Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
“The desire to run so far that he wouldn’t be able to catch up played through me, but in my gut, I knew he would. And somehow, it filled me with an odd sense of safety, knowing that, no matter how far I ran, he would always be able to catch me, and I would always want him to.”
— ELIZABETH MORGAN, SHE-WOLF
I ’d eaten my dessert first.
That was not a problem. I’d have the main course now.
We lay face-to-face, our legs tangled in the sheets we’d knocked every which way with our lovemaking, our hands teasing and stroking. Sonnet was definitely going back for more.
Her body was beautiful, all luscious, swooping curves and pillowy softness. It wasn’t perfect because she lived in it, and Sonnet didn’t hold back when it came to life. That joy marked her skin with little lines and dimples, souvenirs of her past that I itched to kiss. I looked forward to being beside her from now on. We’d do our changing together.
Fuck yeah. Fifty years. A hundred.
My wolf was optimistic, but a hundred years wouldn’t be enough. Nor would a thousand.
“Did you know—” she started. Then she stopped herself.
“Hey,” I said, my voice rough because it was hard to go back to words after what the two of us had just done together. “You got a fern fun fact for me?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why would I be talking about ferns at a time like this?”
I grinned at her. “Because you always talk about ferns when you’re nervous. Sometimes you talk about sedges and woodland favorites. Baby trees. I like listening to you, and it makes you happy.”
Seeing as how I was now palming her breast, the lush weight overflowing my hand, I wasn’t sure how much new fern knowledge I would be retaining. My hands were big, but her breasts were larger still.
So beautiful.
Sonnet’s face pinkened. “Is it weird?”
I tipped her chin up, dropping a kiss on her mouth. “I love it. I love you.”
“So, I can tell you stories about the large sporophyte and the tiny gametophyte getting it on to make baby ferns, and you’ll be all ears?” She wrapped her leg around mine as she said this, which just felt like a challenge.
I was up for it. In all ways.
“You bet.”
Gonna be some other body parts paying attention too.
“And you’re not having regrets?” The tone in which she asked this was less cheery and flirtatious than her fern talk.
Fuck. Is she crying? Fix it!
Shaking my head, I tried to find the words to explain all the ways she made me feel. Truly, I had a lot of emotions right now, but none of them encompassed regret or any of its synonyms. Hearing that she loved me might have been the highlight, but what had come after (pun intended) was almost as hard to forget.
We likely needed to do it again just to make sure it was good and cemented in our memories.
Remember the plan , my wolf whined. It’s a good one.
I studied her, wondering if it was the right time to ask her my questions. Everything had happened out of order. I’d shown up primed for conversation and sorting out our troubles. Pitching myself. Asking the question. Instead, I’d quickly been primed for something hotter and more intimate.
And while I didn’t regret making love with Sonnet one bit, I still wanted to see her wearing my ring.
Barbarian , my wolf accused happily. And our bite.
“You made me a proposal,” I said carefully. I’d practiced this speech in my head as I’d driven over, with my momma’s diamond ring in my pocket and my heart in my hand. I should have asked more questions about the acting craft, I realized. Not that I was intending to pretend or say someone else’s words, but I was realizing that I could use some delivery tips.
“Which proposal? Was it a dirty proposal?” She gave me a smile that was shaky.
“That we see each other secretly for a spell.”
“Oh.” Her fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on my stomach. “Oh?”
“Marry me,” I said abruptly. I’ll tell you what, I’d forgotten my lines. “We should get married.”
At least she’s not crying no more , my wolf observed.
He was right. Her lips had parted, and she’d made a startled whuff of air. Which was not, I couldn’t help but notice, any kind of emphatic agreement with my plan for us.
“Hear me out.” I tugged her closer. Because we’re never letting her go! “You suggested that we see each other in secret?—”
“I was only?—”
“Hush up for me for just a minute? I hate that idea. I flat-out hate it. Some of my hate is because it feels too close to lying to folks. I’m not worried about the ones we don’t know, but it feels wrong not to tell my brothers and your family our news. Mostly, though, I don’t want us to be a secret because I’m selfish. I love you. I want everyone to know that. I’m yours, through and through, and they’re gonna have to deal with it.”
My heart was beating so hard I thought I might have a fit.
And other parts of me were also hard.
I wanted her again. I wanted her yelling out my name and losing it for me. I wanted her begging me to touch her. I wanted to be hearing her cries of pleasure, and drinking in the sight of her generous, yielding body moving under mine.
So no, I wasn’t Mr. Smooth.
“So, let’s meet halfway. We’ll start out in secret, but only at first. I can work with someone to help lessen the blowback.”
She grimaced. “Like a celebrity crisis manager or an image consultant?”
“Okay. Sure. Just whoever you think can help polish me up some so that I’m fit for public consumption, and you don’t pay the price for my past sins. And I’d pay for it.” I wanted to be real clear on this last point. I had plenty of money, despite some people’s assumptions about Southern rednecks. My momma had come from money, and she’d left me the house and the thousand acres it sat on. Moreover, I’d inherited two million dollars. That money was just collecting dust in a bank (or digital mites or whatever it was money did these days). I’d be more than happy to use it to build a future with Sonnet.
“Maverick—”
“And I’ll sign a prenup and whatever else your lawyer wants. Your money is yours, and I don’t want there to be any question of that.”
“I know that,” she protested. “But if we’re a team?—”
“And we get married now,” I said urgently. “Before your shooting wraps.”
“Hang on?—”
“And I know this probably seems overly fast to you. And maybe it doesn’t make much sense, but I’m certain. I know in my heart it’s the right thing to do.”
“Hold up?—”
“I know because you’re in my heart. So, I want to do this right. I want to make sure you’re as safe as I can make you, so we’ll start out in secret and build from there.”
And...scene. I could sense my wolf’s unease. Had we done enough? Were we enough?
“Yes,” she whispered, beaming at me. Then she threw her arms around me and about squeezed the life out of me. “Yes, yes, YES!”
It took me a moment to understand that she’d accepted. I’d mostly only heard that level of enthusiasm when I was offering orgasms, not rings. THANK YOU, JESUS. The oxygen I’d been storing up inside me rushed out roughly in a burst. My wolf was yipping and yeehawing.
“Yes?” Say it again.
Would it be too much to ask her to tattoo it on her lovely ass? Or we could get matching knuckle tattoos.
She nodded, grinning wildly. “Are you marrying me, Maverick Boone? Will you be my Mr. Ruiz?
“Yes,” I said, grinning like a loon, beyond happy. “Yes, I will.”
Wrapping her in my arms, I kissed my bride-to-be. And then I made love with her again, taking extra special care of my mate.
Sonnet had fallen asleep after we’d made love for a second time. Now, as the sun rose, I retrieved the ring from my jeans pocket.
Sunrise , my wolf snorted. Sooooo sentimental.
He sounded pleased, though.
I slipped the diamond onto her finger where it belonged.
We could wear a ring. Let the whole world see where WE belong.
I curled up around her as she stirred in the nest of blankets she’d drawn around herself. Her curls were headed every which way, making a break for it, and she had a crease in one cheek from the pillow. And beard burn on her throat. I brought the back of her hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. She was my lady, and I was her man.
She gave me a sleepy smile, then her gaze snagged on her third finger. “What is this?” She held her hand up, turning it this way and that, mesmerized by the sparkle. “Holy shit, Maverick!”
She likes it. We should tell her there’s a tiara. And a choker. And some of those tennis bracelet thingies that don’t look like anything a sensible person would ever wear to play tennis.
I grinned, tucking myself tighter against her. “It comes from my momma’s side of the family. It’s a European-cut diamond, three carats, and graded flawless—just like you. Family tradition passed it down to the firstborn. Momma wore it, and now you do. Some day, one of our kids will pass it along.”
I was allowed some cheese thanks to my being a newly betrothed man.
When Rue and Mack had got together, I’d tried to give him the ring. He’d turned me down, saying, “That’s an old piece of your family history right there, and I’m new history. Your momma would have wanted you to put it on the finger of your someone special someday. She talked about the grandbabies you’d bring here, the kind of daddy you’d make. She was real proud of you.”
This ring made a statement. I’d considered designing a new one—maybe one with green stones and a fern leaf pattern—but in the end I’d wanted to see Momma’s ring on Sonnet’s finger. My family history was not without its flaws—my behavior being one of them—but it was a long, steady history of Boones doing their best and watching out for each other. I wanted that for us, plus the ring was a good one. More than any value an appraiser had assigned, it sparkled. It demanded you look at it. Mack, when she’d been younger, had tried it on and declared it to be a piece of heaven fallen to earth. On Sonnet’s finger, it did look like a star. This was a ring you gave the woman who mattered most in the world.
“You want me to have this?” Her voice cracked.
I nodded, happy she was happy. “This ring is yours.”
She sniffed. “This is mine. And you’re going to be my husband.”
“I am.” I rested my chin on her shoulder. We fit together.
Always.