Hitched (Licking Thicket - Horn of Glory 2) - Page 48
“Same. Which is why I had to do something drastic, and I didn’t think there was time to talk to you first. I’m sorry.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re voluntarily admitting that you should have talked to me first? Are you feverish?”
“I figured I’d go for disarming honesty and a charming smile since you don’t like it when I’m high-handed and bossy.” Champ touched the tip of his tongue to the center of his top lip, then ran his teeth over his bottom lip before grinning a grin so devastating there should have been Geneva Convention rules about it. “How’s it working?”
Too well. Though, frankly, the bossy thing worked for me also. In fact, there wasn’t much about Champ that didn’t work for me… which was kind of a problem.
I ruthlessly suppressed an answering smile of my own and told my dick to stand down. “It’s not working at all. Did you stop to consider any other plans I might have? Other clients?”
“Of course. I know you’re not going to be here 24/7. I don’t expect you to be. I’ll handle all the contractors who need to be handled.”
I gripped my tablet harder and turned toward the main house. “And search for the Horn every free moment of the day.”
He nodded as he fell in step beside me. “Well, yeah. But the staff will be way less vigilant about locking things down with Marissa staying there. So at night, you can distract her with wedding plans and face masks while I concentrate on my work.”
“No I will not. I have a client meeting on Tuesday evening about an anniversary party, Thursday I have the SnoBall Committee, and next Saturday, I have a vow renewal in Nashville that’s gonna run late. So I guess you’ll be in charge of facials and wedding plans.”
“What the heck is a snowball committee?”
“Not a snowball, the SnoBall,” I scoffed as though everyone should know about the SnoBall… conveniently forgetting that I’d only learned about it hours before. “It’s a Licking Thicket tradition, Champion. It’s a charity dance sponsored by the Beautification Corps. I’m running the event this year,” I informed him. “And I can’t do it from a pig farm.”
Champ ran a hand through his hair, scattering the blond waves. “Okay, then. All the more reason for you to trust me to handle things out here while you do your work. See? Teamwork.”
I looked into Champ’s blue eyes for a long moment, and he stared back guilelessly. I rolled my eyes.
“And what about your other clients?” I demanded.
“Until I get my hands on the Horn, this is my single most important job.” He grabbed my free hand and threaded our fingers together, swinging them as we walked. I wasn’t even sure he realized that he’d done it, but I was very aware of the butterflies in my stomach. “You should have heard Jac—uh. My client. On the phone earlier today.”
“Yeah? Angry?”
“Jesus. Fucking understatement.”
“So annoying when you know you’re doing the best anybody could under the circumstances. I always figured running my own business meant being my own boss, but the truth is I have dozens of bosses now, I just call them clients.”
He snorted. “Exactly.” He pulled me to a stop when we reached the bottom of the gravel path just beside the house and tugged me in so our bodies were aligned. I lifted my hands to his neck for, you know, lack of anything better to do with them.
“Thanks for listening,” he said softly. “It’s nice to have someone who gets it.”
It really was.
“So, how about dinner tonight?” Champ asked.
“D-dinner?”
Champ’s gaze was warm and amused. “Yeah, dinner. You know, the evening meal we sometimes get delivered to your place and eat with chopsticks in your bed?”
“Oh.” He was right, of course. We’d eaten together many times before. But it was usually a spur-of-the-moment thing. A “hey I picked this up on my way over” kind of thing. Or a fuel-for-round-two kind of thing. Or a “you and I are both in the car near the Nashville taco place” kind of thing. This premeditated dinner scheduling was unprecedented.
Less hookup and more… date.
I tried hard not to show how much it threw me. Or how much I wanted it.
“Yeah,” I agreed, because I was incapable of saying anything else. “I could eat.”
“Good.” Champ’s hands slotted into place over my hips, and he pulled me against his body with the easy familiarity of a person who’d held me exactly that way dozens and dozens of times before… because he had.
The realization made me a little breathless and a whole lot nervous.
When had this become a thing we did?
How had I come to like it so much?
How much was it going to hurt when this fiancé thing ended in a few weeks?
How the hell was I going to keep any distance from him when we were living together officially?
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