23. Peyton
PEYTON
Shopping with Daltyn Guyer is not what I expected.
For one thing, he’s terrifyingly efficient.
For another? The man apparently treats shopping like tactical warfare.
“We need to get you actual clothes for Vermont,” he says as we walk through downtown Burlington carrying coffee cups.
“I have clothes.”
“You have Florida clothes.”
I gasp dramatically. “Rude.”
“It’s September.”
“It was eighty-seven degrees three weeks ago where I lived.”
He gives me a flat look. “And now you live somewhere that gets snow.”
“Temporarily.”
Something flickers across his face at the word, but it’s gone too fast for me to fully catch it.
“Still,” he mutters. “You need clothes. ”
The first store we stop at smells faintly like cedar and expensive candles.
“Daltyn.” I tug on his sleeve. “We can go somewhere else. I really don’t need expensive clothing.”
He ignores me, wrapping my hand in his and guiding me around the store.
Within ten minutes, Daltyn has already found me several sweaters, seven different pairs of jeans, and four pajama sets that are comfy yet adorable. Somehow, he looks perfectly comfortable carrying an alarming amount of clothing over one arm.
Meanwhile, I’m still staring at the price tags in horror. “Daltyn.”
“Hm?”
“This sweater costs more than my electric bill used to.”
He glances at the tag. “Seems reasonable.”
“Reasonable for a billionaire, maybe.”
“I’m not a billionaire.”
“Close enough.”
His mouth twitches. That tiny, almost-smile does dangerous things to my nervous system every single time.
I sigh dramatically and head toward the fitting rooms, carrying an armful of clothes.
“You need help?” he asks.
I turn slowly. “With trying on pants?”
“You almost fell taking off your boot yesterday.”
“That was one time.”
“So?”
Traitorous warmth spreads through my chest. Because he remembers everything. And because he looks genuinely concerned that I might hurt myself.
“It’s fine.” I flash him a brave smile, still nervous about the cost of the clothing. “I’m fine.”
He stops outside the door. “I’ll be right here.”
The fitting room door closes behind me while I undress carefully, removing my huge boot so I can try on the jeans.
I use the wall, balancing awkwardly while trying not to aggravate my ankle. Or fall.
Lord knows, Daltyn would break the sound barrier getting to me if he heard a crash.
A minute later, I step out wearing dark jeans and an oversized cream-colored sweater.
Daltyn looks up from his phone. And freezes.
My stomach flips. “What?” I ask nervously. “Don’t you like it?”
His eyes drag slowly over me before returning to my face. “No, it’s not that.” He clears his throat. “It’s very… nice.”
Liar.
His voice sounds rougher than before.
Heat crawls into my cheeks. “You hate it?”
“No.” The answer comes out way too fast.
His jaw tightens slightly before he clears his throat. “You should get it.”
Butterflies explode in my stomach.
The sales associate nearby smiles knowingly. “We also have that sweater in blue,” she tells me. “Your boyfriend might like that color, too.”
My pulse starts sprinting.
Across from me, Daltyn goes very still.
I open my mouth to correct her, but he steps closer to me, his hand settling against the small of my back. Warm. Heavy. Possessive.
“She should get both,” he says calmly.
The sales associate beams.
Meanwhile, my soul leaves my body.
Three stores later, Daltyn’s arms are full of shopping bags while I carry one small, measly bag, only because I kept insisting.
“You know,” I say suspiciously, “you’re weirdly good at this.”
“At shopping?”
“At surviving shopping with a woman.”
His lips twitch slightly. “I’m an athlete. Endurance training.”
I snort loudly. The sound earns me one of those soft looks again. The dangerous ones. The ones that make my chest feel tight and fluttery at the same time.
By the time we stop for pretzels and coffee again, I’m exhausted. Yet somehow happier than I’ve been in months. Which is terrifying.
Daltyn carries most of the bags despite my protests. He ignores them entirely.
“I can carry things.”
“You’re limping.”
“I’m wearing a medical boot. I’m practically invincible.”
“Hardly.” He side eyes me. “I can tell it’s still sore. I saw the way you limped out of the dressing room.”
“I was trying on clothes. It was too cumbersome to keep taking the thing on and off.”
“Still, I saw it.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
A full laugh escapes him this time, deep and warm. “How?”
My stomach flips violently. God help me. I really like hearing him laugh.
“Because I didn’t have the boot on. ”
He rolls his eyes. “No. You’re not carrying anything more than that small bag.”
“It’s a pair of slippers.”
“Yes. Lightweight. That’s all you’re carrying.”
“Fine,” I mutter, earning another smile from him.
He likes me challenging him… but seems to like it even more when I give in.
We continue down the sidewalk together while the early September wind brushes through the trees overhead.
The entire town feels cozy. Warm lights glowing through shop windows. People leisurely walking around carrying coffee cups. Hints of orange and red creeping into the leaves.
Vermont is starting to feel less temporary every day. Which is a problem.
I’m still thinking about that when Daltyn suddenly stops walking.
“What?” I ask.
His expression goes oddly blank. Then wary.
Oh no.
“What?”
He points silently across the street.
My eyes follow the direction of his hand. And immediately widen.
Lace & Lavender.
My pulse spikes.
Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m going in there with him.
“No.”
Daltyn stays suspiciously quiet.
I slowly turn toward him. “No.”
“You said you needed things.”
“Not with you. ”
One blond eyebrow lifts slightly. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“Compelling argument.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Daltyn.”
“Peyton.”
“You’re not coming into a lingerie store with me.”
“I carried you through an airport.”
“That’s different.”
“I unpacked your things.” He leans down, his warm breath feathering over my ear. “I saw your vibrator.”
I shiver before I can stop myself. The heat of his breath against my skin. His scent. His closeness. And images of me using the vibrator while he watches.
Or better yet—using the vibrator on me.
Sweet. Jesus.
This is too much.
His mouth twitches again. “I’m going in with you,” he says calmly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It’ll be awkward.”
“For who?”
My eyes widen. “For YOU,” I hiss.
“I’ll survive.”
“That confidence feels misplaced.”
He looks entirely too amused as he guides me across the street, then opens the door for me.
Warm air, faintly scented with perfume and vanilla, wraps around us the second we step inside.
And every sales associate looks at us.
Or rather—looks at Daltyn.
Apparently, six-foot-two hockey goalies entering a lingerie store cause a public disturbance .
One brunette employee practically lights up when she sees us. “Welcome!”
Her eyes flick between us before a knowing smile spreads across her face.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
“We’re just browsing,” I blurt quickly.
Daltyn glances down at me slowly.
The sales associate smiles wider. “Of course.”
She absolutely does not believe me.
My soul is ascending.
Meanwhile, Daltyn looks entirely too calm standing beside racks of lace bras and tiny panties, like this isn’t psychological warfare.
Then his eyes land on a black lace set hanging nearby.
And he goes silent. Very silent.
Oh, this is a terrible idea. Because now he’s imagining things. I can literally see it happening behind his blue eyes.
His jaw tightens. His throat moves in a hard swallow. His eyes darken in a way that makes my entire body feel suddenly too sensitive.
Heat pools low in my stomach so fast it almost embarrasses me. And suddenly, the temperature inside the store feels like approximately 1,000 degrees.
“Peyton,” he says quietly.
My pulse jumps. “Yes?”
His eyes stay locked on the black lace before slowly moving to mine. “You’re enjoying this.”
I paste an innocent smile on my lips. “Maybe a little.” I shrug slightly, moving closer to the black lace that captivated his attention seconds ago. “You insisted on coming inside.”
Something dark flashes across his expression.
And for one terrifying second? I think the broody goalie might completely lose his mind in the middle of a lingerie store.
***
Thirty minutes later, I stand beside him while he puts his card back in his wallet. The brunette sales associate practically smirks as she hands me the bag. “Have a great night.”
I’m ninety percent sure she’s internally planning our wedding.
Heat still burns through my body as Daltyn takes the shopping bag from me automatically while guiding me toward the exit.
The second we step outside, cool September air hits my flushed skin.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Daltyn glances down at me. “What?”
“You were internally fighting for your life in there.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
I grin. “Oh, you absolutely were,” I say from beside him. “The black lace nearly killed you.”
“It did not.”
“Your soul practically left your body.”
“No it didn’t.”
“You stared at that bra for a solid thirty seconds.”
His eyes narrow.
I laugh softly, enjoying this way too much.
“Peyton.”
“What?”
“You’re being bratty.”
“That sounds like a you problem. ”
His hand suddenly settles against the small of my back again, warm and possessive.
My breath catches.
He leans down slowly until his mouth hovers near my ear. “Careful, Pey,” he murmurs softly.
Heat explodes through my stomach.
“Don’t push me too far.”
My pulse loses its damn mind.
And the terrifying part?
I’m not entirely sure I want to stop pushing.
Ever.