Page 22 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

He does. But…less now than when I was a child.

And he never beat me bloody. Not in the way it sounds like Kaleb’s parents beat him.

“My grandfather has never hit me, though. It doesn’t seem right for me to want someone to die, even if he’s a pig.

Wanting someone to die just because they’re crude and simpleminded is horrible. ”

“Making someone’s life a living—” he swears, “—is cruel. The emotional abuse the leading men in your family subject you to is cruel. The expectations your father gives you while entreating you to behave as though you’re a thoughtless fool is cruel .

Don’t compare your brand of slavery to mine.

Regardless of the extent of the physical abuse, both are still demeaning and degrading.

You don’t want someone to die, Crimson. You just want to be treated like a human with thoughts and feelings and worth.

That isn’t horrible at all. That’s a bare minimum desire.

Some would even argue that it’s a bare minimum right. ”

His fingers comb through my hair as he kisses the crown.

I soak it in, reveling in the security.

Something about Kaleb is so peaceful. His spirit’s so calm.

The knowledge that my presence offers something to him soothes the deep-seated guilt inside me that says taking is wrong.

It’s not taking anything if it’s giving more, right?

To make sure I’m giving enough, I lift my lips to his neck and kiss.

I am so tired of being strong. Of playing roles. Of living up to expectations in order to avoid the consequences. I am tired .

And it is nearly one in the morning.

Kaleb’s hand finds my thigh, bracing there as a low sound leaves him. “We didn’t practice tonight,” he says roughly. “But I think you’ve gotten fairly comfortable around me by now. We might not need to practice anymore.”

I stop kissing. “You think so?”

“You’re initiating lately. You don’t flinch or grimace anymore when I kiss your cheek or forehead.

I think it’s safe to say that you’ve graduated from intimacy high school.

We won’t discuss college options until we’re remarried.

” His nose lowers through my hair until his lips find my neck.

“I hear there’s a lovely undergrad program, though…

if it interests you when you get there.” Hot breath fans across my skin.

“Was…that an innuendo?”

“Vaguely. No, I won’t explain the train of thought that created it.” His hand on my thigh slides to my knee. A curse whispers from him as I angle myself in accordance with his prompting. He asks, “Your feelings haven’t changed, have they?”

“No? Why?”

“You’re more pliant than I remember. I guess that’s the practice. Still. It does something to my brain knowing that you’ve grown to feel safe with me.”

Do I feel safe with him? Or do I just know a dozen ways to knock him out when he’s relaxed like this?

When I was a child, Ava would smuggle me to self-defense classes.

And I’d throw boys and men across padded mats as though they weighed nothing.

Despite the fact I’m not sure I’d be able to take Kaleb one-on-one when he’s serious, I don’t think I’d be completely helpless.

Letting my hand follow his arm up to his shoulder, I bury my fingers in his hair and locate the glaze in his eyes when he lifts his head. “I appreciate you,” I say.

“I adore you,” he replies.

A small smile consumes me, starting in my chest. And…

Maybe I do feel safe with him.

I could live with this, and if I can live with something I could barely stand just over a week ago, I can probably learn to live with a lot of things.

If he continues wanting me to be his wife, I want to be a good one.

I want to be a source of strength and comfort.

I want to take care of him, knowing that he’ll return the favor.

I…

My brow knits.

“What’s wrong, Rose-red?” he asks, lifting his hand from my leg in order to smooth the wrinkles at my forehead.

“I…think I just came to an unexpected conclusion.”

Patient, he tilts his head.

“I want a relationship.”

His eyes widen.

“I’ve never thought that before. I’ve always thought the exact opposite.

Always. I’ve known that not all men are like the men in my family, but I’ve still wanted nothing to do with them.

” My heart stumbles through a nervous rhythm in my chest. “But right now I think I do want something like what this could evolve into with time.” I smile as the idea of it continues to build inside me, painting pictures not at all unlike fairytales.

“I want to take care of someone and call them mine.”

Cupping my face, he touches a kiss to my lips. “Own me. I’m yours.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the caress. “I’ll take care of you, Kaleb,” I say between kissing him. “Just like this, and better.”

Swearing, he rearranges me so I’m kneeling around his thighs. His palms spread from my hips to my knees and back up, fixing at the small of my waist, dragging me in closer. “You’ve gotten…” He takes short breaths. “…really good at this, Crimson.”

Breaking the kiss, I hug him, stroke my nails against his scalp as my lips settle near his ear. “I’m glad. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight? Before I pass out from exhaustion.”

His chuckle vibrates my entire body. “Let’s see… You let me win at Monopoly…you’ve kissed me…and now you’ve given me hope that I won’t be the only one desperately wanting you in the future. I think that about sums up my emotional, physical, and spiritual needs, don’t you?”

“Mm. Seems it, yes.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Crimson? Please. Let me do something for you.”

He sounds as ready and eager to please as I am.

If I’m not mistaken, the recipe for a good relationship is a thirty-seventy effort, with both parties striving for the seventy. I think…I hope that this is going to work out beautifully. “You can carry me to bed,” I say.

He settles his hands under me and rises. My ankles lock behind him, and I forget to release when he lowers my back into my bed. Dangling off him like a sloth, I meet his heated gaze.

His eyes sparkle. “You wanna keep me tonight?” he whispers, kissing my forehead. “I’m willing. I’ll beg just to hold you in my arms.”

My skin warms. “Maybe soon. But not tonight.”

He unlatches my hands from around his neck and pins them above my head. His fingers tangle with mine and squeeze. “More hope. You’re so merciful, Rose-red. If you change your mind about tonight, wake me. Assuming I can even get to sleep, I know I’ll be cold without you.”

It is the last day of July. There is no way he’ll be cold without me.

Not a single chance.

And, yet, once he leaves—locking my closet door behind him—I find myself shivering as I bundle beneath my blankets and smile into my pillow.