“Because there’s pain in that choice too,” he says softly. “You just have to decide which pain is worth living with.”
I face him with one knee on either side of him. With his face in my hands, I press a kiss to the center of his lips.
God, I love this man.
And I’m so lucky to be loved by this man.
The realization settles over me with equal parts terror and wonder. I want to tell him that. I know he wants to hear it. Even more, he deserves to hear it—to know that he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
But, if I tell him now, he’ll think I’m only saying it because I’m emotional—that I’m caught up in the moment and let those three little words go.
He was patient enough to wait for me all these years. I can be patient enough to find the perfect way to tell him how I feel … and that twelve months isn’t going to cut it. I’m not sure twelve lifetimes would even be enough. Spending the rest of my life loving a man, and hopefully our children, sounds like a great way to spend eternity to me.
“You’re pretty special, Mr. Adler,” I say, smiling at him.
“You’re pretty spectacular, Mrs. Adler.”
He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck, making me giggle.
“How about you pick me up and carry me to bed?” I say, as he plants kisses up my neck and across my jaw.
“Then what?” he asks, breathing the words against my mouth.
His eyes are dark and hooded, and I know whatever I request, he’ll deliver. But instead of asking for something like I normally do—oral or doggy style—I ask for something new. Something we’ve done before but have never named.
“Then we can make love,” I say, studying his eyes.
The smile he gives me—soft and sweet—shows me he hears my declaration of love even though I didn’t say the words.
He stands with me wrapped around him, and carries me to our room. And we make love, even if I haven’t said those words to him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mira
“Mira Adler reporting for duty,” I say, standing in front of Betsy Barn.
It takes a second for Hartley to appear at the loft door. He stands high above me, shirtless, his body glistening with sweat. If I wasn’t already married to him and considering having his babies, I would be now.
Holy fuck.
He takes off his gloves, grinning down at me. “What are you doing out here?”
“I don’t know. I missed you, and it’s a pretty day, so I thought I should put in some elbow grease around this ranch. You know, crank some wrenches. Mend some fences. Throw some … stuff.”
“Hay?” he asks, amused.
“Yeah. I was just seeing if you knew the lingo.”
He leans against the wall, crossing one foot over the other. “I thought you were working today.”
“What good is it to be a freelancer if you can’t freely lance?” I ask.
“So you put on the shortest shorts you could find, half a top, and a pair of boots to work with me?”
I smirk. “Something like that. By the way, Blackbird Ranch doesn’t employ any females except Cathy, right?”
