“I might not be showing it well, but I really am grateful.” That admission emerges through a whisper, like part of me views this exchange as a secret, my eyes flicking to his lips until I force them away. “I’m just confused and wondering if it’s … going to blur lines.”
“Ahh, lines. We’ve been there before.” His scowl has a trace of lust in it, but it appears he’s primarily stuck on how I pushed him away in the past. “So, here’s some clarity. I’ll be drawing new lines. You robbed me of the past three years. I’ll spoil you and Remy the way I want.”
“Impressive,” I deadpan. “It takes talent to make caretaking sound like a punishment.”
A knock on the closet door has us turning to find Maddox, grinning ear to ear, his eyebrows arched, as if he caught us in a sex swing, not merely having a private conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt. Nah, that’s a lie.” He chuckles, crossing his arms and bracing his shoulder against the threshold molding. “I’m here to rescue you, Mercy. Since you’re officially a La Lune Noire employee, a trip to the Underground is in order.”
Relief washes over me. I could use some air. “That’s your employee club?”
“Yep. Cash and I are headed out in a half hour. We’ve got an event tonight. Axel and Jax are having a blast with Remy, so you should come.”
“Well”—I hedge, rethinking my initial reaction—“we did just get here. I’m not sure I should leave Remy.”
“He’ll be fine,” Ryker interjects. “He’ll be going to sleep soon, and you’ll be right downstairs. It will be good for you to make friends, have fun, take a break.”
Such a simple sentiment that means more to me than he could fathom, just like the one he extended last night.“All I want is to be the man who builds you back up.”
“I’d love to. I’ll be ready in twenty-five minutes,” I tell Maddox, and once he dips his chin and swaggers away, I return my gaze to Ryker. “Thanks for not objecting.”
“No objections. Just remember who you are, Merce.” He palms my head and leans into my ear, his scruff tickling my cheek. “That you’re mine. Behave yourself.”
“Right.” I nod, enhancing that alluring prickle from his stubble. “The contract.”
“That too.” He smiles against my temple, his hushed chuckle cascading over me, inducing a shiver.
It seems he’s back to flirting. I’m at a loss.
My fingers crawl over his chest as I try to put some space between us, but his hands clamp on to my hips, and I feel the scorch of his fingertips through my clothes. That’s new. There were brief—very brief—beats in the past when we stilled, our eyes meeting with something too heavy to vocalize, too messy to act on, but we always shook it off and went on our platonic way.
But this … the air in this closet is soupy and oppressive.
“This will be good. You can lay the groundwork for us being together however you’re most comfortable.” A crooked smile bleeds into his dimple—the charming trait that hurls a middle finger at his stony edges—as he lifts me up and sets me aside, like a traffic cone blocking his path.
He pulls open a drawer from the shelving we were standing in front of, and I’m stunned. He was only moving me out of theway. Maybe the sparks are all in my freaking head. That’s better, I suppose.
“I’ll take care of it.” Those words are strained. Suddenly, I can’t breathe, not because I’m suffocated, but because I’m thrown by how the loss of his warmth stings.
I need to get ahold of myself. I’ve missed his presence in my life, and I want my friend back. Anything else is old ghosts taunting me.
He waves his hand over the drawer. “You can pick whichever you like or wear a different one every day of the week. There’s other jewelry to match as well.”
When my vision snags on what he’s referencing, my jaw falls slack. There are seven huge, gorgeous diamond engagement rings. Four white diamonds in various cuts sit beside three that are truly unique in color and design. There’s one that catches my eye though—a vintage, pear-shaped champagne diamond, encircled with white diamonds that trail down the rose gold band.
“They’re stunning, but why are there so many?”
“I told you, I intend to spoil you. I couldn’t choose, and you shouldn’t have to.”
This was never part of who we were. He took care of me, surprised me with gifts, bought dinner, insisted I drive his cars when mine were in the shop. Best friend stuff. Not Ryker Noire, the billionaire. This is all new—the imagined heat on my end and the sweeping gestures on his.
This would be so romantic if …
My head is so messed up. “You know I don’t need this, right? I would have helped you with this just because you asked me.”
Maybe that doesn’t ring true because I took off, but that’s so much more complicated than my willingness to be here for him. He has to know that.
“Of course.” He studies me before he heads for the door. “This is how I planned to handle an engagement, so let’s keep things as authentic as we can. Make sure you always have one on.”
