“Damn right I am.”
Before I can fully process that twinkle in his eye, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing—and I squeal, grabbing onto his neck. “Grant!”
He’s already heading toward the porch, carrying me bridal-style like a man with a purpose and no intention of being stopped.
“What are you doing?”
He smirks, adjusting me in his arms. “My wife doesn’t walk more than she has to. Not on my watch.”
I snort. “I’m not your wife yet, cowboy.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. Eyes gleaming as he heads up the porch steps, “Mia Taylor, you were my wife the second you told me you loved me.Ring or not.”
Oh.
Ohhell.
The sound of my new future last name, warm and possessive on his lips, makes my breath hitch. It slips into my bones, settles in my chest, and melts every stubborn part of me. I go soft against him, like my whole body just exhaled.
He nudges the front door open with his boot and steps over the threshold, into the cool hush of our house—ourhouse—like it’s sacred ground.
His arms are strong around me, his chest warm under my cheek, and I swear, I’ve never felt so safe or so thoroughly ruined at the same time.
Once inside, he gently sets me down, closing the door behind us with a click.
I blink. Heart skipping a beat.
Candles. Dozens and dozens of them, scattered like stardust across every surface.
Flickering flames line the hallway, like they’re lighting the way home. Pooled in soft clusters the kitchen counter—bathed in golden light, casting soft shadows across the walls. I inhale, catching hints of vanilla and sandalwood. It’s cozy, warm, and so very him.
"Grant," I breathe, stepping forward. "What is all this?"
“Say hello to the ducks.” He chuckles with a lopsided grin.
I blink again, laughing in disbelief, my heart overflowing.
I turn to look at him, and I’m completely floored. He looks so damn proud, watching me with that slow smile like he’s waiting for my reaction and trying not to show how much he cares.
"It’s beautiful," I whisper, feeling my throat tighten. "You did all this for me?"
He steps closer, his hands finding my waist. "Well, Lily lit the candles, I just gave the idea; but I'd light a thousand damn candles if it meant seeing that look on your face."
The air shifts between us—warmth turning into heat, affection edging toward something hungrier.
“Come with me.” He drawls taking my hand in his and guides me down the hall into the living room, where more candles illuminate the room and a fire crackles in the fireplace, casting a gentle glow over the space. A soft blanket is laid out on the rug, along with two flutes of champagne and a small tray of chocolate-covered strawberries.
I let out a laugh, teary and breathless. "Are you trying to seduce me, cowboy?"
He tilts his head. "If you gotta ask, I must be losin' my touch."
Before I can reply, he steps behind me, plants a kiss on my neck and slowly pulls down the zipper of my dress.
“Take this off,” he says, voice thick and low.
The sound of the zipper is barely audible over the crackle of the fire, but it shivers through me like lightning.
"You looked too damn good at dinner tonight," he murmurs, brushing my hair aside to kiss the back of my neck. "I spent the entire meal tryin' to act civilized, while all I wanted was to get you home and outta this dress."
