"Oh, I don't mind, sweetheart. Believe me. In fact,” he added, “I welcome the distraction."
"Oh, good. So I should stop by Millie's on my way over?"
Millie Stanford—who'd hit the wild boar in her station wagon a few weeks back—was a conservative businesswoman by day. She owned a small boutique that specialized in sentimental greeting cards and personalized stationery. But twice a month, Millie hosted lingerie parties in the backroom for the local socialites who wanted a discreet place to purchase such risqué items.
Garrett let out a low groan. “As much as I'd like to see you in something silky or lacy with garters and high heels, it'd be a complete waste of money."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah,” he said with such a strained voice it sent a thrill shimmying down her spine. “Cause they'd spend more time strewn all over my suite than on your body."
"Oh.” She suppressed a giggle.
"I like your body, sweetheart,” he told her, the honesty in his voice unmistakable. “No need to cover it up with stuff I'm just gonna want to rip off."
"Oh.” This time, the word escaped her lips on a sharp rush of air. “Well, since you put it that way..."
"Yeah. No point in clothes at all, huh?"
Her heart tripped all over itself trying to find a steady beat. It was unsuccessful. “Okay, so ... um.” She cleared her throat, tried to find some semblance of decorum, but it clearly eluded her. “Um..."
"Yeah,” he concurred, as though he had just as much trouble getting past all the sexual innuendo and the memories they'd both evoked during their conversation. “Okay, so seven o'clock? I'd give anything to move the meeting I have before that, but it's really important, so..."
"Don't worry about it,” she said. “Really. That gives me time to get some stuff done around the house. These storms really wreaked havoc on my cottage. I had some flooding. Again."
"Let me send someone over to deal with it."
Serena's heart swelled. He wanted to help her. Wanted to take care of her. She'd never experienced that before and found it was a comforting feeling. A really sweet gesture. But she was an independent girl by nature, so she said, “You have enough to deal with. A lodge, a lake and half a town, if I recall correctly. And I'm used to this. I just need the wet vac to sop up the puddles and a few sunny days to dry out the rugs."
"Okay. But
call if you need anything else. I mean it, Serena."
She knew he did, and that made her fall a little more in love with him. “Go back to work. I'm fine."
"See you at seven?"
"On the dot."
He was silent a moment. His slow, steady breathing filled the line, making her think of the few times during the night when she'd woken up, startled that she was wrapped tightly in his arms, her head on his chest. She'd lain there for endless minutes, loving the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear and the rhythm of his breathing. He'd lulled her back to sleep every time, making her feel warm and safe.
"Serena?"
"Yes?"
"This is everything I ever wanted. I hope you feel the same way."
She couldn't contain her smile. “I do."
She thought about the way he'd handled her with such care when she'd found him in the back of her truck. Yes, he'd been amused, but he hadn't done anything to put her further on edge. He had, in fact, done everything in his power to put her at ease. He'd built a fire, brought her wine, told her to keep the tire iron close at hand if it made her feel better. He'd never advanced on her, had always used slow, cautious movements that had told her he didn't mean to hurt her.
And when he'd earned her trust ... he'd made love to her with the kind of tenderness, mixed with unleashed passion, that had told her he was as swept away as she was. He'd wanted her as much as she'd wanted him. And everything about their night together had been perfect.
Even the weird, freaky shit. The werewolf stuff.
But hey, everyone had their secrets, right? Everyone on this planet had something different about them—it was called diversity.
"Hey,” she said into the phone, emotion welling inside her again. “I'm okay with the other stuff we talked about last night."