She rose from her chair, her pulse starting to throb at her throat. Sunlight glowed through the partially closed blinds on the windows behind his desk.
She came up next to him. Holding her stare, he rolled back the large leather wingback desk chair in which he sat. She gulped at the vision of male power he made, the strength of his chest, shoulders, and thighs evident beneath his tailored suit. Her gaze lingered on his gray and white silk tie and the crisp, snowy dress shirt beneath it. She recalled how on the day of her interview, she’d had a vivid, shockingly inappropriate fantasy of unbuttoning his shirt and sliding her hand against dense, ridged muscles gloved by smooth, warm skin. Her glance lowered further still.
Had she gleaned somehow even back then, what their future held?
“What is it?” she asked uncertainly, jerking her gaze off his crotch.
“I hadn’t realized until yesterday that you’d had such a clear memory of Lynn that night in the hall,” he said. “Of the bracelet.” He reached into his top desk drawer and withdrew a dark red velvet box. He handed it to her.
Alice opened the box, and there it was: the bracelet in waking reality.
She swallowed thickly and touched it. It was like a cuff, but it was supple and flexible. Delicate vines and leaves surrounded it, but intertwined in the webwork of finely wrought gold were interspersed . . .
“Sunflowers,” she murmured. “They turn their faces to the sun. I remember . . .”
“What?” Dylan asked when she faded off.
“Someone telling me that. Her, I think.”
She met his stare, her eyes burning. Miraculously, she’d been granted another tidbit of memory.
“There are more of her things, besides the bracelet and the pearls. They’re yours anytime you want them.”
“The pearls you gave me the other night? They were hers?”
He nodded once. “I wasn’t sure if you were ready to know then. I am now.”
She studied the bracelet intently, trying to keep him from seeing the tears that had swelled in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “I thought you gave them to me to make me look like a rich heiress or something,” she mumbled.
“What?” he asked, clearly confused.
She sniffed. “It’s not important. I didn’t really believe that anyway,” she said honestly. “Just my insecurity talking.”
“Do you want me to put it on you?” he asked after a pause.
“Please.” She handed him the exquisite bracelet and set the box down on the desk. She extended her arm, and he fastened the bracelet around her wrist. Alice lifted her hand and let the ambient sunlight flicker among the vines. She looked at Dylan and beamed.
“You’re happy?” he asked quietly.
“Very,” she said. It was impossible to stop grinning, even though her eyes still brimmed with tears.
He reached for her hand. “Come here,” he said again.
She kicked off her flip-flops and straddled his legs, her bare knees pressing against the soft leather seat. She came down in his lap, facing him. He opened his hands on her ass and scooted her closer on his thighs. He enfolded her into his arms. She hugged him back tight, her chin resting on his shoulder. She felt so full of something: Gratitude. Wonder. Joy.
“I love you,” she said in a hoarse, congested whisper.
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back several inches. She resisted the urge to hide her face and damp cheeks in his neck.
“You don’t have to say that because I gave you the bracelet. It wasn’t even mine to give. It belonged to Lynn, so it now belongs to you.”
She gave a ragged laugh and rolled her eyes. “Give me some credit. That’s not why I’m saying it.”
A small smile tilted his mouth. His eyes shone. Her heart seemed to squeeze in her chest. Her admission had made him happy. It had made her happy, too, despite her former anxiety about it.
“I’ve felt it for a while.” She shrugged. “I just . . . didn’t know if—”
“You could trust it?” he asked calmly, lifting his hand and cupping the side of her head.
She bit her lower lip, her gaze cast downward. “I didn’t know how to say it,” she admitted. “I’ve never said it before.” He delved his fingers into her hair. Her eyelids flickered in contentment when he massaged her scalp. “Was it . . . was it hard for you?” she asked.
“To tell you I love you?”
Her heavy eyelids sprang open at the sound of his deep, rich voice uttering those words.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“At first. I’ve told you before I’ve never been much of a romantic. But at some point, it starts to feel like denying the sky is blue.”
She just nodded, her throat too constricted to think for a moment. “I don’t know what it means, exactly.”
“You don’t have to sign a contract because you say you love someone, Alice.”