Page 45 of Let Me Love You
“So help me, Blakely Thorne, if you say it’s a joke when you tell people I’m gonna be your husband one day, I’m gonna spank your ass.”
I squirm in the seat and swallow, hoping it’ll erase my dry mouth as he pins me with a pointed look, daring me to deny it.
“It isn’t a joke,” I murmur.
“Then what’s wrong when I say it?”
Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I actually like it a lot. Like,a lot, a lot. So much so, I kind of want to kiss the shit out of him. But I don’t. I sit here. Looking into his stupidly attractive eyes as my heart rate goes haywire beneath his hand still wrapped around my throat.
“What’s wrong when I say it?” he repeats, his sexy low voice turning raspy.
“It makes it more real,” I whisper.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
I shake my head.
“Good thing?” he asks.
I nod, my pulse thrumming faster and faster against his thumb. When he feels it, his mouth curls up in the corners. “Good girl. Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time. You gonna be my wife one day, Blake?”
I smile. “Yes.”
“You gonna carry my babies one day?”
“Yes.”
“You gonna put as much effort into our marriage as you’re putting into our relationship right now?”
“Yes,” I repeat.
“Are we partners?”
“Yes.” My smile widens.
“Then, what’s mine is yours, Baby Thorne. In sickness and in health. In richer and in”—he lets me go and waves his hand toward the shack—“whatever this is.”
I laugh and look out the window. “It’s not so bad.”
“It’s one hundred percent bad. Now, what do you really want? Because we both know you found at least one perfect house worth drooling over, and it sure as shit isn’t this one.”
“Well…what’s your—our—price range?” I question him carefully.
He rattles off a number, making my eyes nearly bug out of my head. “Are you serious?”
“You’re gonna marry an NHL player, Blakely.” He pushes the driver’s side door open. “Let’s meet the realtor and tell her what we actually want.”
I nod, unable to help the dopey grin spreading across my face. “Okay.”
“Hey, stranger, how are you?” the realtor greets me as I climb out of the car. “I’m Amy. Amy Poulton. We spoke on the phone earlier?”
“Yes. Hi,” I return, shaking her hand. “I’m Blakely, and this is Theo.”
Her dark blue eyes shoot to Theo, and she gives him a smile. “Hello. Nice to—” She pauses, her polite exterior breaking when she recognizes him. “Wait. You’re Theodore Taylor.”
“Uh, yeah. Hi.”
“Hey,” she repeats. “My husband and I are huge hockey fans. Sorry if I’m being weird, but seriously. We are so excited you’ll be playing for the Lions this season.”