the stupid egg timer I am holding. What the hell? I stare down at the curved object, raise it, fiddle around with it. I twist it and it comes apart in my hands, revealing something shiny, something with a perfectly-cut sapphire that winks back at me.
My throat dries. My heart begins to thud. "What...what is this?" I squeak.
"A fucking gummy bear," he growls, "what do you think it is?"
"I... I..." I glance at the ring, then back at him, then at the ring again.
"How... how long have you been planning this?"
"Since I met you?" He tilts his head, "Strike that. From before I met you. The ring was my grandmother's."
"Oh!"
"You mean oh, yes, don't you?" he drawls.
"Wait, wait." I draw in a breath. Stay calm, don't lose it now. Need time to think, just a bloody second here. I tip up my chin, train my gaze on him, "How did you rig the timer to accommodate it, considering I was gone for less than half an hour?"
He yawns.
"Of course. You repair clocks, so you could adjust a stupid egg timer, huh?" I pout.
"Not apologizing for the fact that I pulled off an almost-miracle, babe." He thrusts out his chest, "Besides it is Christmas."
"Wow," I stare. "Seems you're getting into the spirit of the season, after all?"
"As you are coming around to the idea of our wedding."
"Yes." I nod.
"So, it's settled then." He grins
"What?" I shake my head. "No, no, no, I didn't mean it that way. I mean, not yet... I mean... What the hell!" I exclaim. "This can't be happening."
"It is." He shakes out his palm—the one with which he'd gripped the whiskey bottle.
"Did you hurt your good hand? I ask.
"I've been hurting in other places since I met you," he grumbles.
"Anyone ever tell you, you have the manners of an oaf?" I scowl.
"Only you, babe." He rises to his feet—the water pours off of those sculpted abs, his concave stomach, drips off of that spectacular cock. Oh, my God! I swallow, take a step back, stumble, drop the ring, let go of the pieces that formerly constituted the egg timer, swoop down, catch the ring. I straighten the ring, slip it onto my left ring finger. I blink, open my eyes in surprise. "It fits."
"Of course, it does," he snaps.
"Presumptuous, much?" I huff, turn my hand this way and that. The heart of the ring glows with silver sparks. Wow. My pulse thuds at my temples; my stomach bottoms out. OMFG, does this mean, what I think it does?
"You're marrying me," he growls. "What's so presumptuous about that?"
"I haven't said yes."
He looks at my hand then back at my face. "You’re wearing the ring. Are you saying no?"
"You haven't asked...you...you...ass!” I yell.
He blows out a breath, stalks his way across the length of the sunken pool to where I stand. He glances into my eyes. Despite the fact that I am standing on a higher level, we are at the same height... That's how fucking big my alphahole is. I gulp; he frowns. His chest rises and falls, then he reaches out and takes my left hand.
59
Weston
"I won't take no for an answer," I tell her.
She scowls, tugs at her hand. I hold on. Fuck, get a grip, asshole. Stop thinking about yourself. Get rid of the fear that she'll refuse you and leave... Nope, not this time. I’m not going to fuck this up, nope. I've conducted quadruple bypass surgeries... This...this should be a cakewalk... Not.
I shake my head, bring my other hand up, and enclose her slim palm between my much larger ones.
I clear my throat. She glances at me, and suddenly, my scalp feels too tight. My heart hammers and my muscles tense. I rotate my shoulders, bend my knee and press it into the side of the pool.
"Amelie," I peer up into her face, "will you be the chocolate to my whiskey, the caramel to my bourbon—?"
She blinks.
"—the spice to my tea, the fruit filling to my pie—"
Her lower lip trembles... Huh? Is that a good sign?
"—the butterscotch to my toffee,” I raise one eyebrow, “the cookie to my coffee?"
She giggles, then slaps a hand over her mouth.
I allow a smirk to curl my lips, lower my head and brush my mouth over her knuckles, "Well?" I tilt my head up at her, “Amelie, will you marry me?"
"Not good enough," she replies.
"What?" I blink.
"You can do better than that."
"What the fuck?" I growl.
She shakes her hair from her face, "Go on, Mr, Alphahole. Why