I drew in a surprised gasp. "Really? So you're a single man again?"
He nodded but an odd look flooded his features. I could almost swear it was guilt. "I know it was pretty presumptuous of me to take you out on the very day I was no longer married. I'm sorry. It didn't—"
Suddenly, I realized what he felt so bad about. "Patrick Jason Ryan," I murmured in a teasing scold as I sat up. "Were you planning on getting laid tonight?"
Before he could stop me, I flung open the nightstand to find a new box of condoms inside.
Pick jerked upright, looking even guiltier than before. "Eva—"
I pulled the box free and studied it. "Aww, and you even got ribbed for her pleasure. How considerate."
That didn't seem to soothe his remorse, though. "I didn't mean to—"
I leaned in to kiss him, shutting him up. He tasted of surprise and the apple he'd eaten before coming to bed. I opened my mouth to taste more. The very tip of his tongue touched the very tip of mine and he groaned, starting to lean in before he yanked himself back.
"We probably shouldn't," he said, though his breathing was already thin and fast. "Not after what happened tonight."
But I caught his hand. "Do you know what he said to me once? He said it didn't matter how many other boys I had, I'd never be able to wipe away his touch. He'd stained me forever."
Pick's face turned purple with fury. "Mother fucker," he gritted out right before he pulled me close and pressed his forehead to mine. "He was lying, baby. You are not stained. Not at all."
I hooked my hand around the back of his neck, my gaze pleading. "But he made me believe him. I never . . . enjoyed an intimacy with any guy. Not until you. I just zoned out and pretty much erased every encounter from my head. When I'm with you, though, you make me feel everything. I'm beautiful, loved, and clean. I need you to make me feel that way right now. I need you to prove that bastard wrong."
When I pressed the condom box into his hand, he closed his eyes and groaned. "I love you so much." His fingers trembled as he touched my cheek.
"And I love you, Patrick. Now make me your Tinker Bell."
He opened his eyes, and the confusion on his face told me he wasn't sure how to respond since I'd ordered him to never call me that again.
"You called me Tink tonight when the cops were here," I said. "And before that in the bathroom."
"I . . . " He gulped and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just . . . it slipped out." He closed his eyes briefly before flashing me a regretful cringe. "It won't happen again. I swear."
I shook my head. "No, it was fine. It was wonderful, actually. I've missed it." Scooting closer to him, I ran my fingers over his face, across his lip rings and down the tattoo of tree roots on his neck—roots because he'd always wanted a family and a place to belong.
Knowing I was his roots and his place to belong, I felt complete.
"I didn't realize the night that I learned about Tinker Bell how much of an honor it is to be her. Because I didn't understand it wouldn't just be a dream come true for you; it's a dream come true for me too. You have given me things I never even knew I needed or wanted, but they've ended up being the most precious things I've ever had. My job, this family . . . " I gestured toward the crib. "A love that completes me. All of this is because of you. Honestly, I can only think of one more thing I need from you, and my life will be perfect."
When my hand trailed down his naked chest, paused over his heart tattoo, and then continued lower, he caught my wrist gently.
"If we actually do this tonight, I'm going to stop paying you for being the nanny. Because that would just be weird. You'd be more like a . . . "
When he couldn't seem to come up with an appropriate term, I grinned. "More like a stay-at-home wife?"
His eyes flared. "Would that freak you out?"
It would probably freak Reese out if she knew about it. She'd say I was crazy, we were moving too fast, I needed to slow down and think about this. But I already knew it was the perfect solution for us.
"I am absolutely not freaked out at all. Now . . . " I caught the top of his pajama pants and began to peel them down. "Can we move on toward the main entertainment of the evening, or are you going to hold out on me forever?"
He blew out a breath and shuddered when I pulled his hard, swollen flesh into my palm. His eyes fell shut as he growled his appreciation.
"Are you absolutely positive you want to do this?" he asked, his voice tense, his restraint nearly shattered.
I flickered with sudden uncertainly, but only because his continued resistance bothered me. "Only if you're okay with having a girl who grew up being molested by her dad."