by Shayla Black
competent in the water than I expected. But we need to watch him carefully. He was getting brave at the end. I don’t want him thinking the pool isn’t dangerous.”
Britta pauses, her spoon hovering over the chicken in the pan. Her face tightens with worry. “Absolutely.”
“We’ve got this. We won’t let anything happen.” I can’t stop myself. I drop my hand to the small of her back and lean closer. “I promise.”
She turns slightly, meets my gaze. My mouth hovers maybe six inches above hers. Her breath goes shallow. I see the heartbeat at the base of her neck flutter, mirroring the racing of my own. I could kiss her right now. She might let me. She might part her rosy lips and welcome me inside her mouth so I can worship her. She might moan, melt against me.
She might also kick me in the balls.
Willing to take the chance, I lean in. Jamie lets out a shriek and clangs two metal trucks together.
We jump apart, and I curse under my breath. It’s not his fault. And maybe he did me a favor. As much as it chafes, with hot food cooking and a toddler watching, it isn’t the time to make a move. And I don’t think Britta is ready.
She jerks her gaze back to the stove. “Don’t do that again, Griff.”
As I drag the potatoes from the oven, I see her rubbing her engagement ring again like it’s a talisman that will protect her from the temptation I’m throwing her way. I refrain from pointing out that I’m not going to make it that easy on her.
She’ll figure that out on her own soon enough.
A few minutes later, we’re all sitting down to a home-cooked meal. We eat in silence broken only by our attempts to help Jamie’s spoon find his mouth and the clatter of silverware against dishes.
“Keeley called me this morning,” Britta says.
I hear the note of confusion in her voice. “When she says she’s determined to be your friend, trust me. That woman means it.”
“I don’t know why.”
“You and my brother have always been close. They’re getting married.”
“True…” she concedes but doesn’t sound convinced.
“And I’m sure it’s because she’s been my best friend for a couple of years and she knows how important you are to me. She knows I love you even if you don’t.”
Britta grabs her bottle of water to avoid looking at me. “Keeley asked me if I would help her plan her wedding. She said her mom is too far away and that she feels overwhelmed by the amount of planning to be done in a short timeframe. They’re talking about getting hitched in two months. It’s really fast.”
“When you know it’s right, why wait?”
She presses her lips together, then flips her engagement ring with her thumb—precisely where I can see the diamond glint. “Exactly.”
It’s tough, but I don’t let her prod me. She’s wrong about Makaio, and I think we’re both aware of it. I could remind her that he skipped out on her when she needed him. I could also admit that I will never let him adopt Jamie because I’m not convinced he’d make my son’s best interests a top priority. I could also promise her that, once we go to bed tonight, I’ll be more than happy to show her what she’s been missing between the sheets with Mr. Hawaii. He might look like a fucking underwear model, complete with stupid smile as he stands, hands on hips, showing off his cotton-clad junk. But I know I can make her want, orgasm. Feel. If she’ll let me give her a reminder, I will be happy to help her compare notes afterward.
“Broccoli?” I pass her the dish, refusing to rise to her bait.
“Thank you.” Naturally, she extends her left hand to me and grabs the dish. Her diamond gives me another mocking wink.
I manage to keep calm. “So what did you tell Keeley?”
She pauses. “I agreed to help. This will benefit Maxon, after all. I owe him for everything he’s done for me over the last few years. Besides, I guess you told her I was organized?”
“And she’s so not. Keeley is fun and smart, but she’s a free spirit. Calendars and schedules and deadlines give her hives. Watching her flounder with all that would make you crazy, angel.”
“I’ve told you not to call me that.”
I send her a smile that tells her there’s no way in hell she’s stopping me. “What does Makaio call you?”
She pauses, then frowns as if she’s giving my question a lot of thought. “He’s not really the pet name sort.”
Is she kidding? The slight furrow in her brows tells me she’s not. And it doesn’t seem as if she’s sure how she feels about that.
I should probably shut my mouth but I’m really dying to know. “All right. What did he say to you when he proposed? What did he do? How did he give you the ring?”
“He didn’t. Um, we were talking at my house a couple of Sundays ago. While barbecuing in the backyard, he pointed out all the reasons we’re great together and asked me if I would do him the honor of marrying him.”
Wait a minute. Hold up. She’s given me a wealth of information there. First, why didn’t the asshole make a big damn deal of proposing to her? It doesn’t sound as if he even got down on one knee, much less hired a skywriter or something awesome. It was like… Hey, since I’m in the middle of flipping burgers, I’ve got a minute to ask you if you want to spend the rest of your life with me.
Fuck that.
The bigger nugget of fact I got out of her speech, however, is timing. He proposed on Sunday. When I barged into their impromptu engagement party, it was the following Thursday night. She said she’d just accepted his proposal four hours prior. So she made the bastard twist in the wind for four days before answering him?
I smile. I’ve got her. Right here. She’s telling me without telling me that she doesn’t love Makaio. What woman whose heart is filled with devotion waits four days to decide if she wants to share the rest of her life with him?
None.
I shovel chicken into my mouth and study her. The last forty-eight hours between us may have sucked, but life is definitely looking up.
“What is that expression?” she challenges.
“I don’t know what you mean.” My grin widens.
“That smirk. Why do you suddenly look so smug?”
I weigh the pros and cons of keeping this revelation to myself. But I’m not playing a long game. I don’t have time for quiet.
Finally, I shrug. “I’m just thinking there’s no way you’re going to marry this guy.”
“Excuse me?” She sounds shocked. “I am. I have no doubt.”
I shrug like she’s wrong, but whatever. Britta can’t stand that.
“What is your problem? You can’t have me, so you’re going to try and talk me out of marrying him?”
“No. I don’t hate that idea, but…” I shake my head. “He’s got everything wrong. He has no special endearment just for you? He doesn’t try to make you feel like the most amazing woman in his world?” I shake my head like that’s a big fucking mistake because it is. “He didn’t do anything awesome just for you, or even give you a ring, when he proposed? Then again, I guess that wouldn’t be logical.” I scoff.
Britta scowls. “It was very romantic.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“It was,” she insists. “And we shopped for a ring together after I said yes.”
Because he wasn’t going to spend money on her or any gesture of emotion until he knew he had to.
“And when he proposed, I’ll bet he outlined all the reasons getting married made sense—you’re both responsible, have good jobs, handle money well, like the same movies, and his picture-perfect family adores you. Right?” When she presses her lips together mulishly, I laugh. “Right. Then he talked about your lives together with all the excitement of a pile of compost before waxing boring about the requisite ten-minute coitus you’ll share twice a week that he’ll find a perfectly adequate expression of your shared passion. Am I far off the mark?”
She sputters. “Miles off, in fact.”
“No, I’m not. Th
at’s why it took you four days to decide to marry the loser.”
“You’re wrong. And that doesn’t mean I would ever marry you, Griffin Reed.” Without skipping a beat, she helps Jamie by cutting another piece of chicken into smaller bits and sliding one onto his baby spoon, even as she rolls her eyes at me. “You know what? His proposal was way more romantic than yours because at least he asked. You had me for a whole year and never once broached the topic. You never cared about anything like that.” She huffs. “You never even thought of it. So that puts him way ahead of you.”
Jamie is about to toss a handful of potato across the table, so I grab him by the wrist and use my napkin to empty his hand. Then I stand and glare at Britta. “Wait here.”
When I spin on my heel and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time, she calls after me. “Where are you going?”
I’m not answering. She’ll see soon enough.
Two minutes later, I return, yank her barstool away from the table until she’s facing me, then I get down on one knee and open the black velvet box in my grip. She gasps when she sees the engagement ring inside.
“I bought this on March sixteenth, almost four years ago. I knew the moment I saw this ring that it was meant for you and that I was meant to put it on your finger.”
Britta presses her hand to her chest, mouth gaping like I’ve stunned her speechless, as she stares at the symbol of love I bought her years ago.
“Marry me.” My heart is thundering, and I wish I had something more flowery and romantic to say. I could give her arguments about why I’m a better man for her. I might even be able to talk sweet and fast and whisk her into bed for an orgasmic glow that lasts a day or two.
It’s all worthless if she won’t admit she loves me. And if she needs proof I’m committed to this—and her—I don’t know what more I can do beyond what I am right now.
“You’re serious?” Her voice is shaking. She looks at me, blinks, looking frozen, stricken. She can’t seem to find her voice, her breath. “You’ve had that…”
“For almost four years, yes.”
“No.” She shakes her head, her gaze bouncing between the ring and my face, like she’s not sure where to focus. “We’d barely begun dating seriously. We’d barely begun…”
“Having sex?” I know that’s what she’s thinking, but she swallows the words down.
“That’s not possible.” She’s shaking her head and looking at me like there must be some terrible mistake.
I’d be offended if I didn’t understand that her accepting what I’m stating as fact means that she has to question everything—each past decision, all the anger she’s carried, and that future she thinks she has planned.
I ease to my feet and pull the receipt from my pocket to set it on the counter so she has no doubt I’m telling the truth. It shows the exact date I purchased the ring and how much it set me back.
She scans it, then blinks at me in total shock.
I come closer, tuck her chin in my grip so I know she’s paying attention to every word I say. “We started dating just before Halloween. I suspected our relationship was serious by Thanksgiving. I knew I was in love with you by New Year’s. You finally trusted me enough to give me your virginity on March first. Yes, I remember the exact date. It changed my life because you changed my life. By the end of that night, I was sure you were it for me. When I saw this ring two weeks later, I bought it. And I waited for you to be a little older and a little more comfortable with me. I wanted you ready to say yes to spending your life with me. I intended to propose to you on my birthday. I had a plan. I might have been a shit, but I wanted to give you the best proposal ever. I knew it was important to you.”
“And we fell a week short.” The words tumble out of her mouth small, eked with pain, and filled with so much sadness.
“Yeah.” I have to bear the responsibility for that. “But right now, you and I have the chance to erase the bad and start over, as a family.” I ruffle Jamie’s hair, then I can’t help myself. I wrap my hand around Britta’s arm, curl it around her elbow, and bring her to her feet against me. “I’m serious, angel. Marry me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Britta doesn’t answer me that night. Or the next morning. I already know she’s going to leave me hanging more than the four days she made Makaio wait. And I’m okay with that for one reason.
She hasn’t said no.
I’m calling that a win for now.
The day is a rush of property showings with clients, paperwork, and phone calls. Keeley taught yoga at the senior center this morning, then whisked Britta and Jamie away for wedding planning and girl time. I want details. I want to know what dress to buy her, what kind of flowers she wants, what flavor of cake—anything that will make our wedding seem more real.
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” my brother asks, approaching the door of my office. “You’ve always been ballsy, but planning Britta a surprise wedding…”
I look up from the late-afternoon sun sliding over the glimmering blue water in the distance. “I think so, but…no. I’m not entirely sure. You got better ideas?”
“If bad karaoke won’t solve it, I’m afraid not,” Maxon admits.
“The way Makaio proposed was so thoughtless it’s almost an insult.” I wish I’d done better, that I hadn’t whipped out the ring in the heat of the moment to prove something. On the other hand, she knows now how serious I am—and always have been. “After what’s happened, she needs to feel valued and loved, like I would crawl across glass, walk through fire, go to the ends of the earth to have her.”
“Of course. And she deserves that. It just seems like there’s a lot of potential to fuck this up.”
“Yep. But is picking the wrong color bridesmaid dress really my biggest problem?”
“It’s not,” he concedes. “The fact you’re forcing her hand is.”
“She has to pick one of us.”
“But you’re not only making her choose a groom, you’re wedging her into a position where she has two weddings on the same day and she’ll have to pick the one in which she’d like to be the bride. That’s messed up, dude.”
I shrug. Maybe. Probably. “But fitting.”
“What about a marriage license? You have to apply for one in person. Together.”
“I’m already working on that. I can start the process online, which I’ve done. I had a client last year whose daughter is a marriage license agent on the island. I’m seeing if I can, you know, work the system.”
“Of course you are.” Maxon shakes his head, wearing a hint of a smile.
“What will you do if she ultimately says no to you?”
“Not an option.”
Maxon shakes his head like I’m a dumb ass. “You need to start thinking about it. Not everything is always going to go your way.”
“I’ve got a hundred ways to make her realize I’m the right man for her. I haven’t even unleashed any of those yet.”
“Uh-huh. I know you. Ninety-nine of those ways involve sex. You can’t do that to her, bro.”
Why not? “How do I reach her if I can’t remind her firsthand about our chemistry?”
“I don’t know. But remember the last time you kissed her? You freaked her out so much that she slapped those papers to relinquish your parental rights in your face. Even if you managed to seduce her, she’s engaged to someone else. She wouldn’t be able to handle the cheating.”
Maybe he’s right. I was hoping that, at some point—soon—Britta would find me irresistible. Once I got inside her and started giving her orgasms, Makaio wouldn’t stand a chance. I wasn’t going to push or rush her. I didn’t think I had to. She wants me, too. I believe that. I feel it.
But Maxon is right. Britta is a stickler for honesty and fairness. I’m not sure she could live with herself. She might even resent me for leading her astray.
“Fuck.”