I hung my fingertips on his waistband, tugging him closer. Patch buried his face in the curve of my shoulder, his hands flexing over my back. He gave a low groan. "I love you," he murmured into my hair. "I'm happier right now than I ever remember being.
Becca FitzpatrickIโm not stealing it. Weโre stranded. This is called borrowing.โ โThis is called youโre crazy.
Becca FitzpatrickPatch? Whatever happens, I love you." I wanted to say more, those three words painfully inadequate for the way I felt about him. And at the same time, so simple and accurate, nothing else would do.
Becca Fitzpatrick