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I blurt, “No. I don’t want to be on your accounts! We’ve only known each other for two months and change.”
“You are sending me extremely mixed messages, pumpkin.”
Stomping, I jab him in the chest with my finger. “I am not. You asked a question. I gave you the correct answer. Emotions were not involved previously because the correct answer is insane and something you shouldn’t even joke about considering. I could be a con-woman for all you know.”
Far too chill, he smiles down at my finger on his chest. “A con-woman. Playing the long game.”
“Not even. Long game would be dating and marrying you, then siphoning away your funds into a private account for ten years before either divorcing you or vanishing. It would be wearing too much makeup and batting my eyelashes to distract you when you mention prenups. It would be throwing a tantrum and saying you don’t love me if you insist. Two months is not a long game.”
“Should I be concerned at how much thought you’ve given this?”
I open my mouth to tell him I came up with everything I just rambled on the spot, but seeing as that doesn’t help my case, I snip, “Yes,” instead.
His smile tips a little too close to cocky for my liking. “You have given this absolutely zero thought, haven’t you?”
Removing my finger from his chest, I widen my stance and plant my hands at my hips. “My resentment of you grows with every passing moment.”
“I expect this task to be on my schedule within the week. As your boss, that’s an order.”
My spine straightens so sharply it curves backwards, a la reverse shrimp. “Oh. Oh, I see. You give your employees orders now? Do excuse my impertinence, m’lord.”
“M’lord,” he murmurs, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “That’s an interesting nickname to give me. It feels mildly suggestive, though. Are you comfortable with that?”
“I will put leeches in your pillowcase the next time I set up your clothes. Don’t test me.”
He splays his fingers.
I stare at them. “What is that?”
“Give me your left hand.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Will you go away if I do?”
“Reluctantly, yes.”
Groaning deeply, I let my head roll back as I place my hand in his.
The annoying sound of a jewelry case opening resonates in his pocket before he slips a stunning rose gold ring on my finger. The metal curls and twists, tiny leaf vines encircling a round-cut pale orange gem. At first glance, it’s beautiful. At second…it’s a pumpkin.
His grip solidifies when I attempt to rip my hand out of his.
“Let me go, you—”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. I already have. But start wearing this when you begin seriously considering saying yes.” He drops a kiss to my knuckles. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
My flesh absolutely crawls against the softness of his lips brushing me. “Yea, that the dread of seeing you hence may consume my blissful solitude.”
Freeing me with a laugh, he steps back. “I don’t want to go home.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s cold there.” He takes another step back, toward the stairs.
Half my attention fixates on the edge he’s blindly approaching. “Yes, a functioning air conditioning tends to do that to a place. I’m not amused by your bragging rights.”
