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I dissolve against his body, involuntarily wrapping my arms around his chest. My eyes close as I settle against his shoulder, living a fantasy I’ve lost myself to every day since I first laid eyes on Wynnter Winslow. I whisper, “Please stain me however you see fit.”
He vibrates with a brief laugh. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Except you don’t. Because for it to happen…you’d have to stop being your parents’ pretty little princess and come out here to the slums with me.”
My stomach knots as that unwelcome truth hits me in the gut.
“You gonna do that? You gonna tell ’em about us? Gonna say, But, Daddy, I love him, then run away with me if they don’t allow it?”
I take a breath, and it smells like warmth. Cedar. Gas. Leather. A man who works with his hands and rarely bothers pushing papers in an office while on endless phone calls. “I…I’ll tell them. Somehow. I will. I just…need a little time.”
“Time?” he murmurs. “How much time?”
I tense, because I have no idea. Telling my parents that I’m in love with someone they are avidly against in every way is probably the scariest thing I’ll ever do. How much time will it take me to get the nerve? “I don’t…know. By…Christmas? Surely. Surely by Christmas?” Which is less than three months away. Can I manage such a thing in less than three months when it’s taken me practically a lifetime to even consider the possibility that I can do something other than what they want me to?
He squeezes me, fingers fluttering against my bare skin before he pulls my zipper back up. “Nah. I don’t know why I’m bullying you. I’ll wait forever. It’s fine.”
“But—” He shouldn’t have to. And if he just…if he just told me to tell them and run away with him, I probably would. He just needs to tell me to. Command me to. Make me face the fear.
Instead, he pulls away, rises, looks down at me, then glances sidelong at the neglected rumple of dark fabric on the ground. Hooking his foot under the crumpled t-shirt, he tosses it to me.
Kneeling, I catch it, clutching the cotton in my hands.
“That’s yours now,” he says.
Starstruck, I draw it in close.
“It’s a bit dirty, but…you don’t mind, do you?” He extends his hand.
“No.” Shaking, I reach for his fingers, and he helps me to my feet.
Bending, he kisses my knuckles. “Visit me. I don’t care if it takes years before I can marry you, visit me.” His eyes plead. “Before these past few months, I’ve never been so lonely. We don’t have to tell anyone we’re together until you’re ready, but please. Promise me I don’t go another week of my life without you in it.”
“I promise.”
He kisses my hand again. “Good. Also. Despite what I just said, I am gonna do everything in my power to corrupt you so much that you won’t care what bridges you burn so long as you’re watching the flames with me.”
My flesh tingles. “You are?”
“Oh, Dece.” He straightens, drawing the back of a finger down my cheek. “Sound more hopeful, why don’t you.”
I sniffle. “I…”
He melts for me, swiping his thumbs beneath my eyes. “Oh, baby. Don’t cry.”
“I just…” I choke on my words. “I’ve wanted this forever. I didn’t think I had a single chance. I always thought…”
“That I thought of you like another little sister. Yeah. You told me when you were drunk. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I was trying to be…respectful.” Heated eyes that are anything but respectful take me in. “Didn’t want to scare you. Or…anything.”
“I’m sorry I’ve made you think that I was someone easily frightened.”
The corner of his mouth hooks up. “You haven’t exactly. I’m just keenly aware of how I am and how I deal with people. Even the people I like. I’m a bit brutal. Domineering, even.”
My lashes flutter.
He sighs, muttering a curse. “You like that, don’t you?”
