“You do?” I ask, shocked.
“Yeah, and it doesn’t matter now. We came out on top in the end.”
“Yeah, I reckon we did.”
She settles back down and starts to rub her hand on my torso. “Do you think my flowers will make it?”
I smile into the darkness around us. “Not sure, Em. Doesn’t matter, though. I need to call in the morning and get your last couple of deliveries moved here.”
She jerks in my arms. “There’s more?” She gasps.
“Two more.”
“Two more,” she breathily repeats.
“Yeah, baby. One thousand five hundred and twelve in total. That’s roughly one rose for every day I’ve missed since the night you graduated.”
Her silence stretches out so long I wonder if she fell asleep, but when her breath hitches violently in her throat, I adjust our bodies so I can see her tear-streaked face.
“Ember?”
“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she sobs.
Without a clue as to how to calm her down, I frame her face and just kiss her deeply.
I HANG UP MY PHONE feeling like, if he were in the same room as I was, I would physically hurt my father. When I showed up at my house two days after the fire—one that had been ruled an accident by faulty wiring—to find him directing a cleaning crew and movers, I snapped. Well, actually, I just gave him a hard look and got into my car to head back to Nate’s without a word. With my show only a few days away, I need to focus on making sure everything is in order with Annabelle and the gallery.
But now, hearing that he’s already hired contractors and the likes, without talking to me, I’m about to blow a fuse.
“You okay?” Nate asks, coming behind me and wrapping his arms around my chest. The scent of his deliciousness distracts me from why I was in a mood to begin with.
“Fine,” I breathe, trying to take more of his scent in.
“You know, I learned really fast with a sister that when a woman says that word, she means the opposite, but at the risk of making you more upset, I’m just going to leave it at that.”
I sigh. “It’s my dad. He’s taken over the rebuild at my house and even went as far as to move everything I own into storage.”
He hums but doesn’t respond. Instead, I feel his hand start to push up my shirt.
“Nate,” I groan, pushing his hand when I realize something. “Nate!” I try again when he doesn’t stop.
“What?” he says against my neck, biting the flesh between his teeth.
“Stop trying to distract me,” I attempt but only end up moaning shamelessly when he cups my sex through my leggings and starts to move his fingers around through the fabric.
“You like it.”
“Stop,” I pant, shoving out of his wicked hands and turning.
His eyes are burning and his chest is rapidly moving when I look up at him. My eyes move from his chest to the sweatpants that are riding low on his hips, the erection tenting the fabric jerks when my eyes hit it, and I feel a noise deep in my throat in response.
“You’re trying to distract me with your talented fingers and huge penis, aren’t you?”
His face doesn’t lose its intensity, but his lips twitch at my words.
“Do you know why my father moved everything I own into storage?”
He sighs. “I don’t know for sure, but I can only assume.”
“And your assumption would be what?”
“That he’s doing what he would have done in my shoes, taking a guess at what I want, and doing it correctly.”
“You’re talking in riddles,” I whine, tossing my hands up with a huff.