“Marry me,” he huffed out.
An explosive feeling rocked me—the most colorful feeling I’d ever experienced. My mouth fell open. The ring rolled in my hand, suspended from the chain, the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen.
Entranced by the glittering and intricate antique design, I didn’t even realize we were descending. His feet hit the floor. I moved so I could slide off his hips and stand up. I felt the belt holding me to Nash unclip and fall away as he dropped to one knee in front of me. Pulling the necklace over his head, he unfastened the chain and removed the ring.
Pinched in his fingers, he held it up to me.“Marry me,”he repeated, catching his breath.
My hands were shaking, but I gave him my left ring finger. He slid it on. I was nodding the entire time, unable to speak, but expressing my agreement in every way I could. Nash shot to his feet, grabbing and spinning me in the dim space. I caught a blurred glimpse of Bee as we spun. She was jumping with excitement.
On our second spin, I noticed the single light in the room.
On the third, I saw two pieces of very familiar art propped beneath it, set up with dramatic flair.
Nash finally stopped and set me down. Bee was standing beside the art, but abandoned it to crash into me, throwing her arms around my neck and tearing with joy.
That’s when the slow clap started.
CHAPTER 40
“Bee” Betty
Son of a crusty biscuit.
What a cheesy motherfucker. Walking out of the shadows, slow clapping.
But, he looked dangerously sexy doing it. I had to admit; it was working for me.
My lady parts quivered at the sight of him. He wore a hat on his head; the bill shadowing his face but for that fucking smirk across his rough-shaven jaw. His hair was messy, mid-length, and tucked behind his ears.Jesus,he looked like a vengeful god, and I just—
No.
I couldn’t.
My eyes trailed down over his dark Henley shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows exposing smoothcorded forearms streaked with raised veins. That stupid shirt looked perfect stretched over his chest; it was criminal. And his jeans, with that fucking bulge at the zipper. The long shadows and dim lighting stressed every part of him I knew way too well.
No.
Hell the fuck,no.
I reached for my taser.
Grayson clicked his tongue. “Buttercup, no need for that.”
His voice—shit,it was beautiful, tinged with a slight Italian accent. It disarmed me.Every. Single. Time.
Shivers rattled down my spine, but I pressed my chin up, holding my ground, activating the taser anyway.
I could hear Nash growling behind me like a feral raccoon. Why was he so good at that?
I flicked my hand at him to stop.
Nash was taller than Grayson, but Grayson was bulkier, and scrappy. Where Nash had formal finesse, Grayson had street sense and the innate will to survive. You didn’t excommunicate yourself from the mob if you weren’t capable of surviving it.
Stopping ten feet from us, he spread his large booted feet apart shoulder-width and crossed his arms, further accentuating his mouth-watering upper body strength. He didn’t seem at all bothered or worried by us.
“Is this your idea of flirting?” I teased, letting my voice hold a sumptuous, intimate caress. A flutter of femininity in his otherwise masculine-drenched presence.
A deep sound rumbled from his chest, and he hummed. “You’re here, aren’t you? I knew you wouldn’t be able to stayaway.”
