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“Have you thought about my question?” His question cuts off my blathering, and I gulp a lungful of air in relief.
He eases into the living room and bends down on one knee like he really is proposing with a ring and all.
Guess it wasn’t my imagination.
Which is why it’s all I’ve been thinking about since yesterday. Even during the game, my mind was subconsciously working out what I should do.
Well, that's not true. I know what I want to do.
I want to marry Heath. He's offering me everything I've ever wanted. A husband, kids, family. But is it right to marry him just because a dead billionaire gave me his family's property?
I don't know.
If it's what he wants.
“What's it going to be, baby?” he asks, gently removing the pen from my hand to set it aside.
There's a softness in his gaze. Maybe if there was an ounce of regret, of concern over me agreeing to his crazy proposition, I'd be able to turn him down.
But there's not.
There's only confident hope.
So I give him what he wants. What I want.
“Yes, I'll marry you.”
“That's my girl.” He smiles before it gets lost in a passionate kiss to seal the deal. Heath guides me backward onto the couch, his large body covering mine after carefully removing my laptop.
I groan at the solid weight of him pressing me into the soft cushions. Unlike our last kiss, I immediately wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer. I'm not going to mess this up.
Heath's warm palm slides under my sweater to cup my breast. The heat of his touch makes me shiver, and I arch into his embrace.
“Greedy, aren’t you? Don't worry, I'll take care of you. My sweet little Addie.” Heath quickly rips my sweater overhead, leaving me exposed in just my bra. It's plain beige, but he doesn't seem to mind, growling at the sight.
With a quick snap of his fingers, the hooks on the front come undone and burst free, my breasts spilling out. I’ve never been so exposed in my life and part of me feels the need to cover up.
Modest skirts and sweater sets have been my life since I became old enough to wear Gran’s hand-me-downs. It used to bother me—dressing frumpy in clothes meant for seniors—until their cozy comfort outweighed my miniscule fashion sense.
Besides, what did it matter what I wore when I barely left the house?
But that was before.
Before my inheritance. Before Heath.
I wish I owned sexy underwear rather than economical cotton neutrals. Maybe then I’d feel like somebody worth looking at with desire.
“God, you're beautiful,” Heath murmurs, shaming my insecure thoughts. Clearly, he doesn’t have a problem with basic underthings and jiggly breasts and bellies.
He drops his head low and licks around a sensitive nipple before drawing it between his lips to suckle. He alternates back and forth between each breast, each time increasing his roughness until his teeth are nipping at the reddened buds.
“I can't get enough of you, sweet girl.” His heated gaze runs up my bare body to meet my stunned expression. The obvious need in his voice. His tensed muscles. The hard bulge nudging between my thighs.
They shock me into silence. It’s like I’m essential to Heath. Like if he doesn’t have me—and soon—then he’ll combust.
And heck, maybe I will, too.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes at my good fortune. I'm going to marry this man as soon as he'll have me. And even if he’s not marrying me out of love, fragile hope blooms in my heart that we’ll eventually get there.
