Chapter 6
?
Well, frick.
Damion
Swears. Nothing but curses flit through my brain as I stare at my palm.
It’s been an entire sleepless night, but I can still feel her.
It was a cussing accident, because a swearing swear was hiding in the bushes by the edge of my property with a swearing camera. But.
Swears. Cusses.
I close my hand.
It was freaking perfect.
She is.
She is freaking perfect.
Breath leaves me as I fix my attention out the window, on where she’s standing in the September sunlight with Jeffry, worrying her apron as he checks out her car.
I should, actually, kill myself. Or, maybe, I should kill that guy and then myself.
My fingers flex before I pull them back into a fist.
Beautiful. Soft. Intelligent. Adorable. Diligent. Kind. Attentive. Anxious. Sweet. Thorough. Considerate. Cautious. Small. Pretty. Perfect.
My Mirabelle Peters.
My soon-to-be Mirabelle Anders.
More cursing rises in my skull, and I wet my lips before I swallow.
I cannot, for the life of me, concentrate while she’s out there with some guy she went to school with.
The way she’s smiling at him makes me irrationally upset.
But, worse, the way he looks at her makes murder seem like a plausible course of action.
Easy, even. Right now, while I’m watching them interact so…
comfortably, it is hard to remind myself that while I have enough money to make murder happen without consequence, I also have something like a moral code, which should stop it from happening, period.
Not to mention, it would probably make Mirabelle sad if someone she knows dies unexpectedly.
Amarella, Georgia gets enough tourist traffic to feel like a larger town than it is, but even I can tell that, at its core, it’s a close-knit community. Losing some young bozo here would cause a ripple, and that ripple would hurt her.
I refuse to hurt her.
My phone rings, and I grunt as I tear my eyes off Mirabelle’s light brown hair, cascading in flawless waves from the floral scarf holding it back from her face. I answer the stupid device. “What?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Forrest says.
I sigh. “Mornin’.”
“I take it you’re not happy about the news?”
My eyes find her. Again. Sunlight caresses her curves, which are ever accentuated by the way she cinches her apron.
Her skirt flares from her hips, and… I swear.
Everything about her is a drug made for me.
I have never seen a woman so lovely, so precious, so flawlessly crafted with my every depraved desire in mind. “What news?” I mutter.
“This news.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, so I pull it from my ear and open the message from Forrest.
An article.
A headline.
A picture.
My stomach knots.
After four years, billionaire Damion Anders is finally back to dating. So only one question remains: who is she?
My vision zeros in on the photo. My hand. On her. While I glare back, directly at the camera.
I cuss.
“Oh,” Forrest says, voice distantly rising from the speaker, “so you hadn’t seen it.”
Moving the phone back to my ear, I hiss through my teeth, “No. I hadn’t.”
“Is she the one?”
Breath whispers from my chest. “Yes.”
“Has she seen this yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How do you think she’ll respond?”
I scrub my hand down my face. “I have no idea.”
Forrest hums. “I guess since she hasn’t even officially started working for you yet, it’s too soon to tell if she’s the woman you want to marry?”
No. No, it isn’t too soon to tell at all. I’ve been in love with her from the first moment she stepped foot on my porch looking like a fantasy, smiled at me, and proceeded to methodically clean this place top to bottom.
Yesterday solidified the fact she is literally everything. Her brain is just… It speaks to mine in a way no one else’s ever has.
But.
Also.
I’ve only been blessed with snatches of her while she’s working.
So.
“Yeah,” I mutter, “too soon.”
“I assume you called the police on the guy last night?”
“Yeah. He was gone before they showed up.”
“Unfortunate. I also assume you don’t mind that I’ve taken the liberty off-the-clock and arranged to have that place fenced in within two days and security arriving within a few hours?”
“Sounds good. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. You know I love abusing your credit card and my position as your bestie. Sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news so early, though. You okay?”
I grunt.
“Do you think this will poorly affect your plans to see if Miss Mirabelle Peters is the kind of wife material you’re looking for?”
I sigh. “No. It’s…a good opportunity. To see how she can handle crap like this.” It’s just…
I’m very much already in love with her.
And if she can’t handle crap like this?
My gaze finds her. Yet again. Because it’s addicted and I’m addicted and she is…she is everything.
If she can’t handle crap like this, it will break my heart.