Page 122 of Point of Contention

“Likewise, Mrs. Blake.”

“Please, call me Marnie.”

I inclined my head.

She watched me quietly and I waited for another person Rylan loved to tell me how little they approved of me. “She really cares for you.”

My eyebrows rose. I hadn’t expected that. “Yes. And I for her.”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip the way Rylan had so many times. They had the same dark hair, same big brown eyes, even the same tiny beauty mark. But where Rylan’s nose was straight, nestled between high cheekbones, her mother’s was a pert ski jump settled between fuller cheeks.

“I don’t want her to get hurt again.”

I nodded and—

Something clunked upstairs and I looked up at the ceiling, then smiled when Rylan cursed.

“Well, go on,” Marnie instructed. “If she hurts herself because we’re standing down here shooting the shit, she’ll never forgive us.”

I chuckled and began to walk up the stairs. Pausing on the landing, I looked back down at the two women staring up at me. One of them hesitant but accepting, the other angry and wary. “I love her,” I said. “I thought you should know that.” Then I continued my way to Rylan, following the soft thumps and quiet curses until I found her bedroom.

Settling with my shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, I watched her reach up to the top shelf of her closet, the denim shorts she wore pulling up to expose a sliver of her ass beneath each hem. I watched her appreciatively until a stack of sweaters tumbled down around her.

I laughed and she spun around, dropping her hands to her hips.

Rolling my lips together, I entered the room, side-stepping boxes until I reached her. “Hello, gorgeous.”

She huffed in annoyance.

“You know I have movers for this, right?”

As if I’d summoned them, a man cleared his throat behind me and I looked over my shoulder as two men filled the doorway. Then I turned back to Rylan and mouthed, “See?”

She grabbed the latte and shook her head. “Of courseyou’re the type of person who wouldn’t pack their own stuff.”

I laughed as she stepped past me. “Why would I do that?”

She shot me a glare, then looked around the room before motioning toward the movers. “So, how does this work? Do I just, like, stand here and tell you what goes where?”

I sighed. “Rylan, no.” I slid my arm around her waist because it had already been too long since I’d touched her—and she’d only left me at Reed Tower a mere ten hours ago. Motioning to the movers, I explained, “These two nice gentlemen will pack everything in this room and any other room in the house you tell them to, move it across town to my penthouse, then they will unpack it. For which I have paid them handsomely.”

She tore her gaze away from them to look up at me. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

I licked my lips. “Oh, I think we can come up with something, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened and shot back to the movers, cheeks flushing at my blatant inuendo. “O-kay. Well, I’m not taking the bed or the dresser.” She pointed to each, then added, “Or any of the stuff on the walls.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anything in the bathroom, Ms. Blake?” the other mover asked.

“Oh, yeah. Um. Hold on.” Before I could restrain her, she ducked out of my grasp and hurried to the small bathroom across the hall.

Shaking my head, I stepped over a pile of blue jeans and followed her into the small bathroom.

“Here. Let me.” I opened my arms and she used her free hand to stack things in them, grinning up at me and occasionally sipping on her lavender latte.

When my hands were good and full, with towels and toiletries and more perfume sprays than any one person could possibly need, she grinned. “All set.”

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