“I love you,” I whispered.
His fingers tensed at my h*ps and his eyes caught mine.
“Glad to hear you say that, Sunshine,” he whispered back.
I smiled.
He fel to his back, arms around me, taking me with him.
Then, keeping us connected, he twisted us to the side, opened the drawer on his nightstand and pul ed out a dark blue, velvet box.
I stared at the box, my body going tight, as his thumb flicked it open and I caught sight of the diamond before he shoved his index finger in, pul ing the ring out of the blue silk.
He tossed the box to the nightstand, sat back up, stil keeping us connected, his right hand skimmed down my left arm, captured my hand, positioned it and he slid the ring on my finger.
I sat frozen, staring at the diamond solitaire on my finger.
It wasn’t huge, it wasn’t smal .
It was a normal, diamond engagement ring.
It was just right.
“If you let Tod plan our wedding, I’m takin’ that back,” Hank told me and my eyes flashed to his.
I stared at him, one beat, two then three then whispered, feeling the tears sting the backs of my eyes, “You’re never getting this back.”
I watched him smile right before he kissed me.
Then he rol ed me to my back and he finished what we started.
When we were done and recovered, he slid off to my side but wrapped an arm around my bel y, threw a thigh over mine and nuzzled his face into the side of my head.
Shamus, who’d exited the bed when the fun began, returned, did a little roaming then settled where he always settled, down my length, the opposite side to Hank.
Both the canine and human Nightingale boys, like they normal y did, pinned me down.
I flicked my thumb against the base of my ring finger, making sure I didn’t imagine it.
I felt cold, solid, honest-to-goodness gold.
I didn’t imagine it.
I turned my head to the side, found Hank’s mouth with mine and smiled.
“Happy?” Hank muttered against my lips.
I didn’t answer verbal y, I nodded.
He gave me a light kiss.
I felt the tears I hadn’t shed earlier slide out of my eyes.
So did Hank.
“Jesus, you’re a nut,” Hank mumbled, his arm going tighter.
“Don’t cal me a nut,” I whispered, my voice sounding scratchy.