Love Language (The Aristocrat Diaries 1)

Not that it distracted entirely from the rest of his body.

I’d never seen him shirtless, and boy, was it worth the wait. Muscle, but not too much of it. Enough to see he had a physical job but also liked bread.

That was also my body type.

But more that I liked bread and was also physical.

“Are you done eating me alive?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “But if you don’t have condoms, I suppose I’ll have to stick to dinner.”

He grinned. “I have condoms. Depends how long you’re going to stay.” He walked over to me and leaned over, closing his mouth over mine. “Well?”

“Depends on when you want to get rid of me.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s never.” He took my glass and phone from my hands, set them down, then tugged my feet down so I was lying on the sofa. His body covered mine, and he kissed me as though he hadn’t done it for a thousand years.

“Watch it. I might think you really like me,” I murmured against his lips.

“I do,” he muttered back. “And I’m not giving up on you now, princess.”

“That works for me.” I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and kissed him. “I never did ask what made you follow me.”

“Really, now?” He looked down at me.

I nodded. “Now. Then I’ll stay all night and you can have your wicked way with me.”

“The least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Mm. Give it time. There’ll be something else.”

He chuckled and sat up. “My grandpa.”

“What? How?” I shuffled back and met his gaze.

“With everything, I wondered if I could make you happy. If anything I could give you would ever be enough.”

I opened my mouth to assure him it would be, but he pressed one finger to my lips.

“He told me that if I didn’t think I could then I had to let you go. And he was right about that, but he told me something else.” He slid his finger from my lips to cup my chin. “He told me that happy people aren’t happy by chance, that they go out and find happiness. That they search it out knowing it could go wrong. They make it for themselves.”

My lips tugged up.

“He told me that happy people take risks.”

“He sounds terribly wise,” I said softly, smiling.

“I’m not admitting anything,” he replied with a gentle laugh. “I… I was scared I couldn’t make you happy. That’s why I held back. Out of everything, the one thing I never want to do is disappoint you, but I realised that night I would never make you happy if I didn’t try.”

He was just a big softie, wasn’t he?

“So I invited you into my greenhouse and saw how happy it made you. Then you saw the dahlia, and that made you happy, so I gave it to you, and you were even happier after that. Then you pinched out bloody tomato suckers, and I’ve never seen anyone as happy to do that as you were.” Miles was laughing every word out. “And I realised then, when you were smiling over tomato suckers, that it was all worth it. All the risks that it wouldn’t work, however big they were or however many risks they were… You’re worth it all, Gabriella. Every single one.”

“I don’t care about all the things you think I do,” I replied. “I really don’t. Please trust me when I tell you that I would be just as happy in this cottage, with you, as I would be at Arrowwood Hall. And with all those things, all the things that made me happy, it wasn’t really that you let me in the greenhouse, or you gave me the flower, or you let me help with the tomato plants. It was you. Just you. Anytime you’re worried that you can’t make me happy, don’t be. You don’t need to do anything to make me happy. You just need to exist, Miles. That’s enough for me.”

I leaned over and kissed him, pressing my lips firmly enough into his that my nose squished against his cheek.

“But letting you in the greenhouse helps, right?” he muttered.

“Oh, yeah. Although you’ll never get me out of there now you’ve let me in.”

“I’m absolutely all right with that.” He sat down and pulled me on top of him, trapping me in his arms. “Who wants to tell your dad that he’s not getting a duke or an earl for his son-in-law, then?”

“You can do that.” I trailed my finger down his cheek. “If you’re sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He met my eyes. “You’re mine, princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“Not in your eyes,” he said, lowering my mouth to his. “But you are in mine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Right.

It had been five days since The Incident. Aunt Cat had done nothing but hide out at the hotel with Alpaca the dog—that Dad still didn’t know about—and he’d been hiding in Worcester with Alexander.