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“You have no fucking idea.”

Neither DarkMatter man looked back.

Lachlan carried me across the garage toward the private elevator, and I looped my arms around his neck.

“So which picture was your favorite?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It should.”

His hold tightened slightly, and the elevator doors opened.

Lachlan carried me inside.

The moment the doors closed, I expected him to kiss me.

Instead, he set me on my feet and kept one hand firm at my waist, his attention fixed on the numbers climbing above the doors.

Whatever he was holding back, it was taking effort.

When the doors opened, he took my hand and led me toward the penthouse.

We stepped inside, and I abruptly stopped.

A trail of rose petals stretched across the floor.

For a second, my mind simply refused to move past the sight of them.

Pink, peach, and deep orange petals curved from the foyer, through the living room, and toward the hall.

Every wicked thought in my head disappeared beneath a rush of surprise.

“Lachlan—”

He shut the door behind us.

I turned toward him as he shrugged off his jacket and laid it over a chair.

“What did you do?”

“Why don’t you follow them and find out?”

I looked back at the petals.

He’d planned this before we’d left for dinner, before I started torturing him with the naughty photos, testing how much restraint one Irishman possessed.

Something about that made the gesture even sweeter.

I followed the trail to our bedroom and pushed the door open.

Roses filled the room.

Dozens of arrangements covered the dresser, nightstands, and every other surface that could reasonably hold a vase. Pink blended into peach and deep orange beneath the flicker of candlelight. Petals had been scattered over the bed, while a massive arch of roses framed the bedroom window from floor to ceiling, Manhattan glittering beyond the glass.

It was extravagant.