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I shake my head as I move toward him, a smile spreading up my cheeks and happy tears prickling in the corners of my eyes. “No one has ever done anything like this for me,” I admit. “It's beautiful.” I cringe, remembering what I'm wearing and my bare feet. “I should go change.”

I don't get one step away before I'm tugged against his chest and held tight.

“Don't you dare. I've had wet dreams about these shorts for months, and tonight”—his nose slides into my hair as he takes a deep inhale—“if you let me, I'll get to turn those dreams into reality.”

Well, when he puts it that way….

I bite my lip as I grin up at his answering one.

His attention flicks to something over my shoulder. I follow his gaze toward the kitchen. With a hard press of his lips to my forehead, he steps back, tugging me to follow him.

“Since we still don't know how Whit is getting to you, I didn't want to risk ordering in or having someone we don't know cook, so….” He waves a hand toward the spread of bread, cheeses, and other various toppings.

“It just so happens that grilled cheese is my new favorite food.” Butterflies erupt in my gut at his soft grin.

“Good,” he says, tugging me deeper into the kitchen. Hands on my waist, he lifts me onto the counter and steps between my legs, which I widen to accommodate his larger frame. “Because it was either that or bacon.” His grin widens at my laugh. “Do you know how lucky I am?” His tone makes it clear it's a rhetorical question. “Of all the women I've dated, your easygoing nature, the joy you find in small gestures, is… refreshing.”

I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “That's not a small gesture. It's like the Disney World of romantic gestures.”

He just shakes his head. “That right there proves my point.”

“You're looking at it from a dollar sign, not the effort that went into it. All for me. Just me. It's not like we're home and you could call up your favorite florist. I can't imagine the research and planning that went into securing all this, plus the searching and scans that went into every flower.” Turning, I take in the beautiful display. My heart wobbles at the love each and every single rose represents.

“I'd walk through Hell for you, Mess. Haven't you figured that out by now?”

I nod, keeping my focus on the flowers, not wanting to see the emotions on his face that are clearly in those words. “But why?” I ask. “I'm no one. I'm a flash in the pan. This will all be over in three years. Why give so much of yourself?”

Palm to my cheek, he turns my face. Honey brown eyes seem to smile down into my own.

“Because you're not asking me to.”

I shake my head, not understanding. His calluses scrape my cheek as that hand slides up, his fingers delving into my loose dark hair.

“My whole life, people have expected things from me. Money, prestige, power when dating me, or hell, even being my friend. But you, Randi Sawyer, love me for me.”

“I do,” I whisper through the tears clogging my throat. “Because you do.”

“And that's why I'd give my life for yours, because it's not a life I want to live without you in it.”

“Don't say that,” I cry. Reaching out, I grab a fistful of his black T-shirt. “Not when it's a reality every day I'm in office.”

“Mess, this kind of pure love, this devotion, can't just be turned off. You're everything to me. When I'm not with you, I'm thinking of you. I worry about you every second of every fucking day. I want you happy for the rest of your life. You're the end of my story. There's no coming back from this, from you.”

Tears streak down my cheeks. “I should fire you,” I say. Resting my forehead on his muscular chest, I take a deep breath of his unique scent. “Problem solved.”

“Nah, you like the eye candy too much.” His fingers wiggle through mine, loosening the grip I still have on his shirt. “Come on, Mess. Help me make dinner?”

* * *

“I can't believe you never told me.” I wipe the remaining butter off my fingers with the rough paper towel before swiping my mouth one last time. I toss it to my empty plate resting on top of the coffee table and lean back against the couch, my backside sliding forward a bit on the rug. “I mean, how has your hobby never come up in conversation? I see you almost every day.”

Shoving a handful of Cheetos into his mouth, Trey shrugs where he lounges beside me, head lying on top of my thighs.

“I always wondered what you did to make your hands so rough,” I say absentmindedly.

He lifts the hand that’s intertwined with my own, examining the palm with a concentrated expression.

Leaning low, I whisper just above his lips, “I love it.” Before he can pull me in for a kiss, I sit back and rest my head on the couch cushion. Around us, the candles continue to burn through the dark, the flames a bit longer and brighter. The overpowering aroma of the roses mixes with the savory scent of burnt butter and melted cheese. It's intoxicating, really. Or maybe it’s the man I don't deserve resting on my lap who’s causing the almost out-of-body feeling to rush through my head.