Me: Have you thought about tattooing “Will you move in with me?” on your ass? Or turning a kid’s birthday/petting zoo into a surprise proposal?
Stef: I need to go back to the drawing board. Everything has to be perfect, meticulously planned. It’s got to be romantic and on-brand. A story we’ll tell our kids. My God. What if he doesn’t want kids? Do I want kids?
Me: You’re spiraling. Go eat some chocolate.
Aha! There you are,” I said, triumphantly digging the bra I’d been looking for out of my overnight bag. I shoved the rest of the contents back inside and zipped it shut.
The very naked, very sinful-looking Lucian cast a baleful look in my direction from his position on the bed.
“What? You said we were going out for dinner. I can’t go braless in public. These babies unleashed have been known to cause stampedes,” I said over my shoulder as I headed into the man’s massive spa-like bathroom. Hexagonal charcoal tiles were warm and toasty under my bare feet. The double vanity had enough space between the high-end onyx sinks to play a round of shuffleboard. And the shower. Oh, the shower.
It was the main reason I hadn’t yet demanded that Lucian take me home to Knockemout.
Anthony Hugo had been in custody for four days. The danger was officially over. But I was still here, enjoying four days of dinners out and walks under the cherry blossoms. Four days of working out of the same office together, sharing the same bed. Four days of having an astronomical amount of sex with Lucian Rollins.
I unpacked my toiletries from the bag I kept hanging on the linen closet door and finagled the settings on the shower’s touch screen.
“I can program your preferences into the system,” Lucian offered from behind me.
I eyed him as he prowled into the bathroom naked. “Nah. I like pushing buttons,” I said as I took in the obscenely fine view. He looked like a moving statue. A marble ode to perfection come to life.
I stepped into the tiled shower and let the rain head faucet pelt me from above. I groaned. “Ugh. This makes me want to renovate my bathroom.”
Lucian joined me, his hands immediately finding the curves of my hips.
We showered in silence, luxuriating in the hot water and each other’s bodies. But I could feel a tension in him that hadn’t been there before.
“What’s wrong? Is there a problem with the Hugo case?” I asked as Lucian watched me pensively in the mirror while I towel dried my shampoo and conditioner bottles before slipping them back in the bag.
“My problem is you,” he said, turning to face me.
“Me? Now what did I do?” I demanded, trying not to be dazzled by the water droplets sprinkled across his chest.
“I gave you drawers and closet space. I gave you vanity space,” he announced, yanking open one of the empty drawers next to the sink he’d designated as mine. “I made room for you in my shower, in my home.”
“And I told you I don’t need any of that.”
He stuck a finger in my face. “That is my problem. How are we going to share a life together when you won’t even unpack your shit, Sloane?”
“Seriously?” I scoffed. “You’re mad because I’m not taking up enough of your storage?”
“You won’t unpack here. You didn’t make space for me in your place. I had to bring in a closet company just to make room for myself. You’re not committing to us.”
“Lucian, we haven’t even talked about being an ‘us’ beyond you stubbornly announcing that we were a couple.”
His scowl darkened. “You want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk.”
“You could have at least let me dry my hair,” I grumbled as Lucian stabbed the bell on a swanky three-story brick home on a tree-lined street in Georgetown. Every vehicle at the curb looked as though it cost somewhere in the six-figure range.
The door opened, and a white-bearded, bespectacled man peered out at us. “You’re early,” he announced. He wore a white apron over a black, orange, and neon yellow speckled cardigan.
“Emry, meet Sloane. Sloane, Emry,” Lucian said as he towed me across the threshold and toward a stately study.
“Sorry about Lucifer. I think he’s hangry,” I explained over my shoulder.
“Well, this should be fun,” Emry announced, rubbing his palms together and following us inside.
It was the office of a man with means, intellect, and great taste, I decided, scanning the titles on the dark mahogany bookshelves.
“Work your therapy magic and fix her,” Lucian announced, taking a stance near the fireplace.
“I thought we were going to dinner at your friend’s?” I pointed out.
“We are friends. He forgets that from time to time,” Emry added, crossing to a cabinet and producing a bottle of wine. He gestured toward one of two leather armchairs in front of the bookshelves. I sat.
“I don’t need your friendly advice. I need a therapist to talk some sense into this woman,” Lucian announced, crossing his arms and glaring at me.
I glared back. “Seriously?”
“This is highly unusual. Even for you,” Emry said to Lucian.
“Don’t look at me,” I said with a shrug. “One second, I’m enjoying the shower of the gods, and the next, he’s yelling about drawer space and closet organizers.”
Lucian pushed away from the fireplace and began to pace. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”
Emry looked amused. “I take it this is not about drawer space? Though if it is, I’m happy to call Sacha. She’s the expert in home organization. You should see her pantry.”
“She won’t commit,” Lucian announced, then winced. “Sloane, not Sacha. But you should burn that sweater before Sacha sees it.”
“I think it’s a lovely sweater,” I insisted.
“I’m trying to integrate our lives both here and in Knockemout, and Sloane is refusing to participate. The woman repacks her toiletries after every shower!” Lucian bellowed.
Emry looked as if he were trying very hard not to laugh as he poured three glasses of wine. “I see.”
I got out of my chair and stalked toward Lucian, interrupting his pacing. “And I told you, you don’t just get to order me into a relationship. A couple of drawers are not going to make me feel secure enough to even entertain the idea of dating you.”
“We’re not dating,” Lucian said. “We’re living together. We’re having sex. We’re getting married.”
“If that’s your proposal, it needs work,” I shot back.
I heard a crunching sound and found Emry settled in the chair I’d vacated, snacking on pistachios and watching us gleefully.
“Why can’t you just accept that I mean what I say?” Lucian demanded. He shoved both hands through his hair. His movements were jerky and frenetic, so unlike his usual animallike grace.
“Because past experience dictates I should run screaming into the night! You’ve cut me out of your life twice now—once for two decades—and you just expect me to forget about that? To trust you?” I was shouting now too. I definitely wasn’t winning any dinner guest of the year awards.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” Lucian said, frustration bleeding into his tone.
“I want everything you’re promising, but I don’t believe you’re going to deliver! Happy now?”
Silence descended between us as we stared at each other. Emry cleared his throat and brushed the pistachio crumbs from his hands. “It sounds as if you two have never really had the opportunity to deal with the issues that kept you apart in the first place.”
“I always thought that I needed to forgive you,” Lucian said suddenly. He took a breath and stared down at me, his gray eyes stormy. “You broke my trust. You deliberately disobeyed me, and because of you, I went to jail. Because of you, my mother was left completely vulnerable to him. I missed my eighteenth birthday, my high school graduation. Because of you, my past cemented my future.”
I winced as the truth he’d kept bottled up for all these years hit its target. It was a wound that had never fully healed in either of us.