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Page 85 of Beauty and the Beach

I blink at him in surprise, but he just waits for my answer.

“Yes,” I say. “Not right now, but someday. Do you?”

“Sure,” he says, his arm tightening around me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

“Now my turn,” I say. I clear my throat. “What did you think of my wedding dress?”

“Are these the only questions you’re going to ask?” he says. “You just want to know what I’ve thought of you in the past?”

“It’s not all I’m going to ask, but I want to start there. I want to see how long you’ve been pining after me?—”

He lets out a short bark of a laugh that cuts pleasantly through the dark office. “You’re going to be disappointed. There’s been very little pining involved.”

“Just humor me,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “Answer the question.”

“The wedding dress was perfect,” he says with a sigh, but there’s still a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “I first admitted I was attracted to you that night in the honeymoon suite. And your pink silk pajamas are the bane of my sanity. Is that good enough?”

“Close,” I say, and I can’t stop my own smile spreading over my face. “Are you in love with me?”

“Hmm,” he says, looking thoughtful now. He doesn’t point out that this is my second question in a row, and I don’t bring it up. There’s a little furrow in his brow as he looks at me, his gaze darting over my features. “It’s difficult to say,” he says finally. “I’m not sure our relationship has ever been conventional.” He pauses, and something shifts in his expression—a flash of hesitation, or maybe insecurity, that disappears as soon as I spot it. “Are you in love with me?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Can you be in love with someone who drives you crazy?”

“I think most couples would say yes,” he says dryly. “You trust me, enough to marry me. Enough to—” He breaks off, and heat floods into my cheeks as his gaze skims down my body. He grins but doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I trust you,” I say quickly. “Iguess?—”

“Oh, please.”

“And I guess I like being around you sometimes?—”

“Sometimes?”

“And I can admit that you have some appealing character traits,” I finish.

“Such as?”

“You’re competent,” I say, because I did promise I would answer truthfully. “Which is weirdly attractive. You’re straightforward. You know right from wrong. You’re smart. And I just—” I let out a gust of breath, finally allowing myself to be vulnerable. I let go of the flippant compliments, and when I speak again, my voice is softer. “I think I like you.”

“Mmm,” he says, nuzzling my nose with his. His expression is more gentle now. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I say. “You give me butterflies, you excite me—but you also make me feel secure. I like you.”

“I’m a likable man,” he whispers, and the hand around my waist moves to my face, brushing a few strands of hair off my forehead. A cocky smile twitches over his lips, and I roll my eyes—even as contented relief spreads over me.

I wasn’t sure how it would be, taking this step. Because Phoenix is right; nothing about our relationship is conventional. Suddenly choosing to be together, choosing to own up to the feelings stirring between us—I wasn’t sure how that would change us or our interactions.

But the only thing that feels different is my confidence that he doesn’t actually dislike me, even when we’re arguing.He couldn’t touch me as tenderly as he does if he really disliked me. Being physical with him feels very natural, and this isn’t the first time he’s showing me a softer side.

“Let’s try to get some sleep,” he says, pulling me closer. “Tomorrow will come soon enough, and you’re a monster when you’re tired.”

“Excuse you,” I say, but my eyes are already drifting closed. “I am delightful always.”

He snorts. “I have quite the array of evidence to the contrary.” Then he drops a tiny kiss on my nose. “Go to sleep.”

I tuck my head under his chin, and he adjusts immediately, shifting so the position is more comfortable for both of us.

“We need to redo the contract,” I murmur into his chest. “Or just get rid of it.”