“Wake up, baby,” he urged, sitting on the bed in the curve of my naked body. His back to my front, only a sheet dividing us. Thoughts of the night before flooded my mind—all of them starting and ending with Roman.
“Mmm,” I purred, curling around him. Looping my arms at his waist, I groaned when I came in contact with his clothes. My sore, well-used body was still aching from the night before, but I was ready for more. “Why are you dressed?” I complained, teasingly patting him down, paying special attention to his zipper while searching for the length hiding behind it.
Just as I found it, he caught my wrist and pulled it away. “We need to talk.”
It wasn’t spoken in a tone that said, We need to talk so we can figure out where to get more condoms and then stay in the bed for the rest of the day—and maybe forever.
It was spoken in a tone that said, We need to talk because I’m married and need to get home to my wife.
I was suddenly more awake than ever.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up, dragging the sheet with me.
He was no less gorgeous the next morning, but the mischievous glint in his silver eyes was now filled with worry. It was all wrong for the man who had proposed only hours earlier.
“How ya feeling?” he asked, pushing to his feet and pacing the room.
“Good,” I drawled suspiciously.
He stopped moving and looked over at me. “Not sick or anything?”
I tilted my head in question and replied, “Nope. Little thirsty. Little hungover. But overall pretty good.”
Scrubbing the top of his buzzed head, he breathed, “Oh, thank God.”
This did not relax me in the least.
“Roman, what’s going on?”
He swallowed hard then went back to pacing a path in my carpet. “I fucked up, Lis.”
My already racing heart came to a screeching halt.
He’d fucked up.
Oh God.
“How?” I had no idea where the courage to ask had come from, because no one wanted to be rejected by a man who they’d fallen in love with. And that was exactly what had happened. I’d thought I had known it as he’d made love to me on the floor just inside my apartment and then again a few hours later in my bed. But, right then, staring down the barrel of losing him, I knew.
Roman Leblanc was it for me.
And he’d fucked up.
He looked at me with terrified eyes and announced, “I was drunk.”
I was going to be sick. I could feel it in my stomach. I wasn’t going to be able to hold it together much longer.
“Roman, I’m about to have a panic attack, so if you could just speak in full thoughts and spit this shit out, I’d really appreciate it. What did you do?”
He balled his hands into fists, planting them on his hips as he confessed, “It was lamb!”
My head snapped back. “What?”
“I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve been freaking out all morning.” He started pacing again. “I searched your fridge and pantry, and there’s not a piece of lamb anywhere. Are you allergic? Please tell me it’s not a delayed reaction. Shit. Damn. Fuck. Do we need to go to the hospital?” He gripped the back of his neck and stared at me. “Oh God, please don’t tell me it’s a religious thing and I knowingly fed you lamb.”
My breath became lodged in my throat.
This smart, funny, and beautiful man was freaking out because he’d told me that the gyros were beef. He had a conscience so strong that it had woken him early in the morning and sent him scouring through my pantry.
The guilt was painted all over his face.
If I’d had any doubts left about Roman, that was the exact moment they vanished.
I was hopeless to stop the tears from falling.
“Say something,” he whispered in absolute horror.
“Yes,” I said on a half cry, half laugh.
His eyebrows pinched together. “Yes, allergic, or yes, religious?”
I sob-laughed again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
His whole body startled, and his mouth gaped open.
I quickly amended, “I mean, if the offer’s still on the table.”
“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, wiping my cheeks and climbing to my knees.
He rushed across my bedroom faster than any non-Olympic athlete could move. Slamming into me, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and lifted me off the bed.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, planting random kisses on the top of my hair and the side of my face. “Say it again.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Jesus,” he whispered. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
I giggled. “Over lamb?”
He pinched my side. “I spent forty-five minutes searching the Internet for lamb allergies. I even held a mirror under your nose to make sure you were still breathing.”
I burst out laughing as he put me back on the bed. “For the record, I eat lamb. I’m just not a fan of it in anything but a gyro.”