What wasn’t normal was Hank making me stay awake in order to do it.
“You don’t normal y have any problem waking me up if you’re in the mood,” I reminded him.
He’d already taken off his other boot and socks and now he stood, turned to face me and went after his belt. This gave me a ful on view of Hank’s chest which was my favorite part of his body. If you didn’t count his eyes. And his lips. And, um, other parts.
“Want you awake and alert tonight, Sunshine,” he said before he grinned.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, instead he said softly, “Take off your nightie, Roxie.”
I felt my body tremble but other than that I didn’t move.
I was feeling weird. It was a good weird, a scary weird, an expectant weird.
“Why do you want me awake and alert tonight?” I repeated.
“Roxanne. Take off your nightie.”
“Hank –”
“Do it,” he ordered then he dropped his jeans.
I got a good look at some of the other parts of his body that were my favorite, one in particular, and I took off my nightie.
He watched me do this.
Then he moved.
* * * * *
I was straddling Hank, knees in the bed, my head thrown back, Hank deep inside me, his face pressed in my throat, his hands moving up my back. I slid up then down and I tilted my chin to look at him.
His head went back; I put my mouth on his and kissed him.
He kissed me back, tongues tangling, his hands went to my h*ps and he moved me up. My mouth disengaged then his fingers dug in and he slammed me back down.
It felt so damned good, with my lips against his, I gave a soft moan.
Now was definitely the time.
I ground my h*ps into his and flexed certain, secret muscles and I felt his soft groan.
“I love you,” I whispered.
His fingers tensed at my h*ps and his eyes caught mine.
“Glad to hear you say that, Sunshine,” he whispered back.
I smiled.
He fel to his back, arms around me, taking me with him.
Then, keeping us connected, he twisted us to the side, opened the drawer on his nightstand and pul ed out a dark blue, velvet box.
I stared at the box, my body going tight, as his thumb flicked it open and I caught sight of the diamond before he shoved his index finger in, pul ing the ring out of the blue silk.
He tossed the box to the nightstand, sat back up, stil keeping us connected, his right hand skimmed down my left arm, captured my hand, positioned it and he slid the ring on my finger.
I sat frozen, staring at the diamond solitaire on my finger.
It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t smal .
It was a normal, diamond engagement ring.
It was just right.
“If you let Tod plan our wedding, I’m takin’ that back,” Hank told me and my eyes flashed to his.
I stared at him, one beat, two then three then whispered, feeling the tears sting the backs of my eyes, “You’re never getting this back.”
I watched him smile right before he kissed me.
Then he rol ed me to my back and he finished what we started.
When we were done and recovered, he slid off to my side but wrapped an arm around my bel y, threw a thigh over mine and nuzzled his face into the side of my head.
Shamus, who’d exited the bed when the fun began, returned, did a little roaming then settled where he always settled, down my length, the opposite side to Hank.
Both the canine and human Nightingale boys, like they normal y did, pinned me down.
I flicked my thumb against the base of my ring finger, making sure I didn’t imagine it.
I felt cold, solid, honest-to-goodness gold.
I didn’t imagine it.
I turned my head to the side, found Hank’s mouth with mine and smiled.
“Happy?” Hank muttered against my lips.
I didn’t answer verbal y, I nodded.
He gave me a light kiss.
I felt the tears I hadn’t shed earlier slide out of my eyes.
So did Hank.
“Jesus, you’re a nut,” Hank mumbled, his arm going tighter.
“Don’t cal me a nut,” I whispered, my voice sounding scratchy.
“Sorry Sunshine, you’re a nut,” he replied. “But that’s a good thing.”
I decided to ignore that. Hank cal ed me a nut nearly every day.
And, for some insane reason, he did think it was a good thing.
“I need to cal my Mom,” I told him.
“It’s two o’clock in the morning in Indiana,” he reminded me.
“Trust me, Hank, she won’t care.”
And she wouldn’t.
Trish Logan would be over the moon.
Trish Logan would cal an emergency church meeting so the whole congregation could praise the Lord that her daughter, Roxanne Gisel e, had final y landed herself a good, decent, honest man.
“Cal her in the morning,” Hank demanded.
“Whisky –”
His arm got super tight. “Roxanne, cal her in the morning,” he repeated. “Tonight is yours and mine.” I sucked in breath.
Then I said, “Okay.”
He turned my body to face his, lifted his head and buried it in my neck.
I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.
Shamus got the hint and exited the bed.
Chapter Seventeen
We’re Good
Stella
I was drifting back and forth between awake and asleep.
In my waking moments I was visualizing my bank balance and wondering how much I could afford to send home to Mom and Dad (the answer I came up with… not much).
In my sleeping moments, I was dreaming of flying truffles, exploding confetti, Dixon Jones laughing maniacal y, Preston Mason showing me a picture book with gruesome caricatures of murders in it and Mace’s face fil ed with pain.
I came ful y awake when I heard the scrape of a key in the door.
Juno’s body jerked, confirming I wasn’t hearing things. I felt her come up to her bel y. As she was at the foot of the bed, I couldn’t see her but I figured her head was up, facing the door, ears perked.
I assessed my situation which was pretty much effed. I’d fal en in bed then into a fitful sleep without the phone close by. I had no weapons and I wouldn’t know how to use one anyway. The house was on a huge plot, no other houses close by and Swen and Ulrika were on vacation.
No one would hear me scream.
The alarm beeped when the door was opened. Juno moved again, the bed shaking with her bulk and she jumped down.
My body was rigid with fear as I listened in terrified confusion to buttons being pressed and the beeping stopped.
I was so panicked, I didn’t realize after the beeping stopped that I didn’t hear anything else except soft movement and Juno’s tags jangling on her col ar.