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“Okay.” Ransom’s hands tighten on my hips as he stops. He holds me to him, his arms encircling my waist, and then his hand sweeps up, and he brushes the mane of my hair back, baring one shoulder.
His lips descend there, and his breath is hot as he traces a trail of kisses from my shoulder up to my ear.
“You’re wicked,” I pant. “Absolutely wicked.” Desire surges through me, and my body is suddenly as hot as if the sun had been plucked out of the sky and sewn up inside me.
“I’m going to undo the blindfold now,” he says throatily. “Are you ready?”
“I think so. I’d be extra ready if it involved you leaving the blindfold on and torturing me.”
“Later. For sure. I promise.”
The satiny fabric slides away, and I’m left staring at the coffee table in the living room. It’s piled high with…uh…things. There’s one of those retro kettles and coffeemakers in seafoam green, a box with a lovely diamond necklace and matching bracelet, a gift basket filled with tea and coffee, candles, a freaking brand new phone in a sealed box, a tablet beside that, and an array of gift cards laid out to the right of the technology—spa cards, cards to fancy restaurants, cards for grocery stores and for a place that does wine kits. Next to that is a designer purse worth at least two grand. There is such an array on the table that it fills up the whole thing.
I turn around, and when I find Ransom’s eyes tracking my every move, the gray of his eyes like soft velvet, deep and filled with emotion, my heart stutters.
“I…I don’t really understand.”
He smiles at me, a little bit sinful and a whole lot magical, and a powerful wave of emotion sweeps over me. I don’t understand yet, but whatever this is, he’s proud of it. The excitement he’s emanating buzzes through the room.
“I wanted to have a gift for every Mother’s Day, every year that each of us has been alive. I wasn’t sure how many you missed, so I covered all the bases right from zero. There are fifty-three gifts there. One for every week of the year now, as it turns out, and with one to spare. I’m going to donate everything to a local radio station. They’re based in a neighborhood where most of their listeners aren’t affluent, and they’re going to run a contest where every week for this next year, people can nominate a special woman in their life to win that week’s prize. A special mom or sister, aunt or daughter, grandma or coworker, a neighbor—someone who has made a difference in their life or community. They’ll draw a name every week from all the nominations, and someone will end up getting spoiled.”
Be still my heart. Nope, no chance of that happening. My heart is flopping around in my chest like a squishy fish while the rest of me is positively melting. This is what it feels like for someone to just get you, for someone to look at you without judgment. This is what it feels like to start to belong to another person and to hold a part of them. I just feel…I feel like I’m going to cry.
It happens fast, the tears moving in until my eyes are soaked and burning. They overflow, spilling down my cheeks. I feel like my heart is now a fertile garden instead of a barren ground, and I feel like there are flowers growing there and sprouting all over the place. Wonderful. Beautiful. Soulful. Flowers. Flowers that were given to me by this amazing man.
“Shit,” Ransom says. He rushes to me and cups my face. “Shit, are those good tears or bad? I’m sorry if they’re bad. I know this was a risk. I’ve had my Granny with me to celebrate every Mother’s Day. We spoil her rotten, even though she claims to hate the attention. She never had any children of her own, but now she has five boys, and we’re most definitely hers, and she’s ours. She might not be our mom, but she’s our granny, and we always make sure that wherever we are, even if we have to miss her birthday or Christmas for a mission or whatever we’re working on, we always make sure we’re together for this day. She’s our mom in every way that counts, even if she calls herself our granny. She’s our all-in-one superhero.”
“Oh…oh god…” The tears keep flowing. I wrap my arms around Ransom’s neck and pull myself close, resting my cheek against his thudding heart.
This. Man. This man is going to be my everything. I just know it. I mean, come on. I’m falling. It’s fast, and it’s hard, and yes, it still scares the piss out of me. The fear is a frigid wind blowing through me, so icy cold that it could freeze said piss in mid-air, but I’m still going to go for it. There’s no stopping me now, not even the fear of fear itself.
