It’s more than twenty minutes when I throw on shorts and a tank-top onto my still damp skin. The cry did me good, I think, washed away the fear.
I don’t care that the shorts barely hide my ass and highlight my pussy or that the tank makes my nipples peak and bud instantly.
Let him shift the boundaries between us with a straight face. Or without sporting an erection.
I’m annoyed with myself,and my arrogant, bull-headed boss. My motions are jerky as I pull my messy hair into a high ponytail. But the necklace—I can’t bear to take it off.
What the hell happened earlier?
I made all these plans to tell him how I feel when I got into his bed. I was going to declare my love, fight for a chance with him. Sophie even lent me her lucky diamond studs.
Mr. Grayson’s emotions were almost palpable when I first woke up. He listened to me elaborate on all the ways I messed up with endless patience.
Then he rushed me out of the bedroom as if he couldn’t bear to see me on his bed. As if I was somehow disturbing his private space, his... sanity even.
But enough of us circling each other, of letting him decide the course of this.
My breath punches out of me once again as I step into the kitchen. Every square inch of the island and the counters and even the dining table is covered in tiny little tea candles. Standing in the middle of it all, only dressed in gray sweatpants, is Mr. Grayson.
I barely take in the room, take him in before my eyes land on his outstretched hand. His open palm.
And the small navy velvet box nestled there.
My heart thuds so hard against my ribcage it’s a wonder it’s not ripping out through flesh. My head feels empty. My bare feet squeak against the marble floor.
I reach him and stare at the box, my belly sloshing as if I’m full of bubbly, sparkly champagne.
“Open it, little bird.”
With one hand, I grasp his wrist and pop open the box while it still sits on his palm. A princess cut sapphire sits in the middle, surrounded by tiny diamonds in a cluster. The white platinum band shines dully against the black velvet bed.
My eyes fill with tears as I stare at the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.
“Remember the time we went to that jewelry store a couple of years ago?” Mr. Grayson says, his voice low and catching. As if it’s a struggle to get each word out. “To buy Sophie a bracelet for her twenty-first birthday, I think. You said you loved sapphires.”
I take a grasping breath—fighting to wake up if it’s a dream—and finally look up. Of course he remembers.
Mr. Grayson’s eyes are full of emotion—longing and affection and desire. A cocktail that I can get drunk on, by simply meeting his eyes.
“Marry me, little bird. Run my house, rule my heart, stay with me forever.”
It’s like the gravity of the room has tilted. I find myself swaying toward him before my thumping heart can accept that this is happening. That this is real. “Why?” I say, the question zooming out of me on instinct. “Why do you want to marry me?”
But once it lands between us, I’m glad I asked it. When I decided to reveal some of my feelings to him, when I asked him for one evening, I was happy for crumbs. Happy to settle for a few hours of his company. Happy if I could steal one kiss, one night, one embrace from my charming, billionaire boss.
But now that I’ve tasted his kisses, have felt him move inside me like he owns me, have known his gruff tenderness as a protector and his insatiable appetite as a lover, I can’t accept anything but the full spectrum of his love, anything but his whole heart.
I adore him so much and I deserve everything he has to give.
“Why do you think?” he says, arm still outstretched, answering my question with another.
“If you’re proposing to me because Sophie found out or because your honor compels you or because you feel... sorry for me...” my throat aches so hard on those words that I have to swallow, “then...”
He grabs me and despite my resolve, I can’t help the half-sob, half-groan that escapes my mouth. My fists find his shoulders as that tiny thread of fear that I might have lost him fills me. He doesn’t let me go though, and the heated hardness of his body chases it away. His mouth is warm at my temple and his arms are like steel bands as they hold me up.
I realize with another grasping breath that he doesn’t know how tightly he grips me. Slowly, the tension in his powerful frame sinks into me. “I want to marry you, little bird, because I’m in love with you. With that wet, tight pussy that’s always ready for me. With that soft, bright smile that warms up my house, my life, my heart. With this generous, brave heart that looks after me, cares for me, loves me,” and here, his voice breaks too, but his hand moves to my chest as if he needs to know the rhythm of my heart, “like no one else ever has.”
It's a good thing he holds me up because I’m melting at his words. My limbs feel like they are made of rubber. He gathers me to him with a gentleness that makes the sob I was fighting in the bathroom slip out. “Shh... baby girl. No tears, yeah? I’m sorry that I stormed out like that. That I said I didn’t know you at all.”
