My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,73

my mouth, because this can’t be happening. Except it is.

It really is.

“El, you know you’re the love of my life. You know all my secrets now, and you haven’t run. At this point, even if you did, I would go chasing after you. I want you forever. And I want you publicly. I want you to belong to me. You may be mine right now, but I want the world to know it. I want it to be official. So what I’m saying, my darling El, is that I want you to marry me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

My knees turn to rubber and I fall to the sand beside him. My heart is pounding. My mind is spinning. I want this man—I want him forever.

And I know with absolute certainty what my answer has to be.

“I don’t have an engagement ring he says, but I know you kept your mother’s. I thought you might like that one, so I thought we could get it resized.”

“I—that’s a beautiful thought.”

I swallow and blink back tears, then I draw a breath and meet his eyes. “I love you, Devlin. I love you more than I ever imagined I was capable of loving anyone. And it’s a miracle that we’re back together.”

His head tilts just slightly. “I hear a but coming.”

“Dammit, it’s surprising me as much as it is you. It’s only—” I stumble, trying to explain what’s in my heart. “It’s just that I love this, too. And I’m not ready for it to end.”

“This?” He shakes his head slowly, and I twirl my hand, as if that’s a form of coherent conversation.

Since he clearly still doesn’t get it, I try again. “The way we were before all hell broke loose. Me at Brandy’s, you at your place. A few sleepovers to keep things interesting. Dinner dates. Cocktails.” I shrug. “Normal stuff.”

“Are you saying we aren’t normal?”

I bite back a laugh as I take his hands. “I’m saying I want to pretend to be. At least a little. We never got that, and I like it. Besides, if I move in with you, I lose out on my house. And I’m looking forward to fixing it up and moving in.” My childhood home had gone on the rental market after my father was killed, with the income going into a trust for me until I was twenty-one. Since then, I’ve kept it rented and applied the income to my Manhattan rent.

Now, though, my tenant is in the process of moving out. I want to go in, update the place, and live there for awhile, surrounded by the thrill of owning real estate and the nostalgia of being in my childhood home.

“I want you to help me replace the countertops and varnish the floors. Then I want us to christen all the rooms in the house. I want you to come over on a whim, to sweep me into the bedroom or just to leave flowers on the doorstep. I want you to call me late at night and we can watch a show together, like in When Harry Met Sally.”

That makes him grin, and he reaches out, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “You want the romance.”

“I have romance,” I tell him. “I want the storybook. I want what we never got when we were young. I think we deserve it.” I pause, trying to read his reaction, but he’s got his corporate face on, and I can’t be sure of what’s in his head. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Now I can see what he’s thinking—he’s incredulous. “Mad? Not at all. I’m—I’m not sure. I think I’m strangely flattered.”

“Really? You really understand?”

“I do. And even if I didn’t, I’d accept that’s what you want.”

I didn’t think it was possible to be happier than I’d been when that garage door rose, but I am. “You’re really okay with it?”

He taps his lower lip, making a show of thinking. “You said there were dates?”

“Lots of dates,” I assure him.

“And sleepovers?”

“I can’t guarantee much sleeping,” I tease, “but in theory, yes.”

“Then yes. I am really okay with this.”

“Yeah?” My voice is soft, almost shy, and I don’t know why.

He holds my gaze for a moment, then cups the back of my head. “All I want is you, baby. Don’t you know that?”

“Then we’re even. Because you’re all I want, too. And my fancy wedding dress with the season’s designer shoes. I just don’t want that last part right