But as the familiar melody of “Your Song” pours out from the speakers, I place my mouth against her ear, my breath raising goose bumps along her supple skin.

“Dance with me,” I whisper.

She arches her back to gaze at me, her eyes all soft and languid—the same way they are when I crawl up her body after bringing her to heaven with my mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to like dancing.”

I kiss the tip of her nose. “No. I’ll never be a fan.” I rise, taking her with me, keeping her close within the circle of my arms. “But I’ll always dance with you. Anytime, anywhere. Besides—this is your song.”

It’s a surprise I planned; a gift for her. I’m pretty sure it’ll blow her mind, and I’m looking forward to her blowing other things in return when she’s expressing her gratitude all night long.

Elton’s perfectly timed announcement comes over the microphone. “We have a dedication, ladies and gentlemen. This is going out to Sofia, with love from Stanton.” And then he starts to sing.

Her eyes go as round as quarters and she slumps against me just a bit from the shock. “Oh my God! I can’t believe you did that—how did you do that?”

I shrug. “I know people, who know people, who know a few of Elton’s people. I called in favors.”

She lifts up on her toes and kisses me hard—making me think this was the best damn idea I’ve ever had. Against my lips, she tells me, “I love you.”

As she rests her head against my chest I whisper, “I love you too.”

“I have the best boyfriend ever.”

My chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Yes, you do.”

How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world.

And then we dance.

• • •

November

“Push!”

“I am pushing. It’s tight.”

“Harder.”

“If I do it any harder, I’m gonna fucking break something.”

“Just shove it in.”

“I’m trying,” I grunt.

“Is anyone else getting turned on by this conversation?” Jake’s detached voice floats over from the other side of the heavy-ass desk I’m currently jamming through the doorway.

With a shout, we get it through, then settle it gently in front of the window—like Sofia and I agreed. This way we can enjoy the natural sunlight while I’m fucking her on it.

“I’m too damn tired to get turned on,” I gripe, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

Then Sofia walks into the room, and my eyes naturally fall to the magnificent way her snug black turtleneck highlights her tits. “Never mind—not too tired after all.”

“This looks great in here!” she squeals with a smile. “This is the last of it.”

Sofia asked me to move in with her last week. I’d practically been living here since midsummer anyway. But the idea that it’d be official—that’d we’d wake up together every morning and come home here together every night—is awesome. Her place is bigger than my apartment, and already furnished, so most of my furniture is staying behind with Jake. Except for Presley’s bedroom set, which is now set up in the townhouse’s third bedroom, the only item I insisted on bringing is my desk. So instead of a guest room, the second bedroom is now converted into a home office for both of us.

Sofia enjoys this oversized oak desk as much as I do. Especially for the extra space it allows while working at it, and like I said—for the fucking.

Brent walks in holding champagne glasses and Sofia pops the cork on the bottle in her hands. We fill the glasses, pass them around, and I propose a toast.

“My momma always used to say home is where the heart is. But I never really understood how right that was—until now.” I gaze at Sofia. “You’re my heart, so wherever you are, I’m home.”

She plants a kiss on my lips.

“Okay, now I’m really turned on,” Jake comments. Then to Brent he says, “You ready to head out? Hit the bars?”

“I was born ready,” Brent retorts. Then he asks us, “Are you guys coming?”

With her arms around my waist, Sofia tells him, “I plan to shortly—and if history is any indication, more than once.” Then she’s kissing me again.

“Ewww,” Brent says. “You guys are gross.”

We walk them down to the front door. “But seriously,” Brent asks, “you’re not coming out?”

I smack his back. “Can’t—I have a lot of work to do.”

We say our thanks and good-byes, and I lock the door behind them.

Sofia looks up at me. “Do you still have work on the Penderson case?”

I chuckle. “No, Soph, I wasn’t talking about that kind of work.”

She smirks. “Then what kind of work were you speaking of?”

I scoop her up into my arms. “Christening every room in this house. It’s gonna be a lot of hard, sweaty work.”

• • •

February

It had been a bad fucking day. The bad started with a squirrelly client who was dicking me around about a prior out-of-state conviction for assault, then progressed into the notification of an appeal that didn’t go my way. To top it off, an arctic blast had decided to descend upon DC, making it colder than a witch’s tit outside—the kind of frigid that made it feel like needles are pricking your face every time the wind blew.