He tipped his head to rest on the back of the couch. “Ah. The evil truth. Feelings can be such pests, can’t they?”
I rolled my eyes. “Only where you’re concerned.” I untangled myself from him and slumped onto the couch.
Roan ran his fingers through his hair and rested his elbow on the armrest. “See? I don’t get that. I don’t understand what’s so scary about me other than the fact that I’m a giant compared to you and you have a fear I might eat you for breakfast.”
“I thought I was big enough to be considered dinner.”
“No. You’re a breakfast snack bar, if anything.”
We stared at each other until we cracked into laughter. “Oh, Blissful,” Roan said. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I thought you already asked that question.”
He scowled. “What I mean is—what am I going to do with me being in love with you?”
I swallowed a giant knot in the back of my throat. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“I went temporarily deaf. It’s a condition. Only afflicts me when people say emotionally charged things about me.”
He coughed into his fist. “Bull crap.” Roan extended his free hand and entwined his fingers in mine. “I said just what you think.” He pivoted his face until both eyes were fixed solidly on me.
“Yes, I love you. I’ll admit it. I’m probably an idiot for feeling it, but you’re something else, Bliss. I’m not afraid to tell you what I think. Though I have to admit you might chop me off at the knees because of it, I’m still going to tell you.”
He shifted his body until it aligned with mine. Roan cupped my face in his hands. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”
“You don’t care what I think? That’s rich.”
“You know what I mean.” His lips grazed mine.
I curled my hands around his wrists. “Why don’t you care?”
His words came between kisses. “For one thing, you love me, too.”
I pulled back. “Wait a minute. What gives you that idea?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”
Mental note to self—do not sneak lovey-dovey glances at Roan anymore. “I’ve never done that in my life.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Okay, don’t admit it. Secondly, you haven’t run for the door since I admitted it. Knowing you—and I’m pretty sure I do—if I was wrong, you would’ve already been out the front door, down the steps and into your Land Cruiser within five seconds.”
“Party pooper,” I said bitterly. “You think you know so much?”
He shrugged. “I think I know a little. Listen, I only told you that so you’d understand. I’m taking my time with you because of how I feel.” He raised a palm to stop an argument from tumbling out of my mouth. “I’m not asking you to say the same thing. I don’t care. Sooner or later you will. When it happens, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to call an ambulance because the very acceptance of those feelings will give you a heart attack.”
“Very funny.”
“Needless to say, I’m not rushing it. Take your time. Explore your feelings. We’ll do whatever you want. But I’m not sleeping with you. I’m not a trophy for you to win.”
I scoffed. “I’ve never said that.”
He kissed me again. “You didn’t have to. The way you want to rush suggests it.”
I scowled. “I know you’re not a trophy.”
He took my hand, turned the palm over and brushed his lips against the inside of my wrist. “Prove it.”
