Our Love Unhinged (Reluctant Hearts Book 4) (2 page)

As quietly as I can, I reach over and open the drawer of my bedside table, pulling out the small square box before placing it on my chest, not two inches from Winter’s parted lips. I run my thumb over the smooth velvet before lifting the lid and staring at the ring that took me months to find—the perfect blend of beauty, timelessness, and simplicity. The lady who sold it to me called it an antique Art Deco ring. All I know is it looks like something Winter will love. Small, but not too small, nontraditional, and absolutely beautiful.

I have the perfect ring and the perfect girl. Now I just need the perfect proposal.

And that goddamn proposal has been a thorn in my side since the day I walked home with the ring. I’ve carried this box with me everywhere we’ve gone for the past three months. On every trip to the movies, every dinner out, every afternoon with the group, every babysitting trip to watch Haley. To the mall, on walks around the neighborhood, to the fucking grocery store. I’ve just about popped the question a dozen times, but every time, the words get stuck in my throat and I choke.

Because what if it’s not everything she thought it’d be?

She’s dealt with an abundance of shit in her life, has overcome so much to become the amazing woman she is, and I want this to be perfect for her, too. She
deserves
this to be perfect for her.

I want it to be a story she’s proud to someday tell our kids and grandkids.

And the thing of it is, Winter probably wouldn’t care if I asked her when she was fresh out of the shower, me sitting propped on the vanity in the bathroom. Or if I made a pizza and spelled out
will you marry me
in pepperoni slices. She wouldn’t care if it was done at the top of the Eiffel Tower or in our backyard.

She absolutely wouldn’t care, and I don’t want to wait another fucking minute without knowing if she’ll be my wife.

That realization pours gasoline on the fire that’s been a slow burn for the past three months as I tried to find the perfect setting, causing this feeling inside to turn into an inferno. There
is
no perfect setting. There’s just me and her and this amazing love I’m somehow lucky enough to be part of. And I can’t wait—I don’t
want
to wait anymore.

I reach over and switch on the bedside lamp, then turn back to her and squeeze her hip, pulling her closer and brushing my lips against her forehead. “Baby? Baby, wake up.”

She shifts as I run my hand up and down her side, and I roll so we’re lying face to face. Her eyes flutter open and she smiles the softest smile at me before her eyelids droop again.

I run my thumb back and forth on her jaw, kissing both her eyelids. “Winter. Wake up. I have something I need to ask you.”

“Now?” she mumbles, her face turned into the pillow.

“Yes, now.”

“What time’s it?”

“Time for you to wake up. Baby, please. Open your eyes.”

She does as I ask, her eyelids slowly blinking open, and then she’s staring at me through half-closed eyes. Until, somehow, the ring catches her attention, and her eyes widen as she stares at it. Her mouth drops open, her fingers hovering over her lips. When she finally lifts her gaze to me, a hundred questions swarm in those grayish-green depths. It feels like the weight of a car lifts off my shoulders, knowing I don’t have to wait anymore.

“I’ve been walking around with this in my pocket for three months, waiting for the perfect time to ask you. But the problem with striving for perfection is that every day I was waiting for the perfect setting and the perfect words and the perfect time was just another day further away from making you my wife. And I just can’t fucking wait any longer. I want you to be with me, Winter. Today until forever.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, her fingers pressing against her lips before she tentatively reaches out and brushes them against the velvet of the box. “You already have me. Today until forever. I don’t need a ring to tell me that.”

“Humor me.”

Shaking her head, she breathes out a laugh. “Humor me—now there’s your perfect proposal.” Her voice is just as shaky as her hand, and I know she’s probably freaking out, but I can read everything I need to in her eyes—how they’re lit up with excitement and happiness.

I stroke the outside of her hand with my thumb as I grip the box in front of me. “Okay, you need a perfect proposal? How about this: I can’t live another day without knowing you’ll be my wife. Please don’t make me. Say yes, baby.”

She presses her lips together, her fingertips continuing to brush back and forth along the small box as she stares at the ring. When she still doesn’t say anything, I start to worry maybe the ring I thought was something that matched her personality exactly doesn’t at all, and she hates it.

Swallowing, I say, “I know it’s not very traditional. I didn’t think you’d want a diamond, but we can get something different if you don’t—”

“I love it.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Lifting both eyebrows, I repeat, “Okay? Is that a yes? Because you haven’t said much, and I kinda just ripped my heart out and dropped it at your feet.”

She’s quiet for another moment, then she whispers, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I move an arm around to her back and press our bodies together, letting her feel exactly how much I want it. I’ve been rock fucking solid since I decided I was going to do this tonight, adrenaline and excitement shooting straight to my cock. “This is what the thought of you wearing my ring does to me. So yeah, I want to do this. Can’t say there’s much else I’d
rather
do.”

“Cade . . .” She looks up at me, then reaches out, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck, the box getting smashed between us. I run my hand up and down the length of her back, holding her to me, and I’m not sure if it’s her or me who’s shaking—maybe both of us. But then her lips move against the shell of my ear, a soft, “Yes,” coming out of her mouth, and it doesn’t matter.

She’s mine. Today until forever.

I
stretch
and reach toward Cade’s side of the bed, finding nothing but cool sheets where his furnace of a body normally is. I blink open my eyes and look at the bright red numbers proclaiming 10:37 a.m. The late time would normally be enough to jolt me out of bed, since we have less than half an hour before everyone will be here for our weekly Sunday brunch. But the brand new piece of jewelry on my left hand, glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, stops me cold.

Oh shit.

Oh
shit
.

That wasn’t a dream. Cade waking me up in the middle of the night because he couldn’t stand to wait another minute before I agreed to be his wife. Him slipping the ring on my finger before taking me hard and fast, then pumping his cock inside me until he was hard enough to take me again, that time slow and sweet while he whispered how good he was going to be to me, how I’d never have to worry about anything as his wife, how he’d always work to make me happy.

I’d fallen asleep in his arms not worried about him doing that for me—like I’d ever be worried about that with Cade. Instead, I’d worried about whether or not
I’d
be able to do that for
him
every day for the rest of our lives.

He picks that moment to come strolling into the room wearing nothing but a too-small towel clutched together with a hand at his hip. “Morning, baby,” he says with a smile. “All the bath sheets are dirty, so I had to make do with one of your Barbie towels. How do people even use these?” He gestures to the way his large, muscled thigh hangs out between the gaping sides of the towel, but he freezes the second his eyes lift to mine.

There must be something that alerts him to trouble—possibly the way I’m breathing like I’m about to have a panic attack or maybe how I’ve gone as white as the sheets I’m lying on while I divide my attention between him in that ridiculously tiny towel and the beautiful and, yeah, perfect, ring on my finger—because he’s at my side in a second, minuscule towel long forgotten.

He brushes the hair away from my face. “How much time do we have before you freak out?”

They’re practically the same words he said to me nearly two years ago, the first time we slept together on my stupid, shitty futon, and I almost laugh. But how can I when that just reminds me of where I came from and how far I truly have to go to be even remotely worthy of a man like Cade?

“That didn’t get the laugh I thought it would. Damage control it is.” He rolls over me until I’m caged under him. My hands are curled against my chest, and he leans down and presses his lips to the ring he gave me last night. “You can take it back if you want to. I’d
like
you to wear my ring, but I don’t need you to. I’d want you to be my wife, ring or not.”

The thought of me having to give this up splits my heart in half. I’d like to wear his ring, too, and not just because it’d make him happy. Because it’d make
me
happy to see that sign of his love on my body every single day. But I can’t deny that it terrifies the ever-loving shit out of me. Does he even know what he’s doing, tying himself to me for the rest of his life?

Without taking my eyes off the emerald cut sapphire surrounded by tiny, sparkling diamonds, I whisper whatever truth I can give him. “I . . . I kind of don’t want to. Take it off.”

He watches me,
reads
me, and then nods, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “And that scares you?”

Turns out he
does
know exactly what I’m thinking.

I swallow, looking up into his eyes—eyes that are gazing down at me with nothing but openness and acceptance. “A little.” My response causes him to quirk an eyebrow, and I huff out a laugh. “Okay, a lot.”

Bringing his hands to cradle my head, he rubs his thumbs in soothing circles against my temples, and I have no idea how I can feel so safe and so utterly panicked at the same time. “I get that it scares you,” he says. “I’d be shocked if it didn’t. But that’s not all you’re feeling . . . right?”

I shake my head, but I can’t say anything. How could I possibly put into words how I feel about him? How I feel about
us
? How I feel about the idea of us being bound to each other for the rest of our lives? That it feels as vast and overwhelming and beautiful and
terrifying
as being on the beach, watching the power and beauty of the ocean as it surges and roars minutes before a tidal wave strikes.

“Do you want this, Winter?” he asks. “Do you want to be with me for the rest of your life?”

The answer pours from my lips before I can even stop to consider it. “Of course.
Of course
.”

His smile is as blinding as it is genuine, and he swoops down to kiss me, his lips moving against mine as he says, “Then we’ll figure everything else out as we go.”

He’s said that to me a dozen times before, and that’s part of the problem. I’m so damn tired of constantly being the one holding us back. Of being the one who always puts up a fight, hesitates instead of jumping straight in where Cade’s concerned. He’s so patient . . . so kind and understanding. He never pushes me. He accepts every bit of me, including the fucked up pieces I wish I could escape, if only for a moment. But the thing is, they’re always going to be with me, even if they’re just lurking in the corners, buried under months of happiness and contentment. They’re always going to be there, waiting to float to the surface, because they’re a part of me, and nothing will change that. Not even Cade.

And yet he’s always there to pull me back, to talk me down, to convince me or reassure me. To make me feel loved and wanted and needed.

But,
God
, how is that fair to him? How many times should he have to be there, waiting to pick up my pieces when I fall apart?

I stuff those worries down, bury them deep because I don’t want them to be displayed all over my face. I don’t want him to even consider that I don’t want this—don’t want
him.

He watches me for a minute, his thumbs still rubbing soothing circles against my head. “You feel better, baby? Want me to call everyone and cancel for this week?”

I’m shaking my head before I even get any words out. “No. I don’t want to cancel. Haley’s going to practice her dance for us, remember?”

“I remember, but we can see it some other time if you need a while before we tell everyone.”

My pulse kicks up a notch, but I swallow down my nerves and paste on a smile. One he can see right through if the look on his face and the way he narrows his eyes are any indication. “No, today is fine. But maybe you can put some pants on first. Not that I’m complaining.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes darting between mine and gauging me, just like he’s done a hundred times before. “You say the word, and I’ll kick everyone out. We can spend all day in bed if you want. Just you and me.”

“If
I
want? I think you have that backward.”

He drops his lower body into the cradle of my thighs and makes a slow, concentrated roll of his hips, the head of his naked cock pressing against my slit through my thin, cotton underwear. My eyes flutter back in my head, and I breathe out his name. Three times last night, and he can still make my body sing with nothing more than a grazing touch.

“Mhmm . . .” he says against my neck, the scruff on his face rasping against my skin. “Like you’re not dying to have my mouth on you again.”

There’s no use denying it because it has to be written all over my face, not to mention the way I lift my hips to meet his.

“That’s what I thought,” he says before he steals a kiss, then he’s off me and walking toward the dresser. His ass is sculpted perfection, enough to distract me from the fact that my soon-to-be sister-in-law—oh
God
—will be here in fifteen minutes, and I’m still mostly naked from our middle-of-the-night activities.

Cade slides a pair of gray boxer briefs over all that perfection, then snags a pair of cargo shorts and pulls them on, leaving his chest bare. A few water droplets trace the lines of the tattoos covering his arms, others just hanging out in the hills and valleys created by his ridiculous muscles. After grabbing a T-shirt from a drawer, he shoots me a smile over his shoulder. “Show’s over, baby. Go hop in the shower and come out when you’re ready.”

He could’ve phrased that a dozen different ways—come out when I’m done, or in twenty minutes, or when I hear all the commotion that follows our friends when they enter—but he didn’t. He knows me so fucking well, knows I need time to get my shit together. Knows I need time to get used to things, and considering I thought last night was a dream, I’ve had all of seven minutes to let the idea settle that Cade asked me to be his wife and I said yes.

But it doesn’t matter . . . I can’t let it. I said yes, and I meant it. Besides that, I don’t want to be the one who holds us back anymore.

I just hope my
want
is strong enough to force it into existence.

* * *

H
ow much longer am I
supposed to keep this shit locked up? Is there some kind of rule? A code I’m supposed to follow? The truth is, I’ve been ready to blow for the past four months, since the day I started looking for rings. I haven’t told a single person—didn’t think it’d be right. It was for Winter and me only, and I
wanted
it to be all ours.

But now? Knowing she’s twenty feet away in our bedroom, getting dressed while wearing my ring? Jesus. I want to climb onto the roof and shout it to the world. Winter Jacobson is going to be my
wife
. She’s going to be by my side for the rest of my life. How did I ever get so damn lucky?

It’s cold as hell outside, so we’re all packed into the dining room, everyone talking at once. But I can’t pay attention to any of it, because Winter’s not out here yet. Maybe she’s more freaked out than I thought. It seemed like she relaxed after our talk, but maybe it did jack shit, and she’s in there right now trying to figure out a way to come out here without her ring on and not hurt my feelings. Maybe she’s already bolted out the bathroom window just to be able to breathe.

Before I can go check on her, suddenly she’s there, her still-wet hair piled on top of her head, a pencil stabbed through the middle of the messy knot to keep it in place. It’s the same way she wears it when she’s hard at work coding a site or when she’s in the kitchen with me as I try to teach her how to make a dish. The same way that drives me fucking crazy because it shows off her long neck and collarbones. And that feeling is only amplified now as one side her sweater slips off, baring a shoulder. I had her three times last night, and I still want to kick everyone out, toss all this food from the table, and have her for breakfast instead.

“Oh thank Christ,” Jase mumbles, too low for Haley to hear. Then louder, “I was about to start eating my napkin.”

“Sorry, guys. I got up late.”

“I just bet you did,” Paige says, leering and wiggling her eyebrows at Winter.

Winter rolls her eyes but laughs. She glances at the table, then goes into the kitchen and comes back with both the apple and orange juices. Conversation continues around us, but it’s just garbled sounds to me as I hold my breath, waiting for her to sit down. As she does so, she reaches out and sets the juices on the table, and I spot her ring, my entire body relaxing as a breath whooshes out.

“
What is that?
” Tessa’s voice has risen four octaves, her eyes wide as she extends a finger to point at Winter’s left hand.

Winter snatches her hand back and folds them together on her lap, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, you can’t hide it. Oh my God, oh my
God
! Is that an engagement ring? Are you getting
married
?” Tessa’s voice has only managed to get higher pitched the more words that come out of her mouth, and she’s moved to a standing position, her upper body nearly folded over the table as she tries to see Winter’s hand.

“Calm down, sister,” Paige says, tugging her down to sit, but she can’t hide the curiosity in her eyes as she divides her attention between Winter and me.