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I’m still frozen, waiting for his usual lash of rage, when the scent of vanilla sweetness wafts over me.
Oh.
Oh wow.
I blink, my brain slowing to a sluggish roll as I try to process how insanely good he smells and why it’s so much better than I remember. It takes entirely too long for me to realize that his face is calm and smooth, lacking any trace of animosity.
Oh, I think again. This isn’t a new facet of his scent. This is his scent. The way it’s supposed to smell when he isn’t stressed or angry.
Which he has been, every day, for weeks.
It’s an incredibly sad realization. It also sends a warm tingle through my heart. Because, if I thought his scent was perfect for me before… this is a whole new level.
Fresh peach perfume swells to fill the kitchen. I bite my lip, embarrassed, still waiting for his rebuke. But his demeanor doesn’t change, aside from a slight spark in his eyes and the twitch of fingers around his mug.
He opens his mouth to speak. I prepare myself to cringe back from whatever vitriol he’ll spew?—
“Good morning,” he murmurs.
… good morning?
GOOD MORNING???
What the?—
He waves his hand at the island, indicating the kettle sitting on top of a trivet and—oh my God—the bouquet beside it. “I boiled water for tea, if you’d like some,” he adds, still quiet and even. His blue eyes flash back to mine. “The flowers are for you.”
Declan Howard drinks tea?
And he got me flowers?
My mouth hangs open. I inch across the black marble floor, hands shaking while I touch the soft white petals bursting from a dark crystal vase. And I have no idea where or how he would have gotten them at this hour.
Seeing the question in my face, Declan gives a tight shrug and a lopsided flash of what I can only describe as a pussy-melting grin. “I stole them. The lady next door has a whole flower bed in her front yard.”
I can’t help it; I gape like a fish. Imagining Declan Howard, basically naked, sneaking into the neighbor’s yard at dawn to filch flowers for me?
Does. Not. Compute.
But he isn’t done absolutely flooring me.
His warm fingers slide along my jaw and up to the hollow under my eye. “You look like you got some decent sleep,” he muses, honest consternation in his gaze. “I’m glad.”
When I can’t manage to close my mouth, he smirks and presses under my chin, doing it for me. “I’m also glad you seem to like my selections.” He nods at my silky pajamas. “Those look perfect on you.”
Wait. His selections? “Mrs. Fleming leaves these out for me,” I sputter.
He cocks a brow. “Yeah, but who did you think arranged the outfits and told her which ones to put out for specific days? In case her capri pants weren’t a dead giveaway—she’s not exactly a fan of Lycra and leather.”
I’m stunned, blinking stupidly. “Why would you do that for me, though?”
His teeth flash in a grimace. “I had to manage the urge to take care of you somehow. And… maybe I wanted to feel like you had a little piece of me with you every day. Even if you didn’t know it.”
I smile down at my slippers. I should have known my clothes were way too boujee to be the work of anyone else in this house. All of this luxury and attitude? It screams Declan.
His face relaxes when he sees mine. He reaches up to brush my hair back again. “Did Ronan and Arch take good care of you last night?” he asks, still full of genuine amusement. “I could hear you. It gave me some excellent dreams. Where was our big guy?”
Our.
