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I can't blame her for not noticing the rose petals when we came out of the bathroom. A peeping ersehole had distracted us both. Now, she surveys the room and everything I have set up for her, including candles on the dresser and the bedside table as well as a silver tray on the table that holds a plate of strawberries and a fondue bowl brimming with liquid chocolate, alongside a bottle of Cristal champagne.
When I sit down beside her, the bed jostles, the mattress sinking under my weight. I sweep my fingers down her cheek and let my thumb fall onto her lips. "This was the other part of your surprise."
"It's amazing." Erica picks up a rose petal and buries her nose in it, inhaling deeply. She skates the petal over her lips, then uses it to tickle my mouth, making my lips twitch. She twirls the petal in the air. "Thank you. I love all of my surprise."
"You're exhausted." I blow out the candles on the table. With only the ones on the dresser for illumination, shadows engulf us. "I can recreate this for you tomorrow night."
"I'm okay."
I nod at the arm propping her up. "Your arm's shaking."
"I'm still okay to—"
"No." I pat the mattress behind her. "Lie down. We're going to sleep."
"We?"
I tap a finger on her forehead. "Lie back."
She sprawls on her back amid the roses.
And I crawl over her body to stretch out alongside her, curling an arm around her shoulders to draw her close.
She turns onto her side, her head tucked against my shoulder, one hand on my chest. Her palm rises and falls with my every breath. "Tell me, why do you get so angry at Presley?"
I snort. "He harasses you, spies on you, upsets you so much you shake. And you wonder why I'm angry?"
"Good point." She sighs. "Truthfully, I kind of like it when you throttle him. Does that make me a bad person?"
"Truthfully…" I slide my fingers into her hair, combing them through the silken locks. "I rather enjoy throttling him. Am I bad, then, too?"
"No." She wriggles to snuggle even closer to me, her warm body cradled to mine. "You're not bad. You're very, very good."
I exhale a groaning sigh. "Never been a violent man, but that—that—"
"Scunner?"
"I was going to say 'ersehole,' but scunner works too." I wrap my arm tighter around her. "He's a bully, and I hate bullies. No one should try to bend another to their will just for the sake of control."
"Mm." She seems to have grown sleepy, her body slack and her eyes half-closed.
"Sleep now, sweet."
I thread my fingers through her hair again, hoping to soothe her with the gentle rhythm of the movements. Her eyelids flutter shut, and her breathing grows shallower.
Why do I assault her ex whenever I see him? He's a bastard, but I've met my share of scunners like Presley. I don't lash out at them. Yet I can't restrain myself when thatcacanharasses Erica.
I am not in love with her.
She murmurs in her sleep, nestling closer to me.
My chest aches, but that means nothing. I can't love her.
Erica will be better off when I leave.
Chapter Twenty-Two
In the morning, Erica and I relax on the living-room sofa while we share a breakfast that isn't quite healthy—chocolate-chip pancakes slathered in maple syrup with whipped cream on top and crispy bacon on the side. When I woke up this morning, I decided Erica needs comfort food, not bran muffins and prunes. I don't eat either of those things, anyway. I had never tasted chocolate-chip pancakes until today. Erica suggested them, and I will give her anything she wants.
