Shit. The absolute worst thing that could happen… happens. I’m so thoroughly charmed by his thoughtfulness, along with his awkwardness, that he’s forgiven without even officially asking.
I take the flowers and give them a sniff. It’s a spring mix, but there’s a stargazer lily putting off a delicate, lovely scent. I tip them down to Odin to smell, which he does and then looks up at me expectantly. “Think we should forgive him?”
“Oh, not yet,” Stone says and moves back from the door, indicating we should come in. “There’s more.”
I smile and step over the threshold, Odin following me. Stone regards him warily, and my dog ignores him. He’s familiar with this unit as Odin was always welcome when it belonged to Brooks.
Stone and I both watch as he struts into the place as if he owns it, moves over to a camel-colored leather couch that I helped Brooks pick, and jumps on it. I glance at Stone, expecting a tightening of his jaw at such blatant disrespect by my dog, but he seems nonplussed.
Closing the door, Stone leads me into the kitchen where containers of Chinese food have been set out on the counter. He starts to open them. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a bit of everything.”
“I’m allergic to Chinese,” I say, and his head whips my way, jaw dropping. “Just kidding.”
Stone laughs, and it’s a nice sound. Easy, not forced. Genuinely amused. And damn if it doesn’t quicken my pulse. He has a beautiful smile when it’s given freely.
“Do we need to put your flowers in water?” he asks dubiously before turning to grab plates out of a cupboard. He clearly doesn’t know his way around yet as he opens two cabinets before finding what he needs in the third.
I round the island to the silverware drawer, as I know exactly where it is, and pull out utensils. “The flowers will be fine until I get them home.”
The most unbidden thought comes into my head. They’d be fine unless I stayed the night, and then they’d probably wilt without water for that long.
I shake my head, horrified that I would even think such a thing.
Stop being so trampy, I chide myself. Flowers and Chinese shouldn’t get me in bed with a man.
When Stone sets the plates on the counter, he says, “Before we eat, I want to finish my apology.”
“You really don’t need to,” I assure him.
“But I do,” he insists. “Let’s call it what it was, Harlow. I assaulted you.”
“You most certainly did not,” I exclaim.
Bracing both hands on the island opposite me, he growls, “I touched you without your permission.”
“You had my permission,” I murmur, and Stone’s expression becomes thunderstruck. His mouth drops open, eyes wide.
He doesn’t say anything.
I don’t know what to say. That just popped out, and I’m not sure how to explain it. The silence lengthens and becomes awkward. It’s like when you get caught doing something bad by your parents, and they just look at you, waiting for the heat to become so unbearable, you confess everything.
“What I mean,” I end up blurting, just to fill the tense quiet, “is that your kiss was not unwelcome at first.”
Stone scowls, confusion evident on his face.
“What I mean”—I repeat, rushing to try to make it sound like I don’t want him to kiss me again, although that would be a lie—“is that you had no ill intent. Malice wasn’t in your mind. I’m sure you had a lot of things on your mind, but you didn’t want to hurt me. So there was no assault.”
“I was going to use you.” His voice is low, pained. “That’s ill intent.”
“I wasn’t going to let you do that,” I reply pointedly. “I would never let anyone do that to me.”
His gaze drops to the counter.
“Besides… you promised you’d make it good for me, so I don’t think that was really ill intent.”
Stone’s eyes snap up, and a sizzle of electricity arcs between us over the marble-topped island. I just laid out a blatant reminder to Stone that he promised a very satisfying experience with him.
My entire body is taut, unsure of what comes next. Does he round the island and attempt to kiss me again? Will he indeed make it good for me?
Or will I bolt if he so much as blinks at me funny?
I’m not prepared for him to spin away and move to the back counter. He picks up a piece of paper I hadn’t seen there and faces me again. There’s something printed on the page, but he holds it to his chest so I can’t make out details.
“This is my grand apology,” he says, tapping the paper with a fingertip. “It covers not just the unwanted assault—”
“Kiss, and at first not unwanted,” I clarify.
“Kiss,” he agrees with one corner of his mouth struggling not to curl into a smile. “But I’m still really sorry about breaking your chair. I am assured by the antiques refinisher that the repairs are coming along nicely, but I also know it will never be the same.”