The Prenup - Lauren Layne Page 0,33
topics. “So you haven’t talked to my brother? About the terms of the prenup?”
“No, we talked,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “Right after I dug out the paperwork and saw what he’d done.”
“I thought he was just being a dick, but he claims that his dumbass twenty-four-year-old self had good intentions.”
“Oh yeah? I didn’t really give him much of a chance to explain himself through the cursing.”
“At least one of us gave him a solid verbal reaming. I was too groggy to do much but sputter at him, but I feel pretty good about the fact that I tattled on him to my dad last night, which means it’s only a matter of time until Mom finds out and calls Justin, and that conversation will be far more savage than any damage you or I can do.”
Colin nods in agreement. “I’m not entirely sure I want to know, but what did he claim were his good intentions?”
“Matchmaking.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Apparently, by forcing us to live under the same roof, we were meant to fall madly in love.”
Colin grunts, which I’m learning is his default morning method of communication.
“So naturally,” I continue airily, “I told Justin that we couldn’t be too mad at him for his plan, seeing as it’s worked marvelously, and you haven’t been able to keep your heart locked up, nor your hands off me.”
I’m sort of hoping to get a rise out of him, but he’s either made of sterner stuff or is just really used to me, because he merely rolls his eyes and points to the flowers.
“So, after you robbed a garden, what was your plan? Start a nursery? Build a greenhouse?”
“Oh, that reminds me, where do you keep your vases?”
“My what?”
“You know. Flower vase. The bouquet won’t all fit in one, but I can break them up into smaller bouquets and fill lots of vases.”
I don’t tell him that they actually started as smaller bouquets. Somehow, I doubt he’ll appreciate my panicked need to make an impact. Especially since said impact is starting to make his room smell decidedly feminine.
He shakes his head. “I don’t have any vases.”
I tsk. “How can you not have a single vase?”
“Because until right now, I’ve never had a single flower in my home.”
“Well, that’s just silly.”
“Feel free to survey the heterosexual men in your acquaintance who live alone, and ask them how many of them have vases.”
“I would, but that would take far too long,” I say with a sigh. “I fear my little black book filled with available men is close to bursting.”
“Is it now?” he says, and I pause in the process of taking a sip of my coffee because there’s a slightly dangerous element in his tone, something almost … predatory.
I meet his eyes, and for a single moment, they seem to darken before he looks away. What do you know? He does know how to smolder.
“Out,” he orders, kicking slightly at my hip. “I need to get up.”
I try and fail to rid my brain of dirty thoughts at the image his phrasing conjures.
“Because I may need to know at some point,” I say, standing up by the side of the bed and gesturing over him with the mug. “Do you sleep half naked, or all the way naked?”
He glowers up at me. “When would you ever need to know that?”
“You know, in case the marriage fraud investigators come knocking. As your bedfellow, I would know.”
“Bedfellow?” He points to the open door. “Out. Now. And close it behind you.”
“Well, that answers that question,” I say with a pleasant smile. “You sleep all the way naked. You wouldn’t need me to close the door if you had boxers on under there.”
“Charlotte.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I say. “There’s just one more thing …”
I move quickly, not giving him any time to reject me as I set my coffee mug on the nightstand and, careful not to bump his coffee hand, I wrap my arms around his neck. He freezes, but I hold tight, forcing him into the hug.
“I really am sorry,” I whisper softly, near his ear. “I’m sorry you lost your parents. And I’m sorry I was insensitive about it.”
I mean it to be a quick hug, assuming he won’t be tolerant of anything longer than that, but just as I intend to pull back, Colin’s free hand comes up, his palm resting against the back of my head.
“Thanks,” he mutters gruffly.
For a moment, neither of us moves, and I’m suddenly