He drops his head, his hands grabbing the back of his neck. “See? Things always workout.”
I nod. “Mmm hmm. But, you did a lot of damage. It was still dangerous, even without the fire. Some things are too much.”
King looks into my eyes. He takes my face in his hands and moves forward, so close I can feel his breath on my lips when he speaks. “I would never put you in danger. Never.”
“I know,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m still here with you and not taking out a restraining order.”
He snorts a laugh. “Baby, you think a restraining order would stop me?”
“Honestly?” I roll my eyes. “No. But youdidruin my entire office. And almost put me out of business with your clientcanceling antics. There are lines, Mr.--” I pause, grabbing his face. “Lines you don’t cross, even if you are my King.”
“Sorry, baby. You make me lose my mind.”
“I know you’re sorry, but it needed to be said. It’s still going to be a week before I can get back in my office, and I’m getting tired of working out of a hotel.” I squeeze his hand, letting him know I’m not still mad, but just concerned. About how out of control he was and still might be. King of Chaos is right. “And I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything. Name it.”
“Next time you get the urge to do something impulsive, slow down. Count to ten.”
“Really, that’s it? Count to ten?” He looks like he just got paroled. “No problem, baby. Now, let’s go home. We have some celebrating to do.”
Epilogue 1
Emee
One week later...
“We look good!” I insist, turning this way and that as I look at the two of us in the long mirror. We’re in one of the bedrooms of the house at River Valley Farm.
The windows are open, breeze that smells like fresh cut hay floating through the room.
“Youlook fantastic, baby,” King complains, looking at my ass in my tight Wranglers. And I have to say, paired with the cowboy boots, it does lookgood. “I, on the other hand, look like a fucking asshole.”
“No you don’t!” I tell him, snorting back a chuckle.
He’s wrong.
Well, sort of.
He indulged me with the Wranglers, then the snakeskin boots.
Then, the belt with the platter sized buckle.
And finally. The ten-gallon black cowboy hat.
I hold my expression flat.
Until I can’t.
“See!” He points at me. “I saw that smirk. I look like a fucking clown. I never wore this shit when I lived here before. Owning a farm does not a cowboy make little lady.” He tips his hat on a John Wayne style accent.
Laughter explodes from my chest and throat like a raspberry, and I hold my sides as I give in to belly rolling laughs. “You don’t look like a clown!” I sputter. “You don’t, it’s just… you look like a demented Roy Rogers.”
“Right, that’s it,” he growls throwing the hat like a Frisbee across the room. It hits the wall above the bed and settles on the wood floor. “I’m taking them off.”
“No don’t!Please.” I grab his hands, keeping him from walking away. “Please, I want this. I want you to take me for a walk around the whole property, like you promised. I want the whole fantasy. Farm. Cowboy. All of it.” I pout, adding, “Pleeeease!”
“You know, when you begged with your mouth for me to indulge you with this cowboy fantasy …” He sets his shoulders.
