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“I think you’re a little overdressed, if anything,” I say.
And keeping her in my arms, I lift her up as I stand. Making my way out of the dining room and out to the pool deck.
Almost forgetting I’ve laid out the same candles and flowers outside.
Glad to see they’re all still lit.
The bubbling hot tub silently swirls as she gasps again, saying tonight’s been the best of her life.
I set her down and watch her slide into the blue-lit water that matches her eyes, and I start to undress.
Reminding her that every night, every day can be just as perfect.
All she has to do is sit back and let me do the spoiling.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Jen
“Have you heard anything from Abbey?” Kane asks the next morning over our late breakfast that feels more like an extravagant lunch as we laze outside on the pool deck.
It’s recycled leftover food from last night that Kane’s whipped up into even tastier dishes with culinary skills that would put our diner cook to shame.
I could be mistaken for thinking the man never sleeps. He’s been cleaning up after us and keeping the whole place looking like a showroom.
And with the amount he’s feeding me, I’m wondering if oversized tees might be my new uniform.
I shudder to even think about getting back into the clothes I wore when I got here.
But last night, I turned to snuggle with him and fell back to sleep almost instantly when I saw his own smiling, sleeping face.
The mention of Abby, my mom, or even phones, in general, would have been a sore point before last night.
But Kane showed me just how good a girl could feel when she’s a woman. Several times over.
And not just any woman now. His woman.
But when I let him know I haven’t heard anything from her, he looks concerned.
Making me hesitant to tell him about the long list of texts and missed calls I’ve gotten from my mom.
I don’t want him worrying about that on top of Abby going AWOL.
But Kane’s always thinking of my feelings too, so when he quizzes me if I’ve heard from my mom as well, I know I have to tell him.
Show him, really. It’s just easier to hand him my phone, so he can read the messages for himself.
“That’s my mom…,” I let him know as he stares at the screen, thumbing through each message with a frown before he finally clicks his tongue, handing me my phone back.
“I guess at least she’s clear in her meaning,” he says with raised brows, puffing the air out of his cheeks as I skim over her final ultimatum.
“Come home or don’t bother coming home at all…,” I read the message again aloud.
“I guess that’s about as clear as you can get,” I groan.
But what really surprises me is how much her message doesn’t bother me.
Not even the way it might’ve if I’d read it before last night.
