Page 90 of Final Proposal

And in perfect Ford fashion, he responds in the way I need him to most. He picks up my hand and presses his lips to my palm.

“You deserve everything good, Ellery Sinclair. Laughter. Happiness. Love.”

If only I could truly believe that was true.

Ellery

Days blend together.

Mornings into days. Days into nights. Moments spent together working . . . and enjoying each other in every capacity.

What I didn’t expect was that one night I invited Ford to sleep in my bed to be the start of him being there every night.

It just sort of happened.

The next night he came to talk to me before bed. We both needed to shower, so logically we decided to conserve water. And then we may have lain in the bed with towels wrapped around us and talked for hours before drifting off to sleep.

And then the night after that, I called him in to look at an idea I had on my computer. He gave his input. He told me he trusted my decisions. And then he never left.

There was no conversation about the transition. No, “Hey, what do you think about me moving into your bed on a permanent basis?” It just happened.

And it happened in a way that didn’t allow me to freak out about it.

Even weirder is the self-admission that it’s rather nice to wake up with him beside me. There’s a comfort in him being there. A sense of companionship. A lack of loneliness.

“We can stay at the Sag Harbor house if you want,” Ford says, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. “I know it’s a drive, but if we do it together, it won’t be too bad.”

I inspect the freshly set granite in one of the suite’s bathrooms. The edge detail is right. The cuts are clean. The caulking straight. The edge detail craftsman quality.

I’m impressed. The installer did a great job.

Now to inspect fifteen more just like it but in different grain patterns. No two suites here will be alike.

“I appreciate it. It’s a good thought in theory, but even without traffic, we’d spend two hours a day commuting. That time could be better spent here.”

He nods. “I figured you were going to say that, but I wanted to put it out there. They do need to start work on your room though. How do you want to handle that?”

“I’ll move my stuff out. There’s not much. I can float from space to space that’s not being used or—”

“Or you can stay in my luxurious accommodations with me upstairs. Didn’t we agree that will be the last room since it has the least amount to change?”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. How ridiculous is it that it’s okay if he sleeps, stays, in my bed, but the thought of moving into his room makes me panic?

I’ll answer for myself. It’s completely ridiculous.

My smile is tight. “Sure. That will work.”

His laugh echoes around the empty bathroom. “Your expression looks like I just asked you if it was okay to amputate your arm or something.”

“It did not.”

“It did too,” Ford says as he moves toward me. His forefinger is on my chin, tilting my eyes up to look at him. “I would say I promise I don’t bite . . .” His lips brush against mine and have me reliving his nip to my shoulder last night. “But you know that’s a lie.”

The chuckle he emits vibrates into the ache forming between my thighs.

Who thought a love bite could be such a turn-on?

“Are you trying to distract me, Ford?”