sterling and I are spooned together under my sheets. It’s just after daybreak, and we’ve both got to head off to work in a little while, but I wish we could stay like this forever.
The best part of last night wasn’t the conversation, or the ice cream, although that was perfect. It was hearing Sterling tell me he loves me. I still don’t know what happens next, but I hope we can face, together, whatever happens next.
“You awake?” he asks, his voice groggy.
“I think so,” I whisper.
He turns me around in his arms so we’re facing each other. “Morning, love.”
I smile up at him. “Morning.”
He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose and smiles back at me. For a moment, I fear I’ve done things totally backward. I’ve fallen in love with Sterling, slept with him—all before we were even officially dating. That was in stark contrast to the proper order, according to my matchmaker research.
But then I tell my inner voice to stuff it. I’m happy. That’s all that counts, right?
Rolling over, I heft myself up from the bed.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Sterling’s arms wrap around my waist as he tugs me down on top of him.
“To shower. We’ve got to go to work, right?”
There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m suddenly feeling quite ill. Think I might have to call in sick and stay in bed all day.”
My mouth lifts in a smile. “Oh, really?”
“What do you say? Olivia will understand, won’t she?”
I’ve very rarely taken a sick day. I actually don’t think she’ll mind, given everything that’s happened. Plus, when your boss is also your best friend, there are a few perks.
“What will we do all day?” I ask with a smirk.
“I can think of a few things . . .” Sterling’s palms slide up my thighs and I squirm, ticklish under his skillful touch.
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” I place my hands on his firm chest, loving the hard ridges of muscle I find, and push back against him. Of course, my efforts don’t even budge him an inch.
“We can stay in bed until late morning, go out to breakfast, maybe take a walk in the park, come back, nap, cuddle.” He grins. “Like a real couple.”
“Sounds dreamy.” I chuckle.
“But first, there’s something I want to tell you.” His voice turns serious, and I lift my head from the spot I’ve claimed on his shoulder to meet his gaze.
“I need you to know that I want to marry for love, not money. And I know this might scare you, because it’s surprised me completely, but when I think of being married, the only woman I see standing beside me as I make those vows is you.” He meets my eyes as his fingers trace lazy circles over my hip bone. “I never expected to want this. But I do.”
My heart jumps into my throat, and I’m not sure what to say. Is he proposing? We’re naked, for heaven’s sake. And I wasn’t even certain if we were dating.
“But,” he continues. “I want to wait.”
All the breath pushes out of my lungs, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or worried. “Wait?”
“And not because I actually want to wait,” he says. “I would make you mine tomorrow if I could. But because I want to show you that marrying you has nothing to do with getting my inheritance. A smart woman once told me that actions speak louder than words, and so that’s what I intend to do, to date you for however long it takes to show you that I want you as my wife.” His fingertips dance over my skin so lightly, they burn. “I want to wake up next to you every day and make love to you every night. I want to take you to Italy and put little babies in your belly. I want to grow old with you, Cami.”
Tears are freely streaming down my cheeks. I was wrong before about the nickname Cami. Cami isn’t a girlfriend you watch football with on Sundays. Cami is a wife, someone you build a life with. Cami is the name you call out from the baby’s bedroom because his diaper has exploded and you need backup. It’s the loving nickname you whisper in the dark when you need to know you’re not alone. And I can see all of that and more in his loving gaze. My throat squeezes with emotion.
“Say something,” he whispers.
I take a moment, trying to find my voice. “Life is hard. Adulting is hard. Sometimes it sucks, actually.” I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands, drawing strength as I speak. “But facing it together? Having you at my side? The man who makes me laugh, who makes every gloomy day seem brighter just by being in it?”
I pause to collect myself. My throat is so tight, and more tears threaten to escape. But these are happy tears. Sterling swipes under my eyes with his thumbs, and I take a deep, steadying breath.
He leans in and steals a quick kiss.
“Of course I want this. At whatever pace feels right for us both.”
“That makes me so happy,” he says with a grin.
“Wait.” I sit up suddenly, tugging the sheet up to cover my breasts. “You’re not marrying me for a green card, are you?”
At this, he bursts out laughing. “No, love. I live in this country legally. But that was cute.” He tugs the sheet from my grasp. “Don’t hide from me again. I’m practically your husband.”
A bubble of laughter rises in my throat at the absurdity of it all, but then Sterling’s hot mouth presses to a particularly sensitive spot, and my laughter fades into a low moan.