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“And now, you felt like it was all right to bring me here.”
He nodded. “But it’s not just here.”
Now, I was getting confused.
He took my hand and started to lead me away from the water, up along a dirt path lined with big, old oaks.
“You gave me something I can’t even put a name to when you put on that cut,” he said after a moment of walking in silence. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to give you in return.”
“The countless orgasms have been a good start,” I joked.
“Well, those were for me as much as for you, darling,” he said with a grin.
As the dirt path stretched out wider, the trees became sparser, and I could see a house at the top of an incline. It seemed we were heading in its direction.
“So, here it is,” he said, stopping at the edge of the dirt where a wide, concrete driveway took over and led around to the far side of the two-story, wood and stone wonder in front of us.
“A house?” I said, figuring I had to be misreading the conversation here. “It’s a bit pricier than a leather cut, don’t you think?”
He smiled and ran his fingers down the seams of the cut, where they parted between my breasts.
“You gave up some piece of your freedom to put on that cut,” he said, reading the situation far better than I thought he had. “I wanted to give a piece of it back. I wanted to give you a piece of mine.”
He pulled a piece of paper from inside his cut and held it out to me. But it wasn’t just a piece of paper; it was a deed to the freaking house. With my name on it.
“I don’t need a house, Brute,” I said, shaking my head adamantly.
“It belonged to my mother,” he went on like I hadn’t spoken. “It was her family’s summer home. She thought she’d been cut off from them when she went off with my father, but they’d left this place to her in their will. And when she died, it was left to me.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me a step forward onto the concrete drive.
“And since my mother died, you and I have been the only two people to ever set foot on the property.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t give a damn about the house—not the stone and wood and glass that it was made from—but what it symbolized? Now, I understood. And I was pretty sure I was about to burst into the kind of sobs that you can’t quite tell if the person’s crying or laughing.
“Do you want to christen it, darling?” Brute asked, waggling his brows and making the sobs dry up—thank God.
I nodded. Followed him up to the steps and up the wide wooden porch, but he stopped there and slipped his arms beneath me, lifting me up.
“What are you doing?” I asked when he proceeded to carry me to the door.
“What does it look like?” he asked as he balanced me in his arms and shoved a key into the door’s lock. “I’m carrying you across the threshold.”
I laughed as he pushed open the door and carried me through.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you get married?” I teased.
“We should do that too.”
He closed the door with his foot, then kept going, through the wood-paneled foyer, passed the cozy living room with a fireplace in the corner and a Persian rug on the floor.
“Um, what was that?” I asked when he said nothing more.
He shrugged. “You heard me, darling.”
“You’re wearing my cut, you’ve been living in one of my houses, and you now own the other one. I think we’re a little past worrying about the fear of commitment, don’t you?”
“So, you want to get married?” This day had definitely made a turn I hadn’t been expecting.
