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‘What are you doing?’ I ask, putting up a little resistance when Becker tugs me towards him, still watching his dog.
‘He needs to learn who you belong to.’
I pull back. ‘Becker, this—’
‘Jesus, princess, don’t fight me. He’ll think I’m attacking you.’
I stop struggling and allow Becker to pull me onto his lap, all under Winston’s close observation. ‘He looks pissed off,’ I say, following Becker’s slow approach as he blindly negotiates my legs around his waist, turning me into him so I’m straddling his lap. I lose my sight of Winston. I’m not cool with that at all, not when he’s so . . . volatile.
Once Becker has me where he wants me, I glance over my shoulder and find Winston hasn’t moved a muscle. ‘Mine,’ Becker declares crisply, skating his palms to my bum and squeezing. ‘All of it, boy. Get used to it.’
Woof!
‘Share?’ He questions. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Woof!
‘I’ll let you cuddle her,’ he goes on, and I smile, totally endeared by the conversation he’s having with his dog. ‘But you will remember who she belongs to.’
Winston whimpers dejectedly, as if completely understanding what Becker is saying.
‘You want a cuddle now?’ he asks, and Winston releases another whimper, this one pleading. ‘Come on then.’ Becker pats the mattress next to us, and it takes Winston no time at all to catapult his heavy body up onto the bed. We jolt as a result of his landing, and I laugh, feeling his wet tongue attack my back.
‘Hey,’ Becker scolds sharply. ‘I said you could cuddle her. I said nothing about kissing.’
I release Becker’s shoulders and give Winston some fuss, scratching at his ears until he caves under the pleasure and collapses to his side beside us. ‘You’re so cute,’ I coo.
‘But not as cute as me, eh?’
Chuckling, I take my spare hand to Becker’s head and muss up his hair before scratching behind his ear. ‘Not as cute as you,’ I confirm, bringing the sweetest smile to his handsome face.
‘I adore you, woman.’ He hauls me forward and demonstrates how much, cuddling me fiercely. ‘I fucking adore you.’
I smile into his shoulder, returning his clinch. ‘Super,’ I breathe, something catching my eye – something glimmering from Winston’s collar. ‘What’s that?’
I sit up and reach forward, turning Winston’s collar on his neck until Becker’s mother’s ring sparkles up at me.
Becker laughs and unfastens the buckle. ‘Who put that there, boy?’ he asks, but Winston just looks up through droopy eyes. I’m sure if dogs could shrug, he would. Becker fingers the ring for a few moments, lost in thought. Then he looks at me as he holds it out. ‘Can I?’ he asks nervously.
I say nothing, just nod and hold out my hand, letting him slide his grandmother’s emerald ring back onto my finger.
Where it should be.Chapter 31It’s the day of the annual Andelesea Gala. Things have been quiet around The Haven the past couple of days, the atmosphere heavy, and I’ve lost myself in work in an attempt to hide from it, despite it being Saturday. Gramps is on his feet, but Mrs Potts is keeping close by his side. His walking stick, however, isn’t. One can only assume it’s still hidden in the wall, and I’ve had to force myself to stop thinking about whether Becker knows where that hiding place is. The old man is quietly pensive. Ghosts are clearly back to haunt him. And Becker.
I’ve spent the past few hours in Becker’s apartment, slowly getting ready. The winning dress is like a second skin, and the shoes comfier than the height of the heel would suggest. I glance down and smile at the nude Choos.
‘Fuck . . . me . . .’ A stunned voice hits me from behind, and I whirl around, finding Becker adorned in a black tuxedo, looking like he might have just fallen from Heaven. Good lord, he looks unfathomably handsome. And angelic. My Saint Sinner.
My fiancé.
He looks just about as perfect as perfect is possible. Gorgeous. The fact that his bow tie is simply hanging around his neck only adds to his already ridiculous sex appeal. Jesus, I could eat him alive.
Just like that time in the revolving door, he stands, stance wide, hands in his pockets, and accepts the close scrutiny that he’s under. His good looks are dangerous on the best of days. Tonight, in that tux, he’s lethal. I won’t be able to take my eyes off him all night.
Lifting my delighted gaze, I find his face. He still has his scruff, and his hair is a roughed-up mess atop his beautiful head. And his glasses . . .
I sigh happily and fall into a daze, mentally undressing him as I reach up and put my earring in. ‘You look edible,’ I confess, no holding back. My fiancé is plain fucking magnificent.
