I’m not.
“The house is beautiful,” she tells me gently.
“The yellow looks silly, not sunny,” I grumble. My woman laughs, and sighs as if I’m causing her stress which just isn’t possible. “I should have kept the shutters a natural wood instead of painting them.” I scrub a hand over my face before my eyes go to those fucking window boxes again. “The plants in the boxes aren’t even real. They’re fake, and those fuckers were expensive, but now they just look cheap.”
Graycie turns, her legs angling out of the car, until she’s facing me. Her hands cup my jaw and force me to look at her. Our gazes meet and I’m lost, just for a moment, in her hazel depths.
Fuck, it’s so easy to get lost in them.
“I love the yellow,” her voice is soft, like she has to be careful with me.
Maybe she does because it feels like I’m on the verge of a mental fucking breakdown. Over a damn house. A house I’ve had and loved for years.
But now she’s here.
“It’s soft and sweet. It makes me happy.” I blow out a breath, but I can’t help but feeling skeptical. Is she really telling me thetruth? “I love the black shutters. I hope they really work and aren’t just decorative because it would be a shame.”
“Of course,” my words are clipped because I’m slightly offended that they would be anything else. “We can get some bad storms out here and the last fucking thing I want to deal with is a broken window.”
“Smart,” she chirps brightly. She looks over her shoulder at those damn window boxes. The same ones I’m glaring at as if I could make them ignite just by the power of my gaze. Unfortunately, I have not come into my mutant powers. Yet. “Those can’t be fake,” she muses before turning back toward me. “Really? They’re fake?”
“Yeah,” my voice is rough. “I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of planting something. I’m not really a gardener.”
Graycie’s hands move from my jaw up to my hair, her fingers running through the strands and I lean into her touch. It feels so damn good, so right, when she touches me.
“I think that’s brilliant,” she murmurs, her words soothing my worries. “I have a black thumb,” she giggles softly. “I would much rather have fake flowers.” Her eyes light up and I find excitement overtaking the worry and fear that she hates the house. “Can we change them for the season? And add in little figures?”
My entire body deflates and I lean forward to rest my forehead on my woman’s shoulder. “Fuck,” I breathe out, “you can do whatever the fuck you want, Graycie-girl. If you want to buy an entire gnome army, I’ll rearrange them as many times as you want. If you want all the fake flowers and to change them out every day, I’ll make sure you have the storage space and organizational means you so desire.”
When my woman laughs, the sound bright and filled with promise, it goes right through me. Suddenly, I’m not worried about the house.
Fuck it, it’s just the skin, the packaging. What it looks like doesn’t make this a home. No, that’s all her, my woman, my Graycie.
I turn my head just enough to kiss her neck, loving the way she shivers as my breath fans out across her skin. “Do you want to see the inside?” My voice is low, rough, and filled with need.
“Is there a bedroom in there?” Her question is coy and I don’t have to look at her to know that her hazel eyes are sparkling with mischief.
“Yup,” I pop the p and pull away from her slowly. She watches me closely as I stand to my full height and offer her my hand. “The bed is very soft, too. You really should check it out.”
The way her cheeks blush has my cock thickening behind the fly of my jeans. As if I wasn’t half hard just from being close to her and smelling her sweet, fruity scent.
She slides her hand in mine, and I gently pull her away from the car and toward the walkway leading to the front porch. I’m not thinking about carrying in what is left of my woman’s life. Not right now. Not when she’s so damn close to being in our home for the first time.
I can’t wait to bury myself inside of her in our bed, the bed I plan to share with her until I’m forced to leave this world. But, even then, I like to think I’ll find her in the next life, no matter what.
Because I was always meant to find her in this one.
I reach for the door handle and realize I’m going to need to start locking the door. Not that she wouldn’t be safe, but a locked door keeps even well-meaning people out, like curious brothers and very exuberant best friend and sister.
The last thing I need is for anyone to interrupt our time together. Someone might wind up dead if they were to try.
My heart is pounding as I show her the open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen. Tucked off to the side is a den, one I plan to make into a moody, cozy space for my woman. I want to give her somewhere she can curl up and take a nap, someplace she can find peace.
I even manage to show her the four bedrooms on the far side of the house and the two jack and jill bathrooms between them. Unable to help myself, I give her a fly-by of the powder room off the laundry room. The longer this tour is taking the more jittery I feel.
The moment I pull her into the primary bedroom, our bedroom, I’m on her. This kiss is all teeth and worry and need. It’s hot and hard and filled with promises and fears.
I can’t hold back because it might feel like days have passed, but my woman left this compound only hours ago. Then I was awoken out of a dead sleep—one where I thought she was in my arms—because of a breach in security that should have never happened. There’s no doubt in my mind that Ryker is all over this and brothers are going to fan out across the county to look for any sign of that fucking asshole.