“So you can truly appreciate it,” he added.
I knew, from that painful but appreciative tone, that he was talking about the little step back he’d taken last year, from us, for those few short days… right before he told me everything: all his secrets. His darkness. His pain.
Before he decided to trust me with all of it.
When maybe, for just a split second, we’d both thought about walking away.
“I’m so glad you took that step back,” I told him. “Because it made it all that much sweeter when we both stepped back in. And stayed.”
“I never trusted anyone like I trust you,” he said simply.
“I know that.”
“You reminded me of what’s important, when I was so focused on other things. I was obsessing about my career falling apart. And you brought it home for me. You reminded me how putting down roots in Vancouver, building family and community with my sister, wasthemost important thing. Probably the smartest move I’d ever made. You told me to lean into that. You were right.”
“Good. I’m glad you stayed. If you took off to L.A. or something, to pull together a band and record an album… who knows when we would’ve crossed paths again. I mean, maybe I would’ve hooked up with Dean Slater, and the rest would be history. I’d be having his juicy-lipped babies by now—”
“Jesus. Stop.” Johnny pulled me up against his body. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I shrugged. “Dean Slater has juicy lips.”
“I meant…” He slid a hand up my throat and grasped my jaw. “What the hell are you smoking thinking I’d let you hook up with Dickhead Dean Slater?”
“Baby, I like rock stars. It was time I ended up with one.”
“Me.It was time you ended up with me.”
“Who knows?” I said vaguely.
“Are you torturing me on purpose?” he growled.
“Yes. So you jealousy-fuck me later. I love it when you get possessive.” My heart was beating faster already. I could feel it thumping in my throat under the grasp of his hand.
He growled again and kissed me… deep, possessive strokes of his tongue, basically fucking my face. “Do not,” he breathed, after pausing to lightly bite my lower lip, “ever talk to me about ending up with another man.”
“Mmmmm.Jealousy.”
“You’re mine.”
“Say it again.”
“Mine.”
“I mean, you really need to wife me up if you’re gonna talk like that.” I was goading him, only because it was fun, and because every time he got possessive—when we weren’t in bed—I liked to tease him about putting a ring on it. Mostly because I knew he would, one day. And I loved fantasizing about how it would happen.
He pressed his forehead to mine and took a deep breath, like he was either sucking in my scent and relishing it, or trying to restrain himself from putting me over his knee and spanking me raw.
Maybe if I pushed just a little harder…
“Dean’s got a nice ass, too. I really think he’d—”
“Angeline Delacroix,” he growled, “will you marry me?”
“What?!” I yanked back to look in his eyes. “I thought we were kidding. Did you just pop the question?”
He didn’t even need to answer that. He just got down on one knee, magicked a ring out of somewhere, and presented it to me. “If you’ll stop rambling about another man’s body parts… please allow me to ask you to be my wife.”
“Oh my God! You did not let me just ruin this glorious moment by acting like a sassy brat!”
