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But had she? That was the question that haunted her. Confused her. Tangled up her heart and emotions and made her wonder if maybe, possibly, she’d given up much too soon on convincing Maddux that they might be able to take everything good about their time together and build a steady, permanent relationship from there based on creating happy, fun memories, that helped to ease the dark, painful past.
She wanted that for Maddux. She wanted it with Maddux. She didn’t want them to end like a tragic fairy tale. She desperately wanted her happily ever after with him.
The doorbell rang, startling her out of her thoughts. She wasn’t expecting company, and she stood up and grimaced as she glanced down at the dusty, faded jeans and plain T-shirt she was wearing. She’d run her fingers through her hair so many times in the past few hours, she knew it was probably a tousled mess, and she didn’t have a lick of makeup on.
Not that she needed to impress anyone, she thought as she walked to the entryway, where she glanced out the peephole . . . and gasped when she saw Maddux standing on the other side. Her heart raced with anticipation and hope. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing here when everything between them had been silent for the past week, but she was curious enough to find out that she opened the door.
God, he looked so good. So gorgeous and golden and sexy, and it took restraint not to throw herself into his big, strong arms, just to feel him hold her again so she no longer felt so alone in the world.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low and husky as his warm gaze roamed over her face, as if taking in every feature, every detail. “Can I come in?”
Her mouth had gone dry, and since speaking at the moment was difficult, she nodded and opened the door wider for him to enter, then shut it behind him. She led the way into the living room and turned around to find him frowning as he took in the dozens of boxes stacked everywhere before refocusing his attention on her.
“How are you?” he asked, tapping a dark yellow legal-sized envelope against his palm, the gesture almost . . . nervous.
“I’m okay,” she replied, wondering how his gunshot wound was faring, which she’d thought about often since that night. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Getting better.” He gave her a tentative smile. “Still sore, but manageable.”
“Good.” She was glad to hear there hadn’t been any permanent damage.
His gaze kept traveling back to the disarray in her living room and all the sealed cartons in the vicinity. When he finally looked directly at her again, she didn’t miss the flicker of worry that passed across his features. “Are you going somewhere?”
“No . . . yes.” The idle chitchat set her on edge, and she swallowed back the frustration rising to the surface. “Most of these boxes are my father’s things, which I’m going to put into storage for now, but yes, I’ll be moving soon to a smaller apartment so you can do whatever you want with this place. You can lease it or sell it. Whatever benefits you the most. I should be out in a month.”
He was quiet, his expression intense, and that envelope still tapped away, increasing her own anxiety because it was difficult to stand right in front of the man of her dreams, knowing he was probably there to claim the property that was his, when all she wanted was him.
“Maddux . . . why are you here?” she flat-out asked him, needing to be put out of her misery already. Whatever he’d come there for, she’d give it to him, and then he could be on his way, and she could fall apart all over again once he was gone. Her heart was already tearing into shreds at the thought.
He exhaled a deep breath. “I wanted to deliver something to you, in person. Two things, actually,” he amended, and extended the envelope toward her. “First, this.”
She opened the flap and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Right on the front page, she caught the words “transfer of all listed assets to Arabella Cole,” and beneath that, the complete list of all her father’s possessions and property that had been signed over to Maddux a few days after he’d secured all of her dad’s debt.
She shook her head in confusion. “What is this?”
He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his pants. “All your father’s assets and property, it’s all yours, Arabella. I’m giving it all back to you, and you can do whatever you want with all of it. It doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to you.”
Shock rippled through her as she blinked up at him. “What about the three million dollars you paid to clear my father’s debt?”
A slight smile touched the corners of his mouth, and more than anything, she wanted to see it bloom into a full-fledged, sensual grin. “I’ll write it off as a financial loss on my end. I don’t want or expect anything in return.”
The selfless gesture spoke to his character, but she would have given up everything all over again just to be with him. She knew that now her heart was on board . . . but was it too late?
Remembering he’d mentioned two things he was there for, she set the envelope and paperwork down on the coffee table and braced herself for the second part for his visit. “And the other thing you wanted to deliver?” she prompted.
“Oh, yeah, that . . . it’s nonnegotiable.”
She saw the steely determination in his gaze, witnessed the change in his demeanor that shifted his personality from kind and caring to pure alpha male in just a few beats. The word nonnegotiable meant whatever he wanted to ask her or give her or whatever was not up for discussion. She wasn’t surprised that this assertive side to Maddux triggered a rush of heat to pour through her veins.
She licked her bottom lip, feeling as though things were taking a very seductive turn between them. “What is it?” she asked.
“A proposal,” he said, drawing out the word so she couldn’t mistake the sensual intent.
Wait . . . what? She thought about what he was asking, what he was suggesting, and she couldn’t fight the disappointment when she figured out what he meant. “A proposal . . . as in, you want me to be your mistress?” Because she couldn’t think of anything else he might want from her.
He shook his head, and with his fingers beneath her chin, he tipped her head back until her eyes locked on his. “No, not my mistress, Bella,” he said, smiling. “A proposal . . . as in, I want you to be my lover. My fiancée. And someday, my wife. I know this is quick, but I don’t want you to doubt for a second how much I want you and care about you and . . . I love you.”
