Page 34 of Boyfriend From Hell

I held my breath and pressed my back to the wood paneling of the door.

Half of me had the sense to want to turn tail and find an excuse not to show her the room.

What if she hated it? I did have a good sense of what she needed and what she liked, but still.

I had never done anything like this for someone before, but I wanted to do everything for her.

I wanted her to love her life here, to find joy here that she couldn’t before and I knew I could make it happen for her.

I could fix her.

“Are you going to show me, or is you standing against the door the surprise?” She raised an eyebrow.

Damned to Hell, I was falling for this woman, and hard.

Who knew such a strong feeling could manifest so quickly?

I stared at her, soaking her in for all that she was.

She stood before me; perfect arms folded across her even more perfect chest. That red hair of hers—so red it nearly matched my eyes—disheveled in the most endearing way.

“Hello?” She waved a hand in front of my face. “Anyone there?”

I smiled at her, wanting nothing more than to take her in my arms and hold her until we became one, but refrained from doing so, of course.

“Now, if you don’t like it and you say you do, I’ll know if you’re lying.” I winked and turned the knob behind me.

She rolled her eyes and I pushed the door open a fraction of an inch then stopped.

“Actually, close your eyes.”

She regarded me. “Really?”

“Really.”

Reluctantly she obliged my request and lowered her lashes until they formed perfect, beautiful crescents atop her cheeks. I moved to stand behind her, placing my hands over her eyes for good measure, and she huffed.

“Alright, walk forward about five steps.” We moved as one and I made sure to tap the door open the rest of the way with my foot. “And, open!”

My breath was stuck in my lungs as she opened her eyes slowly. I forced her thoughts from my mind, too scared to hear her criticism and how much of a failure this gift was.

She was silent. So silent sweat began to prickle along my hairline.

She hates it. She fucking hates it. I knew it. This whole idea was a mistake!

Behind her I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands with a mixture of defeat and embarrassment.

She turned slowly and when her eyes met mine, I nearly fell to the floor from the sight. Tears streaked down her cheeks and my heart fractured.

Oh Hell, she really hates it.

I reached for her, unsure what to do but desperate to make it right.

“Sweet one, I—I’m so sorry. I thought this—I don’t know. I’m sorry. You hate it, this is awful.”

It took everything in me to not fall to a crumpled heap at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Shame and embarrassment overtook me.