Page 162 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

KATIE

One Month Later

T he sweet tea made the ice cubes in our cups pop and crack when I poured it. I dropped two lemon slices into each cup, gave them a quick stir, and put the pitcher back in the fridge before I carried the cups out the back screen door and onto the deck where Peter was working.

My man put the handy in handyman.

He’d been working tirelessly over the past month to make our little homestead into an oasis of the likes I’d only ever dreamed of.

I’d been living there with him for a total of one month and it had been a month of bliss. Sure, we bickered over things, like who got to control the remote for the TV when we watched sitcoms or when we gave each other hell for leaving toothpaste in the sink.

That was my bad.

But the bickering always led to laughter. I realized early on that was the foundation of our relationship and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I cleared my throat to let Peter know I was there.

He was on all fours, hammering pieces of wood down to the foundation of a new back deck he’d built all on his own.

It would be done by the end of the weekend, and next weekend, we were going to break it in properly with a barbeque and drinks with Roman, Ginny, and Mike, who’d come to the island last week to see what all the fuss was about.

Rumor had it he was considering moving here, too.

Peter was all over the idea. He wanted his brother in his life again, and ever since their father’s passing, Mike had been a much more responsible human.

He and Peter had worked together to close the sale of their father’s home, and since then, Mike had singlehandedly dealt with all their father’s belongings.

He sold a lot of it, donated most, and brought the things he knew were important to the island with him to sit and go through together with Peter.

They’d sat in the living room that night talking and reminiscing until close to three in the morning.

I’d made them dinner and tried not to bother them.

I spent most of the evening in the bedroom with the newest W.

Parker novel—a book about a young woman on an island who met a rogue sailor fleeing a bad past of trauma and failures.

I couldn’t help but see similarities between me and the main character and I wondered if Parker had used me as a muse.

As soon as I’d had the thought, I told myself that it was nonsense and just a coincidence. There was no way a writer as successful or famous as him would write a book inspired by the likes of me.

Then again, crazier things had happened.

Roman and Ginny were still living together and biting each other’s heads off on the daily.

They picked me up at the cabin on their way to work every morning and had stuck to their promise to go in an hour earlier every day so we didn’t have to rush.

It gave us time to say good morning to Hop, order our coffees, and get organized in our conference room before we started working with clients.

It also let us leave work an hour earlier than usual so long as we stayed on top of our schedule.

Ever since moving out of the El Cartana, my work-life balance had been much better. At first, I assumed it was just because I no longer lived on the property, but I realized if it wasn’t for Peter, I still would have spent just as many hours working now as I had before I moved out.

He was the reason I wanted balance. He was the reason I wanted to leave on time at the end of every day.

For the first time in a long time, I had a real home to go to where a man I loved more than the world always greeted me with a kiss and genuine joy that I was home.

There was nothing better than that.

Peter finished hammering in his last nail and pushed himself to his feet. He was wearing a sweat-stained, torn-up, white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He looked hot as hell, literally and figuratively, and his eyes lit up when I held out the iced sweet tea.

“You look like you could use a drink,” I said.

He took it and drained half the glass in three massive mouthfuls. “Damn, that’s good. Thanks.”

I looked around at the porch. He was making serious headway. “You got a lot done today.”

He nodded and surveyed his work before looking up through the trees. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and soon, the entire yard would be in shade and shadow. “I think it’s time to call it quits for the night,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll be out here hammering in the dark.”

“We both know that’s a bad idea for someone with your—” I paused and tried to think of the right word. “Problems with general coordination and affinity for clumsiness.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re a bull in a china shop and we both know it, so you shouldn’t work in the dark.”

He laughed. “Fair.”

“Coming inside?”

Peter nodded and left his tools outside.

Nobody would come and take them. This island was a safe place during the night and the day.

The screen door slapped closed against the frame behind him and Peter moved into the kitchen to brace himself against the counter.

“I’m going to hop in the shower, and then we can start dinner. Care to join me?”

“I’d have to be crazy to say no to that,” I said.

Peter grinned and took my hand and we giggled like school kids as we made our way down the hall to the bathroom.

He tore open the shower curtain and we both stripped out of our clothes.

The water was still chilly when we stepped into the tub.

I squealed as he pulled the showerhead from its hook and sprayed me down with cold water.

My nipples went hard and I caught him staring.

To warm myself up, I crushed myself up against him and sucked up some of his heat.

He lowered his head to mine for sweet kisses that tasted like sweat, lemons, and sweet tea.

When our kiss broke, I stared up into his eyes. “Isn’t it wild how much has changed in just one month? All because you happened to end up on this island? What are the chances?”

Peter shrugged one shoulder as he put the showerhead back up. He stood under the water. It slicked his hair back and he looked up at the ceiling so it could strike his face. Water ran in rivulets down his throat and chest and farther still, going down his stomach and past his hips to his cock.

I eyed him greedily.

Peter wiped water from his face. “I guess that’s just this crazy thing called love. When it wants you, it gets you.”

“I guess it is,” I said with a sigh.

My future—or rather, our future—held so much promise.

Where there used to be so much unknown, I now had a clear picture of what the rest of my life was going to look like.

I was going to marry this man, and as time went on, we would add to this little homestead of ours.

The one bedroom would become two, then three, and perhaps four.

It all depended on how things went. Either way, I would realize my dream of becoming a mother.

I knew it in my bones. I also knew the adoption process would be trying, but with Peter by my side, we could do anything.

There was a child out there in the world, or the idea of that child, and one day, I would hold them in my arms and call them mine.

I watched Peter massage shampoo into his scalp. He rinsed his hair and washed his body, and when he was done, he pulled me under the water with him.

“So what’s next?” Peter asked.

“Next?”

“Yeah, we’ve moved through the steps pretty quickly. We met, we dated, we made it official, we moved in together, we took on home renovations and still like each other. Seems to me like if we can do that, we can do anything. So that begs the question, what’s next?”

I pressed a thoughtful finger to my chin. “Hmm, I don’t know.” I lifted my left hand. “This hand feels a little light. And it looks kind of bare. What do you think?”

He grabbed my left wrist and pulled my hand so he could stare at my ring finger. “Did I not put a ring on your finger yet?”

I giggled. “Nope, not yet.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He tightened his grip on my wrist and pulled me in so close that I could feel his hard cock pressing against my stomach. “Well that won’t do, will it?”

I shook my head and squinted as the water bouncing off his shoulders sprayed me. “No, it won’t. But as you know, I’m a patient woman. I can wait.”

“I hope so because when I do pop the question, you’re not going to see it coming.”

“Oh no? I’m pretty intuitive.”

“Trust me, Katie. My proposal will knock you on your perfect ass. Mark my words.”

“Seems fitting, seeing as how that’s how you met me.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“By knocking me on my ass,” I clarified.

His eyes narrowed. “I got the joke. No need to explain.”

“You looked confused.”

“I was evaluating whether or not I actually wanted to marry you and be reminded of how much of a stumbling idiot I am on the daily.”

I snorted. “Oh please, you love me way too much to consider leaving me.”

He grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

I ran a finger along his jaw. “And I love you way too much to care how long it takes you to put a ring on my finger.”

“Liar.”

“You’re right. I want it within a year.”

Peter laughed. “Honesty, I like it.”

“I mean it. You have twelve months as of right now. By the start of the holiday season next year, I want to be engaged.”

“And if we’re not?”

I leaned in close. “Proceed at your own risk.”

He leaned in closer until our lips were nearly touching. “You don’t scare me, Smithe.” He backed me up against the wall behind the tub and planted his hands on either side of me, caging me in between his strong arms. “What are you going to do about it?”

I gave him a coy smile. “This.”

I went to my knees in the tub. Peter watched me, surprise flitting across his handsome features only to be replaced within seconds by desire. I gazed up at him, and he looked lovingly down at me, and I showed him with my mouth exactly why I deserved that damn ring.

There was no doubt in my mind he’d already picked out the one he wanted. Hell, it might even be hidden somewhere in our home right under my nose, and when the time was right, he’d get down on one knee and he’d pop the question.

When that day came, I would be ready. Until then, I wanted to enjoy every second of this part of our life together. The renovations, the late nights with red wine on the porch, the early mornings with coffee in bed, the pillow talk for hours before we finally fell asleep.

And, of course, the nail-biting sex that always left me wanting more.

Peter was right. Love was crazy, and when it wanted you, it got you.

And damn, did it get me good.