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I sigh and close my eyes for a long moment. When I open them, the first thing I see is a tall, skinny wood vase on the counter, tucked in behind two smaller glass ones that hold cotton balls and Q-tips. Looking around, I find several other examples—wood framed art on the wall, a wood-handled brush hanging in the shower, and the wood vanity, of course.
Maybe those were all there before, or maybe Blake sees me, understands me, and doesn’t think I’m weird or should change.
Maybe he likes me not despite my weirdness but because of it?
I open the door and should turn right, back to the living room where he’s waiting. I go left instead and find myself in the doorway of Blake’s bedroom. The bed is neatly made with a navy and green plaid duvet, white pillows laid out at the head. It’s not fussy, just tidy—like the man.
On the nightstand, I see a poseable wooden figure; on the other, a stack of books and a set of small wooden boxes. I feel him behind me before he says anything, and I breathe in strength and exhale fear. His fingers trace down my arm to my hand, which he takes in his. “Zoey?”
The name I’ve heard hundreds of times, but the question in it is anything but easy. I’m not simple, but he’s taken the time to figure out my layers, fighting through the nonsensical labyrinth that is my head, willing to wait for me while somehow simultaneously making me believe in possibilities.
He’s given me . . . hope. And for a woman who doesn’t have that, it’s a precious gift. I let my head fall back to his shoulder, and his hands caress back up my arms, raising gooseflesh in their wake.
“You really put wood everywhere. For me.” No question, just truth.
“I did,” he agrees easily, never conceiving that I might’ve thought he was lying or exaggerating. But that’s what people do.
It’s not what Blake Hale does.
It’s not who he is.
“There was already a lot in here with the furniture, but I added a few little things by the bed, and in the other rooms. Amy and I went shopping. She helped me pick out things because I can’t decorate for shit. My plan was to put wood slices everywhere, but she told me I should be more ‘adult’ about it.”
As he talks, his hands trace along my skin—arms, neck, and even brushing my down-for-once hair over my shoulder. He follows the touches with small, sweet kisses that bring zings of sensation to my entire body, but it’s his words that make my heart race. “You did that for me?”
“Of course,” he whispers before nipping at my earlobe.
My eyes fall closed, and unbidden, the words fall from my lips in a plea. “Ask me. Please.”
He’s quiet for a long beat, his hands gripping my hips to control my swaying search for him.
“Are you sure?” he finally says, his voice strangled and rough.
I swallow my doubts, let his certainty wash through me, and nod. He spins me in place so suddenly that my stomach flip flops, or maybe that’s the reaction my body has to the raw, bare lust I see in his eyes. He cradles my cheeks in his hands, locking my gaze with his. “Zoey Walker, will you go out with me, Blake Hale?”
It sounds so serious, like a vow he’s asking me to make to him. Definitely not the booty call type of question I accused him of trying so long ago.
Was that only weeks?
How can that be?
I search his eyes, search my heart for any last arguments, but find only one word.
“Yes,” I breathe before I can stop myself.
He catches the word with a kiss, muttering under his breath. I think I hear him say, “Fina-fucking-lly.”
But I’m not sure because my heartbeat is roaring through my ears, my hands roaming over his body, learning the hills and valleys of his flesh as he ignites me with heated kiss after kiss. His hands release my jaw to tangle into my hair, guiding my head to gain access to my neck.
“We don’t have to wait until after the date, do we?” I beg.
His chuckle vibrates against my skin, tickling me deliciously. “Eager, are we?”
I flush, not sure if he’s making fun of me. He senses the change and pulls back, tipping my chin to bring my eyes up to his burning ones. “Zo, me too. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, scared to death that wreck had hurt you. I’ve been doing everything I can to give you time, holding myself back and jacking off every night to thoughts of you. I’m just so glad that you’re finally here with me. You are, right?”
His every word melts my nerves, his bold honesty turns me on even more, and I forget any logical reason I might have had for refusing us both this pleasure. More importantly, I forget all the illogical reasons. “I am.”
