Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
Aspen
I’m struggling for words after that little speech. I’m not made to stand up to this kind of relentless charm offensive. But the shrill sound of his phone ringing pierces the room, and he steps back to look at the screen, frowning when he sees the name.
“It’s Anson. He’s called a couple of times today when I couldn’t answer. I said I’d call him back when I was in for the night. I’m sure it’s about the homestead renovation. He’s getting started right away and probably has questions. You mind if I answer real quick?”
“No. Go ahead. While you do that, I’m going to take my shower.” A cold one. Ice-cold. Because I’m seriously considering his offer.
I can’t really be blamed for that, can I?
He’s my husband. In my bed. Offering to meet my needs.
Ones I’m fairly certain he’s more than qualified to handle, given past experience.
And if he’s to be believed, it doesn’t have to change anything.
In fact, it might actually improve things if we’re both well-rested when we have to work together on this project.
It could eliminate temptations during the day too.
I mull it over as I get suds up. It feels odd not to be at the ranch anymore, a place that felt like home even if it changed hands since the last time I called it home.
And while these penthouses are gorgeous and convenient for being able to meet with my brothers and a whole host of other odds and ends, like room service and a spa, it’s going to be another adjustment.
I hope Anson can make quick work of the updates to the homestead so we can get moved in sooner rather than later and at least get some semblance of routine back into our lives.
I spend more time getting ready for bed than I usually would until I realize what I’m doing and silently scold myself.
Bishop’s still on the phone when I get out, and I signal to him that he can take his shower when he’s ready.
He nods, grabbing some things out of his bag before he disappears into the bathroom.
I hear him rambling about some electrical connections and discussing a tile situation before he says something about the roof.
Then I hear the shower kick on, and I pull out my tablet.
I’ll play a game or read a book. Anything to distract me from thinking about Bishop naked in the shower.
Miraculously, the distraction works. I’m so lost in my book that when the bathroom door opens, I startle and drop the tablet before looking up.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Bishop gives me a sheepish look and moves to his bag to grab something.
I have no idea what because I’m too busy staring.
He’s emerged in nothing but boxer briefs.
Ones that hug and highlight everything. I tear my eyes away, forcing them up, and I see the flash of his dog tags.
His chest and his stomach are subtly defined in the most perfect way.
Not too much, and a little less sculpted than his arms and thighs, but still far better than my memories would have served.
There’s a swirl of black ink up his left side that veers onto the center of his chest, where there’s a smattering of hair.
“You’re fine.” I wince as I hop out of bed and pick up the tablet off the floor. I set it on the nightstand and then grab my lotion off it.
“I don’t know what the rules are around clothes. I don’t normally sleep in much, but if it’ll make you more comfortable, I can put a T-shirt and some shorts on.”
“Whatever you want is fine.” I shrug, carefully avoiding meeting his gaze.
“You sure? Is that what you normally wear?” he asks, his eyes shifting to my hands, and suddenly I realize why. It’s the same lotion as last night.
“Yes,” I lie as I glance down at the matching PJ set I have on.
I normally sleep in whatever old T-shirt’s clean and underwear.
I’m not ready for that level of comfort around Bishop.
I spent twenty minutes deciding whether or not to wear a bra while I went through my skincare routine and another ten fixing my hair so it hopefully wouldn’t be a tangled mess in the morning.
I’m going to have to adjust my schedule if this is going to be a nightly ritual.
“What did Anson want?” I’m desperate to get us off this topic.
“Anson just had some questions about structural things. He wants to know if you want any input into the aesthetics or if he should trust me.” He turns, seemingly doing his best to avoid staring, and suddenly his entire back comes into view in the freestanding mirror. “You have a preference?”
I’m struck silent by the art I see in front of me—a massive piece that spans his entire back, shoulder to shoulder, and down his spine.
It’s a vast forest with mountains rising in the background in a black-and-gray style.
But it’s the foreground that makes my words catch in my throat.
A singular aspen tree with bright yellow fall foliage.
“I can bring you options if you’re too busy with classes and Fallon’s extracurriculars?” He glances up and sees my face, confusion marring his for a moment before his eyes follow mine to the mirror, and he realizes what I’m seeing. He curses under his breath.
I clear my throat, trying to remove all the emotion from my tone before I speak. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting and watching for my reaction.
“I think if you’ve got a plan for the renovation, I’m happy to let you two decide. It sounds like it’s in good hands. Whatever you want is fine,” I say in the most neutral tone I can muster.
“Whatever I want is fine.” He echoes my words back to me.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
“I’m right here,” I argue. If I get too close to him, I don’t trust myself. Not after seeing that. Not with all the tension of the rest of the day, or with all the fractured images of last night replaying through my mind.
“You’re not right here. You’re over there having a moment.”
I make my way around the bed, glancing at the tattoo’s reflection in the mirror again before I stand in front of him.
I lean down to fix the edge of the comforter on the bed where it’s been pulled out of place, trying to find anything but him to focus on.
There’s so much skin, and his gaze follows my every move.
“Look at me. Please?” he asks.
I turn my head, forcing my eyes to meet his. My stomach flips when I do. His gaze pierces through like he can hear every thought I’m thinking.
“When did you get it?” I ask.
“A long time ago. Not too long after I left. Why? Will that make you hate it less?”
“I don’t hate it. I just…” I don’t know how to explain it, so I decide to show him instead.
I grab the waistband of my PJ shorts and underwear and drag them down to show him the tattoo I managed to keep covered last night.
His eyes rake down my body and follow the slow movement of the fabric as I uncover the second secret I’ve hidden from him.
One less life-changing than having a daughter, but one that’s going to speak volumes despite its size.
It’s small. So small you might miss it unless you know to look for it.
A set of hearts, arranged to look like clover leaves on my lower left hip, well-hidden by underwear or a bathing suit.
Bishop drops to his knees and runs his thumb over it slowly, teasing over the tender skin there.
“When did you get it?”
“At my bachelorette party. It was a dare. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I hated that I couldn’t stop hoping you’d come back.
I needed to stop thinking about you. I had to.
I wanted to be completely focused on the life I was building with my new family.
But I didn’t want to forget the good parts.
At least for her sake. So I could tell her someday when she asked me what her dad was like.
I got it to remember that time when we finally finished chasing down that calf and fell asleep in the clover field. Do you remember that?”
“Like yesterday.”
“When I woke up, you told me how pretty I was. You kissed me for the first time, so softly like you thought you were gonna break me. I wanted to be able to remember that story for her.”
He presses his lips to my skin, kissing the spot over the tattoo softly.
“I thought you were gonna break. Or slap me for trying.” He grins against my skin. “The way you kissed me back on that day made me think my heart was gonna rip out of my chest from beating so hard. I couldn’t believe you let me.”
“I had a crush on you for months. I was just too scared to say anything. Looking back, you were so clueless.” I laugh at the younger version of us.
“I was a ranch hand from the wrong side of the mountain living on borrowed time, and you were Kip Stockton’s daughter.
I thought I was imagining all the hints you were giving until you spent a whole afternoon in that field getting dirty and sweaty and absolutely miserable under that sun, trying to help me.
Then I figured there were only two options: you were inexplicably into me, or you had priorities that were strange as hell, and either way I wanted you. ”
“And now?” I ask.
“And now, through some peculiar twist of fate, you’re stuck with me for the same reason we were torn apart. So I’m going to be on my knees proving to you I can be the man you need.” He stares up at me, his eyes glimmering with the kind of hope that makes my heart flutter in my chest.
I brush a damp lock of hair back from his forehead.
“If it helps, the girl who loved you so much, the part of her that still exists after all of this… She’s still rooting for you.”
“And the skeptical woman with the guarded heart and the body that looks like sin?”
“She likes seeing you on your knees like this.” I smirk.