Page 26 of Marrying the Gardener (The Bachelor Brothers #3)

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Ugh.

Kaleb

Light is my enemy, and I am a fool. Why did I think drinking so much so fast would be a good idea when the last drinks I’ve had in years were two watered down scotches over the course of several hours?

I am not fifteen anymore. I am almost thirty.

I am no longer capable of getting blackout drunk with the guys and waking up like nothing happened when it’s time for my shift at Madame D’Clancy’s.

Now, my head thunders. My mouth’s dry. My stomach aches. My very bones protest.

Dragging a hand to my face, I groan low and roll myself onto my other side, begging the darkness to grasp me again. It’s truly cruel that Crimson’s main bedrooms don’t have blackout curtains. Instead of the relief from continued night, I live awash in red-colored light.

Cool fingers disturb my grumblings as they collide with my forehead, and my breath catches. Squinting blearily, I locate Crimson at my bedside. “You’re up,” she says, setting a collection of items I can’t fully make out on the nightstand.

I am not, actually, up .

Behold, my horizontal position, my adamant down ness.

Heavy breaths plunge through my body, and I discover that even when it feels like I have survived being hit by a train, the pound of want for this woman runs deeper in my veins than any pain could.

Hissing swears coalesce inside my skull, creating new ones as I take in the blurry outlines of her body.

She’s still in her nightclothes, those thin silky slips of seduction.

I can’t stop myself from enjoying the peaks of her breasts or the taper of her waist or the flare of her hips.

She’s so…beautiful. And I have touched her, grabbed her, held her.

My hands have filled with her time and again over these past few weeks, and no addiction comes close to the sensations.

I murmur a swear, reaching aimlessly for the being of all my desires.

She clamps a sippy cup in my palm. “Electrolytes.”

I blink. It…is a sippy cup. A blue sippy cup.

“Take these.” She discovers my other arm and plants a pile of pills in my hand.

“Wh…”

“Painkiller, potassium, multi-vitamin, a few other things I read were good for a hangover. Don’t choke.”

Mumbling, I sit up just enough to begin contemplating forcing the collection down my throat. “I won’t unless you want me to.”

“What?” she inquires.

I cuss. “N…nothing. Ignore me. Completely. Please .” I take the entire handful and a swig of the fluid, which tastes faintly of sodium and mysteriously of the idea of fruit.

No sooner have I swallowed does Crimson settle a plate of slightly charred toast before me. “Get a little something on your stomach.” Her hands breach the sanctity of my body without adequate warning, the heels of her palms meeting my shoulders as she seats herself on the bed next to me.

My heart tumbles. She grinds into my muscles, dragging relief up my neck.

An unbidden moan tugs itself from my chest as I angle my body to offer her more easy access. “Crimson…”

“Shh.” She kisses my cheek. “Toast.”

While I crunch, she tortures me with a head massage, encouraging me to lean back against her beautiful soft body once my food is done. Insistent, she keeps touching me while I suffer the ecstasy. I swear, tilting my head back and lifting my hand to her face. “You’re such a good wife…”

“That is almost like saying good girl to me, Kaleb.” Her expression hardens. “Refrain.”

A frail laugh leaves me. “Sorry. I appreciate this. That’s the language you prefer, isn’t it? I appreciate you.” I love you. I want you. I need you.

Her pinched lips ease. Her hands continue tormenting, digging into my muscles without mercy. “You do so much for me.”

“Nah. I don’t.”

“You do though. I know how hard this is on you. It’s put you to tears.

I’m so sorry now it’s also brought you physical pain.

” She kisses my forehead. “Drinking as much as my grandfather did couldn’t be good for his condition.

Surely he’ll be on his way out now…” Something ashamed reflects in her eyes.

“We just have to hope you’re in good enough standing by the time he finishes his final will. ”

Screw hope . I’m not giving this up no matter what.

If everything falls apart, I’m dropping to my knees with intentional guilt trips and pleading that Crimson let me save her and buy her freedom so she can be mine forever.

I will actually die if I am never in a position again where she might work the knots out of my shoulders, slipping her touch down my arms and up my neck and into my bloodstream.

Whatever she’s doing right now is worth a million dollars, and I will spend the rest of my ages trying to convince her of that if it’s necessary.

Sighing—melting—against her, I murmur, “Marry me.”

A gentle smile curls her lips. “We are married.”

“Again.” Catching her hand, I cup her palm to my mouth. “I want a wedding. I want to write my own vows. I want to recite them to you in front of everyone I love.”

“I think, perhaps, I should meet everyone you love before we get carried away like that, don’t you?”

She has already. But I can’t say that, so I just let her fingers slip from my hand and return to my shoulders. Pleasure enshrouds me instantly, consuming my thoughts, battling the aches. I’ve nearly fallen asleep beneath the spell of her ministrations when she murmurs, “It’s Sunday.”

“Mm. It is.”

“Date day.”

My heart jumps. We have a date day ? A dedicated date day? Every week? Perpetually?

“Since today seems a little rough, I think we should wait for tomorrow, but is there anything you’d like to do, or should I plan it again?

” Her gaze finds mine, then slips away. Her fingers move up into my hair once more, massaging my temples, lulling me back into this heaven of peace and satisfaction she creates.

I want to live here, always, with her. “I’m up for anything with you.”

“Anything at all? What about skydiving? Bungee jumping? Rock climbing up real mountains—without harnesses, unattended?”

“I never took you for a thrillseeker before.”

“Deep sea diving.”

“Awful long way to the sea. Are we making this a weeklong trip? More…hotel nights together, maybe?”

A flare of heat scorches her cheeks. “Not if the shark cage doesn’t hold.”

Reaching, I comb my fingers through her hair, love the way the red-tinted light plays with the strands.

“I’m afraid anything I might come up with for a date would pale in comparison to all your elaborate ideas.

The chance we die would drop exponentially, because if death is a risk at all, I won’t get to spend another Sunday with you, and the idea of that is almost too much to bear. ”

“Drama king,” she murmurs.

“You bring out the best in me.”

“Hangovers make you awfully flirty. I don’t think I’d like you to have one ever again.”

That makes two of us. “My default is flirty. I try to curb it for you.”

She pushes the flowing curtain of her waves back from her face.

The red in her cheeks accentuates the dapple of angel kisses all over her skin.

I wish, deeply, to trod where they have.

If only I weren’t heavily reliant on lying here, helpless, and letting her hands work. She says, “I don’t mind flirty.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you flirted back.”

“I don’t understand flirting.”

I smile. “It’s simple. You just say things, and my heart falls under your spell.”

Her lips purse as her eyes wander, then she says, “Abracadabra.”

My lips quip. “Very good. In our next lesson, we’ll cover pick-up lines.”

Her laughter floats around me, soothing my soul. “So, no requests for date day?”

“Once I no longer feel like death, I’ll plan it. We can take turns, if that’s all right with you.”

She blesses me with a forehead kiss, letting the cascade of her hair fall around my face and cocoon me in insurmountable bliss. “That’s perfect.”

I love you gets stuck in my throat as I let my eyes close.

Right now, I don’t know if my body can handle the desperate plea for her to say I love you, too going unanswered.

So I stuff everything I’m feeling deep down inside, where the dregs of liquor continue to poison, and my perfect wife continues to cure.