“I set up the conference room for a reason. Why couldn’t we have met there?” She angled herself away from him.
“Velma,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
She ignored him.
He turned her face toward him with a fingertip on her chin. “Did you see how close Troy and Sophie were? If you buy into that love language stuff, Sophie was absolutely into his touch. Makin’ ’em sit on the sofa here meant he had to keep touchin’ her. Moving to the conference table meant space. They didn’t need space. They needed touch. Which, by the way, for the record, my love language is fuc—”
“What do you know about love languages?” she asked, ignoring the fact that he had a point about Sophie and where they should’ve held their appointment.
“I know your love language is acts of service. Which, if you’d just relax a bit, I’d service you. Here. On this couch.” He pressed on the cushions, bouncing them in illustration.
“We’d have to close the blinds.” She tried really hard not to smile at him. She failed. Perhaps she had a dirty love language, too.
“Good thing I brought the remote.” He clicked something and the shades on the front windows slid down.
He kissed her shoulder, working his way along her neck.
“Is what you’re planning for Sophie and Troy even legal?”
He smiled a devilish half grin. “Nope.”
Chapter Seventeen
Brek shifted the phone against his ear, signed the credit card slip, and grabbed the pink garment box from the counter at the bridal salon. “Really need to lock in that contract. Anything I can do?”
“Can we meet up in Kansas City when I stop there? Hash out the details?” Hans asked.
“Right. Can’t do that. I’ll be stuck in Denver for a few more weeks.”
“Let me check with the boys, see if anyone wants to swing by Denver.” Hans hollered something to one of the band members spending the week with him. “Maybe play a club. Remind the boys why they play.”
“That’d be great. See what you can come up with.”
“Will do. We’ll catch up later.”
“Sounds good.” Brek ended the call, let out a breath, and frowned at the counter.
He had done his best to keep Aspen’s business alive, but his was suffering. One of his boys had checked out of rehab two days ago, which meant Brek needed to be on damage control, not schmoozing editors for a bridal blog. Presently, he couldn’t leave town. Not until Dean and Claire’s wedding was over.
“Thanks again,” he said to the woman behind the counter.
“Hope she likes it,” she replied.
So did he. Damn, he hoped Velma liked it.
Brek expected Velma would be home from work by the time he got there, but the apartment was empty. He dropped the box on the counter and was midtext to find her when the door opened. Velma came through with two oversized Macy’s bags on her arm.
“I have news.” Her cheeks flushed as she tossed the bags and her purse onto the couch and entered the kitchen.
When she buried her head against his chest and squeezed him, he smiled and held her close.
She planted a kiss on his cheek and filled a glass at the sink.
“I got you something.” He picked up the box with the red lettering and slid it across the granite countertop.
“You didn’t have to do that.” She set down her cup to untie the satin ribbon.
He shifted and shoved his hands in his pockets, worried that she wouldn’t like his effort. That she might misunderstand. Blame him.
