“Those are—”
“To help me not pass out,” I tell him. He nods, stifling a laugh at a joke I’m clearly not a part of. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says. “They just don’t look very medical.”
“Well yeah, the other ones look like socks for old men…you know, like you would wear them,” I tease.
He strides closer to me and I think he might pounce, but he grabs the band of one of my stockings and yanks it higher up my thigh, then reaches behind me to smack my ass, making me jump.
“Sleep, smartass.”
When he leaves the room, I do as I’m told and settle in under the covers to nap for a few hours. It’s a battle to find sleep – between the high of being here with him, the way he so effortlessly spoiled me today, and the thought of the night to come – but eventually, I shut my eyes and let it claim me.
THIRTY
Colt
Since Anna, I haven’t been the man who felt the pull to plan for romance, and even then, the most romantic thing I ever did for her was order us a couple of pizzas and light a few candles while we ate on my parents’ roof. I was seventeen at the time, and broke, so I guess there wasn’t a lot more I could have done.
Beyond that, I’m not the man that puts much thought behind his encounters with women. I swore off anything serious when Emmett was just a pre-teen, and I’ve been fine since then with just satisfying a need as it comes up.
Something about Rowan, though, has changed that. She makes me feel inspired to fulfill dreams she may not even know that she has. To make every moment in her life feel just a little bit like magic. I want to make her feel like she is worthy of having the world dropped at her feet – because to me, she is.
I straighten the cuffs of my suit jacket as Rowan steps out into the room, that red dress draped over her, with a faux-fur stole wrapped around her shoulders.
She fiddles with her hair – loosely tied into a low knot, secured with pins. A few pieces fall around her face,framing it beautifully. I try to pick my jaw up off of the floor and step closer to her, taking one of the pins in my hand.
“Here,” I say as I help her secure the stray pin into its place.
Beaming up at me, she asks, “What do you think?”
I take her hand in mine and give her a small spin so I can soak in every inch of her. The shine of the fabric highlights every curve of her breasts and hips as she twirls under the overhead lights, and the pins in her hair sparkle. She’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I would let her ruin me a thousand times over and be grateful for the chance to experience it.
“You are…” I melt, looking at her, and a ghost of a smile plays at my lips. “Devastating.”
She grips onto my lapels and uses them to pull herself up on her toes. I meet her halfway and press a kiss to her lips, cupping a hand at her jaw.
“If I’m dreaming,” she says, “do me a favor and don’t wake me up.”
“Promise I won’t,” I tell her with a wink.
I offer her my elbow and she hooks her arm into mine as we make our way down to the entrance to meet the driver waiting for us.
I watch her face as we ride through the city, lit up and sparkling like she’s on a different planet or living in some fantasy world, just now realizing that magic is real. I want to give her more of this, bring her more magic, and I make a silent vow to her that if whatever this is between us can ever be made public, I’ll take her anywhere in the world she wants to go. I’ll give her more than just a couple of days.
I’ll bring her real magic.
We reach the restaurant with a few minutes to spare before our reservation, but are seated right away at an intimate table for two, relying mostly on candles for light in the dim room.
Once seated, I order a bottle of a nice vintage to be brought to the table and I help Rowan read through the menu, making recommendations, but not stealing control from her by telling her what to get. She’s had enough of that in her life.
She watches intently as a sommelier pours the wine into my glass, and I meet her gaze. “Would you like a glass, Rowan?”
“I—” she struggles, “I mean, it’swineinItaly. It feels like a crime not to. But I’m—”
“Not your father,” I finish. “You can try it if you want to. And you can skip it if you don’t.”
