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“But you forget your children share that bed.”
Ethan stares at Ali for a long time. He hates when she does this. Uses logic to beat him at his own game.
Finally, he walks over to where she’s sitting on the bed. He drops to the floor and takes her hand in his, intertwining their fingers, shifting his approach. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He searches her face. “You’re doing something kind and I’m being a shit.”
“You don’t say?” The way he looks at her causes memories of what they’ve just done to flood her mind. The shower tile cold against her back, the scalding water hitting her just right. The sounds of their pleasure heightened by the echo of the room.
“I picked up salmon,” he tells her solemnly. “I wanted to give you your Christmas gift.”
Her eyes narrow. She could stay and make him happy. She could use the internet to do the session. She could postpone it until morning. There are a million ways things could go, but all of them would all lead in the direction of her giving up what she really wants. Ali knows better. “How about a rain check?”
A wry smile lights up his features. “Fine.” Ethan shakes his head and takes something from his pocket. “I guess you’re going to be needing this.”
He drops a tiny, clear thing into her hand.
“What—”
“It’s a fuse. Your car won’t start without it.”
“My God. You’re fucking crazy.”
She sighs as he takes a fistful of hair and pulls her toward him. “Crazy about you, yes. How else was I supposed to make sure you didn’t leave before I got back with dinner?”
“I can’t believe you,” she says, massaging her temples. Ethan’s a pain in the ass, but the way he fucks makes up for it.
“Alas, my evil plan to keep you here has failed.”
Ali pulls away and searches the dresser for her keys. Then remembers they were on top of her luggage, on the bed. “Marry better next time. And then I won’t have to go fixing your problems.”
“Bethany’s problems aren’t my problems. Not anymore.”
He watches in amusement as she leans down and peers under the bed, thinking they could be anywhere in this mess. They’re still in the process of getting the farmhouse situated. Ethan has his tools everywhere. Not that she’d complain. She appreciates a man who’s handy.
“Looking for these,” he calls from behind her. Ali practically jumps from her hands and knees. When she stands and turns, she freezes. Her first instinct is to hold her breath. And then she gasps, and all the air is expelled from her lungs. Ethan, on bended knee, smiles up at her, his expression devious. She sucks a deep breath in. They had a deal. They agreed to keep things light. Nothing serious.Thisis not that.
In his palm rests a small box with the lid open. Next thing she knows, he’s shoving the perfect antique ring in her face.
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“Liar.”
“Fine,” he shrugs. “But do you like it?”
She exhales slowly, and as she does, her face softens. Not because she is happy, although she can easily pretend, but because it took him longer than she expected.
“Ali,” he says, sucking in a deep breath. “I know it’s only been what? Six months. I get it. Believe me, I know this is crazy. But who cares?” He nods toward the front door. “I have to ask. What do you know about caring for and feeding horses?”
She’s speechless, although there is a lot she could tell him about her past, about her childhood. About growing up with horses and Donovan Robert’s affinity for breeding them. But her clients are waiting. And the past should stay where it belongs, in the past. “Everything!” she squeals. “I know everything.”
He stands and pulls her to him tightly, squeezing so hard it knocks the breath out of her. He slips the ring on her pinky finger. Better that way, than arealproposal. Men who propose to Ali end up dead and Ethan is quite happy with life these days.
“It’s a pinky promise,” she says, admiring the ring. It fits perfectly.
“So that’s a yes, then?”
“Yes!”
“You have no idea—you’ve just made me the poorest man in the world. Horses are expensive.”
