Page 75 of Hot Stuff
I grin. “Depends what you’re thinking I’m thinking.”
“Walker.” My name is a warning, but I see the spark of excitement in her eyes. I know she’s not totally averse to what I’m suggesting.
And I’m not even being clear.
“We can’t,” she adds when I push off the counter.
“Sure, we can.”
“Walker.” She takes a step back.
I follow.
“Walker.” She’s trembling now and I reach for her hand, steady it in mine.
“Oak.”
Her eyes close and I know I have her. When she looks at me again, a smile takes over my face and I lower to one knee.
She sucks in a breath and the fingers of the hand I hold—her left one—curl tightly around mine.
Then I say two words. And they’re more demand than question.
“Marry me.”
Oakley
I’m nodding.
Holy shit.
I’m nodding.
And grinning.
And shit, shit, shit.
I’m in his arms, my mouth on his, and we’re tumbling to the floor.
His hands are under my shirt, mine under his, our mouths eating at each other in a desperate attempt to sate the crazy maelstrom of emotions engulfing us.
“Ah, should I leave?”
We rip apart. Pant like we’ve been starved of oxygen for a week, and stare at each other with grins so wide I’m sure we look like a couple of lunatics.
Hell, at this point I think we are lunatics.
As one we turn our heads to look up at Drake who’s standing at the edge of the kitchen island with a look on his face I can’t decipher. It could be fear.
That thought stretches my mouth wider. He steps back, gives us a quizzical look, and my grin turns into laughter.
“What am I seeing here?”
“You are seeing the happiest man on the planet,” Walker says.
I open my mouth to speak, to sayand woman, but I don’t get a chance because one second I’m on the floor wrapped around him and the next I’m on my feet with Walker’s arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“She just agreed to marry me.”
