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“You need to relax,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my panties. “Get the volatility out before we get there. You’ll need charm and wit.” I don’t know what he’s talking about. Nor do I care at the moment. I’m buzzing, already feeling the sweet spot he knows so well and attempting to push his head towards it, as I close my eyes. “My cousin Ann is a bitch. She’ll hate you. She hates everyone. Including me.”
My eyes ease open, both of them focused on the ceiling until I look down at him between my legs. “Your cousin?”
“Yes. Our date. Jet. Home ranch. Christmas.”
My body scuttles up the bed, legs kicking out at him. “Home?”
He props his hands under his chin, watching me carefully. “Is that a problem? I thought you wanted more than just fucking.”
“I … Yes. But that’s …I wasn’t ready for that.”
“Surprise.”
Surprise? Oops and frisky and now surprises? This isn’t something you surprise a girl about. This is family and relationship goals, or it was when I thought that was what relationships were about.
My eyes narrow, hands clasping the dress he’s opened back together to somehow protect my virtue given this discussion about family. I’m not ready for it. Family means commitment and some sort of situation that might mean assurances or declarations I haven’t even contemplated yet. We’re not there yet. We’re thuds and heartbeats, both of us finding each other in a world of echoed storms we haven’t quite reconciled.
He chuckles and sits up, eventually walking out of the room.
“You can’t just throw this at me. I need to prepare, be prepared,” I shout to him, unsure where he’s gone or why in the middle of this conversation. “Frankly, I’d rather deal with Malachi’s idea of torment than meet family. Certainly if they’ll hate me.”
“That can be arranged,” he calls. “I’d enjoy it far more.” He comes back into the room with the bag in his hand. “But we’re not doing that according to you. You said you didn’t want to yet.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Hannah.”
“Gray.”
“Open the bag.”
“Why?”
“Gift.”
And gifts? I can’t cope with all this.
“I can’t do gifts in the middle of this. This is important. Why would you do this now?” I question, getting off the bed. “This is … messy still. We are. And the past is still there. Heather and-”
“There is nothing messy about the way I feel about you. Nor is there anything messy about the way you feel about me. Heather is gone. Stop being a lunatic and open the bag before I forget I’m still being gentlemanly and revert to type.”
I huff and stare at him, not at all bothered about his idea of non-gentlemanly, but seriously concerned about his lack of care for a situation I’m not ready for at all. It’s like he’s two different men sometimes. Emotional and impulsive one minute, methodical and absent of sentiment the next. And lunatic? I’m still not entirely sure that I’m not. Which is his fault. Although, this different I’ve now found in me is energising. Happier.
“I can’t fuck this gift into you.” He smirks about something and starts laughing, making me question what on earth just crossed through his mind. “And we’re not discussing what I’ve just thought about either, so don’t ask. Just open the bag.”
I sigh and reach for it, head shaking at him, as he carries on laughing quietly. All I find when I open it is some paperwork in a folder. I sit on the bed opposite him and start leafing through official looking documents, none of which make any sense to me until I see the bold print of my maiden name – Brantley – highlighted. More words trail after it. Something about legal rights and titles to future programs associated with bloodstock.
“Brantley?” I ask, looking at him. “I don’t understand what this is.”
“Next page. Open the envelope.”
I do, and a large photo of a thirty something lady standing next to a young black horse finds itself in my hand. Cute. It’s so small. Spiky ears. Long spindly legs. A handsome looking face, teeth on show as if it’s about to bite anyone that comes near it.
Smiling, I lay down on the bed, my legs kicked up behind me, and remember the ride we took.
“His official name is Booth-Rothburg Brantley’s Mischief. Hopefully a champion stud horse. If he develops how we want given his lineage.”
“So sweet.”
