Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
"I fucking know," he groans. "Believe me, I'm mad as hell about it, too. I could be retired, chasing my wife around all day. Instead, you assholes have me running all over creation every goddamn week, dealing with some new bullshit. In my next life, I'm coming back as a rock. Don't gotta say shit, do shit, or deal with shit. I can just fucking sit there."
Chapter Eleven
Harlow
"Wade?" I frown, a little worried when I find him on my porch in the middle of the day, pacing in circles with his hat in his hands like he's losing his mind. He should be at the ranch right now, doing cowboy things. Judging by the mud on his boots and the dust on his jeans, he's been doing cowboy things. "What are you—?"
"Marry me," he blurts.
I gape at him. "What?"
"Shit," he mutters. "I'm doing this all wrong."
"I…"
He sets his hat on the railing before lowering himself to his knees at my feet. My heart immediately goes wild in my chest, beating like a war drum.
"I had a whole speech memorized on the way over here," he says, reaching for my hand. "And then I pulled in, and forgot every damn word of it. So I'm just going to say what I need to say, and pray to God that you say yes when I'm finished. All right?"
I nod silently, my mouth too dry to speak.
"I love you. I love you in ways I didn't know it was possible to love someone until you, Harlow. The minute you hosed me down and kicked me out of your bar, you claimed a piece of my heart. You've been claiming pieces of it every fucking minute since then. You're everywhere, every minute of the day, and that isn't going to change for me. I belong to you on a level that's so permanent, it's written into the stars, beautiful. And I've been carrying this ring around in my pocket since the day after you bailed me out of jail, because I know it's the same way for you."
"It is," I rasp, tears spilling down my cheeks. Every damn day, I love him a little bit more. Sometimes, for the dumbest reasons. Because he hums when he cooks. Because he's a terrible dancer. Because he can't manage to sit through an entire movie, but can sit on a stool at the bar, watching me all night long. Because he's kind, and gentle, and fierce, and unrelenting, too. Because, every day since I met him, he's felt like home and safety.
"I don't need more time to know that you're my future. I don't need months or years to know that nothing I learn about you will change the way I feel about you. I'm in love with you, every goddamn thing about you. So I need you to marry me, beautiful," he rasps, reaching into his pocket, only to hold a diamond ring up between his fingers. "Please."
I stare at him and then at the way sunlight catches on the ring. "That's not the speech you rehearsed?"
"Not a word of it," he says solemnly.
I wipe tears from my cheeks. "Still a pretty good speech," I sniffle, wiping tears from my cheeks.
"Good enough for you to say yes?"
"No." My heart clenches when his face falls, torment in his gaze. "But only because I don't need a speech," I quickly add, unable to stand that look. God, it's painful. "I don't need convincing, Wade. The day you took me to the art gallery, I decided to surrender to whatever this is and follow wherever you led. That hasn't changed, not once since then. I don't think it ever will. If you want to marry me, my only answer—my always answer—is yes."
"Jesus," he rasps, his hands actually shaking. His head bows for a moment before he takes a breath and slips the ring on my finger.
I'm not sure who loves seeing it there more. But the way he looks at me? God, my whole body lights up like fireworks, every nerve ending screaming for him at the same time.
"Please," I whisper.
He doesn't need me to say anything else. He knows. He always knows.
He's on his feet in two seconds, dragging me into his arms. In two more, we're inside, tumbling to the floor just inside the door. Paint smears across his face when he kisses me, wild and joyful. I just cling to him, not caring if we're both covered in it.
He strips me with shaking hands and fervent kisses. I'm just as shaky when I try to undress him. He has to help me because my fingers won't work.
By the time we're naked, I'm so desperate, I could cry.
I don't have to, though.
"Eyes on me, beautiful," he croons, crawling between my legs.
I lock eyes with him, my legs over his shoulders.