Page 48 of Crazy In Love (Love & War #2)

CHRIS

She was joking when she requested romance. But hell, if I don’t intend to deliver.

“I’m not saying no to hair pulling, and I don’t mind neck-breaking maneuvers. I’m just asking you to warn me before you try a new direction. I’m nearly thirty years old, Christian. I’m getting on in age, and strapping an ice-pack to my back to sleep, while practical, is hardly sexy.”

“Just shut up already.” I lead her through my front door, one hand pressed over her eyes to keep her blind, my arm draped across her back so she feels secure in the dark.

And because I know Tommy took Alana and the kids out—his gift to me—I walk her all the way through my kitchen, the rich scent of dinner making her nose twitch, then outside again to the back porch.

Here’s hoping this is a date night she’ll always remember.

Maybe we’ll get longer than our six weeks. And fuck, maybe we won’t. But whatever happens, I intend to make sure she remembers me for this . For the happiness we can feel and the romance I could provide, if only she wanted to give me a chance.

Not for being neurotic, uptight, and a little rough in the bedroom .

Nerves kick against my heart, a whiplash that almost leaves me breathless.

But fairy lights hang from the ceiling, more lights than all the Plainview shops stocked, combined , so I drove to the next town over and bought theirs, too.

The lake creates a backdrop of beauty, a canvas I know she enjoys—dammit, I know she stares when she thinks no one else is looking— and I…

well, I’ll try my best not to be neurotic and uptight and weird tonight.

“Chris…?” Hesitant, she clings tighter to my side. “If Stephen King wrote our story, this is the part where lake monsters would come out and hack me to death. Did I ever tell you surprises aren’t my favorite thing?”

“Really? Ms. Spontaneity and Sass doesn’t like surprises?

” I peel my hand away and take a step back, allowing her a moment to study what I’ve created for us.

The flowers on the table and the plates, stacked like they do at fancy restaurants in New York City.

The silverware—diamond-decorated, of course—and candles that make the crystal glasses glitter.

She gasps and looks up at the porch ceiling, absorbing the beauty of an artificially starry sky, then out at the real sky, the constellations flickering to life now that the sun races toward the horizon.

“Holy shit. Chris.” Spinning, she hits me with beautiful eyes that hint toward emotional. So maybe she’s not entirely untouchable. Just… guarded . “I thought date was a euphemism for St. Andrew’s Cross.”

I take my phone from my back pocket and tee up my playlist. Then, tapping the screen until music pipes through well-hidden speakers, I set the device down again and take her hand in mine.

I tug her closer, catching her against my chest and swallowing her sweet gasp of surprise.

“Not everything is about sex, silly. I said dinner, I meant dinner.”

“Sex later, then?” She wraps her arms over my shoulders, falling into rhythm with the music as easily as sliding into a warm bath, her delectable thighs sandwiching mine and her plump lips curling into a smile. “Romance me first, then blow my mind.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have sex tonight at all.”

Jesus. Who am I ?

I track my hands over her back, memorizing her every line.

Her shape. Her hips and the deep valley of her spine, artistically exposed under the cut of her dress and the missing panel of fabric that turns a pretty outfit into something utterly breathtaking.

“Romance only,” I rumble. “Then more romance, to prove I’m no one-trick-pony. ”

“Hmm…” She presses her cheek to my chest, twining her fingers at the back of my neck and scratching her nails through my hair.

She creates a sensation that is both electrifying and ridiculously comforting at the same time.

“You have my attention. Though I won’t lie, your tricks so far have been entirely satisfactory.

If something is not broken, I hesitate to fix it.

” Grinning, she tilts back and searches my eyes.

“I’m pleasantly su rprised by all this, Christian.

I honestly thought you were setting me up for something a little less… dreamy.”

“We’re on day twenty-eight of forty-two.

” She’s so close, her lips so plump, tempting and delicious.

So I do what any sane man would do, lean in and get a taste.

“You came to Plainview with a bad attitude and a mean tongue,” I tease.

“But we’re four weeks in now. Has the small-town charm changed your mind yet? ”

“Is that what that’s called? Charm ?” Laughing, she remains oblivious to the way my heart pounds.

To the fact, her answers have the power to shatter my soul.

“I don’t know that I consider mean gossips ‘charming’.

Or unkind side-eyes, literally because these people and my people fought on different sides of the civil war, ‘charming’.

Or the weird little raised stones in the sidewalk, that never fail to trip me, charming. ”

“So Plainview is still a never gonna happen for you?” I slide a lock of hair behind her ear and stare down into perfect brown eyes. “Not even for Alana and the kids?”

“To live here?” Her brows pinch, curiosity flittering throughout her gaze. But then her stomach rumbles, noisy enough to hit my ears, even above the soft melody of something country playing through the speakers.

Her cheeks burn a sweet red, like being hungry is something to be embarrassed about, so I take her hands in mine, and walking her to the table I set, I drag her chair out, careful not to mess up the ribbon I tied by hand—and felt stupid doing it—nor the cushions I bought today—after sitting on a dozen in search of the perfect ones.

I had no fucking clue there were so many options.

“Wait here a second.” I snatch up a stark white cloth napkin and drape it over her lap. Then, kissing her temple, I turn on my heels and stride through my kitchen.

Let’s go, Christian!

Lock this shit down before we hit day forty-two and time runs out.

Yanking the oven open and digging my hands into mitts, I take two warm plates from the rack and kick the door shut with the back of my boot, then I head out to the porch again. “I made chicken cacciatore.” I set her plate down between her silverware. “You like that, right?”

“With olives?” She studies the dish and smiles. Though I swear, this smile isn’t like the smile from before. “It smells delicious.”

“You don’t like olives?” I put my plate down and toss the oven mitts, the dull thud of thick material hitting the wall and falling to the floor playing somewhere in the back of my mind. “If you don’t like olives, I can make something else?— ”

“Relax. I like olives.” She takes her fork between her fingers and pokes at the chicken, inhaling a long, appreciative breath, before glancing up at me from under thick lashes and exhaling again. “Thank you. You made this yourself?”

“I did.” What was smooth before, becomes stilted now. My hands on her back, shaking as I bring my chair in. My thighs, previously strong, weak now as I grab my napkin and drape it over my legs. God, why am I nervous ? “It’s one of my go-to recipes. So, no to small towns?”

Jesus Christian. Can’t you just fucking drop it? I hate this shit hole!

Or at least, those are the words my brain insists I hear.

Instead, she selects a chunk of carrot with her fork and brings it up to smiling lips.

“I guess I think of this a bit like an organ transplant. Which makes me the replacement lungs or heart or whatever. I’m not sure this body— Plainview —will ever willingly accept such a foreign transplant.

Especially not when the little old tea-and-gossip ladies so badly want to reject me. ”

“You put a lot of stock in what other people think of you.” I pick up my knife and fork and slice into my chicken. “For someone openly and unashamedly confident, it surprises me you’d care so much what the tea-and-gossip ladies think.”

She scoffs. “You’d be surprised by the things that go through my mind when I catch them whispering about me.

” She nibbles on the carrot. “It’s not all about them, of course.

And ultimately, their opinions about me hardly matter.

Though, the volume with which they speak can’t be ignored.

Their animosity toward someone for…” She pauses and grins.

“Literally existing is pretty gross. Then there’s the fact Plainview’s largest grocery store closes at nine p.m., and Bealls is the only clothing store for a fifty-mile radius. ”

“You don’t like Bealls?”

“I don’t not like it, but variety is important, too. I like not wearing the same thing as everyone else. I like wandering a department store with nothing in mind, exploring their offerings until something jumps out and inspires me.”

Fuck me. Why does sweat trickle along my spine?

“I like meeting new people, and I like that those people don’t all look exactly the same, with the same skin color and the same life experiences and prejudices and stories to tell.”

“Well… if you lived here and traveled with Alana and Tommy for his fights, you’d get all those things still.”

You’re reaching, dickhead .

Amused, her glistening lips curl up. “I like not always knowing what to cook for dinner, so I can walk outside my apartment building and headfirst into a dozen different restaurants with a dozen different smells. I follow whatever inspires me and eat something new each night. This…” She looks down at her dinner.

“This is one of the most aromatic meals I’ve smelled since being in Plainview, which is both wonderful and horrifying at the same time. ”

“Horrifying?” She still hasn’t picked up an olive. In fact, she hasn’t eaten anything except a corner of a carrot. “You don’t like olives, do you? You can tell me. I won’t be mad about it.”