“I did, but...” She shook her head, then nodded. “Why? You don’t want this—”
“I might have not have known it a week ago, but yeah, I do want this.” His hand cupped her cheek, his voice warm and sincere. “We’ll be good together, Princess. You might have to—” The stove timer beeped and Ryder jumped up, opening the oven to pull out whatever was cooking. The scent of garlic quadrupled, and her stomach clenched violently as Ryder placed a pan of lasagna on the plate trivet in front of her.
“Oh, God.” She covered her mouth. She was not going to toss her cookies in the middle of Ryder’s proposal. She stood, ready to run for the bathroom.
“Annabeth...” The anguish in his voice made her pause.
Here was this gorgeous man, wearing her apron and mism
atched oven mitts, cooking a romantic dinner for them...asking her to marry him. And her stomach was going to rebel any second.
“I need a minute.” She held up a finger.
“I know I ran out on you, but I won’t ever do it again.” He threw the oven mitts over his shoulders, crossed the room in two big steps and gripped her shoulders. “I don’t mind spending all night convincing you how right we are,” he murmured, drawing her close as he bent his head.
Oh no. “Ryder, stop!” She pushed against his wall of a chest right before she threw up all over the kitchen floor.
* * *
RYDER KNEW NOW was not the time to laugh. But, damn, it took everything he had not to. One look at her horrified expression and he couldn’t resist a slight chuckle. “Is it me?” he teased.
She scowled at him. “You could say that.” She pointed to her stomach.
For some reason, that made him laugh. “Already causing trouble.”
She sighed, stepping away from the mess on the floor. “I’ll get the mop.”
“You lie down. I’ll clean this up.”
She stared at him, so tired and frail looking his heart hurt. “I can do it, Ryder.”
“You can.” He sighed, stepping over the mess. “But you don’t have to. I’ve got this.”
She frowned at him but didn’t fight as he led her to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, too pale for his liking. He knelt to remove her boots. His fingers stroked along her calf before pulling her foot free. He smiled as she stretched and wiggled her toes. It was impossible not to stroke the arch of her left foot, to resist touching her. He looked up, swallowing at the sight that greeted him.
Annabeth’s eyes were closed, her toes arching as he massaged her foot. She looked sexy as hell, her fingers gripping the quilt, the slight part of her lips, and hiss of her breathing. He could imagine laying her back on the big, empty bed and worshipping every inch of her. He drew in a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time. Instead, he pulled off her other boot and kneaded her foot until she groaned.
“I’m not tired,” she murmured.
He released her foot and stood, freeing her golden hair from its long braid. She could barely keep her eyes open. “Sure you’re not.”
Her hazel eyes met his. “I need to take a shower first.”
He forced himself to walk the few steps from her small bedroom to the tiny bathroom. After he’d cleared an army of bath toys from the tub, he filled it with warm water and lemon-scented bubbles. Annabeth-scented bubbles.
He poked his head into her bedroom to find her sitting in exactly the same place. She was staring at the floor, looking deflated. “Bubble bath’s ready.”
Her surprise was evident, but her delighted smile was huge. “Thank you.”
He winked at her, wishing there was more he could do. How was he going to convince her he’d take some of the weight off her shoulders? He had no idea.
Once she’d closed the bathroom door behind her, he cleaned up the kitchen floor and sealed the lasagna and garlic bread in a Tupperware container. When that was done, he paced the length of the house. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d pictured tonight. But she hadn’t turned him down, not yet.
“You’re going to wear a hole through the wood floor,” Annabeth called from the bathroom.
“I can fix that,” he called back.
Her laugh made him smile.