ground his molars as he thought of a thousand arguments, but he predicted she’d have a retort for each one. How in the hell was he going to change her mind?
Her smile lacked its usual playfulness as her pretty blue eyes held his. “So that’s it? Those are your arguments for me staying?”
Her lips...they looked redder tonight, plumper. He wanted to touch them with his thumb and take off her lipstick. See her all fresh and pure like he was used to seeing her. Not all made up. Just pink, fresh-skinned, with those seven freckles on her nose, and that soft coral mouth that he—
Damn.
He stiffened against the heat building in his loins.
But Kate... She made him feel so damned protective it wasn’t even funny. Her smiles, her personality, her alertness... There was no part of Kate he would ever change. No part of her he wouldn’t miss when she left for Florida.
Luckily, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“What am I going to do to change your mind?” he asked, more to himself than to her.
“Nothing. Honestly. My mind’s completely made up.”
He noticed the tray of wineglasses she’d set down nearby. She was taking a short break from making the rounds, he supposed. So he seized one and offered her another.
“Here’s to me changing your mind,” he said with an arrogant smile. He would find out what she was running away from, and he would eliminate it from the face of the planet.
She laughed, and the sound did magical things to him even as she declined the wine he offered her. “Oh, no, I don’t drink when I’m working.”
He snorted. “I should’ve stopped seven glasses ago, and yet here I am. Still going strong. Drink with me, Freckles.”
“Well it is your birthday. You might as well enjoy.”
“Come on. Join me on this toast. I relieve you of your duties.” He pressed the glass against the back of her fingers, glad when she finally took it. He felt cocky and arrogant as he lifted his glass. “Here’s to me changing your mind,” he repeated.
Kate’s eyes gained a new sparkle as she did the same. “And to me, and my new life in Florida.”
They knocked glasses in toast, and it was on.
It was on.
Like when they were kids playing Battleship...hell, yeah. Garrett was going to sink Kate’s Florida ship to the bottom of the ocean.
As though mentally plotting, too, Kate quietly sipped, watching him over the rim with a little glimmer in her eyes. A glimmer that told him she was definitely onto his plan.
Think what you want, Freckles. But you won’t be going anywhere.
“I’m not backing out until I get my way, Kate. You know this, correct?” Garrett warned with a smile
Kate shook her head, but was smiling, too. “See? And you asked me why I didn’t tell you? There’s your answer. I can’t deal with you right now, Garrett. I need to pack and make plans, help Molly with preparations so I can leave after the wedding.”
“You don’t need to deal with me. I will be the one dealing with you,” he countered as he finished his glass. He snatched another and then gazed out at the gardens, the alcohol already slowing his usually sharp brain. Oh, yes, he was determined.
He just couldn’t imagine his life without Kate in it.
Every family celebration—hell, every family dinner, gathering or festivity—she would be there. Every morning in his office, her delectable croissants would be there. In his mind, his very dark soul, every second of the day, she was there....
“Will you be spending the night here?”
The lights in her eyes vanished at his question, and she nodded sadly. “Your mother said I could use my old room. She doesn’t want me driving alone so late. You know what happened...”
To our fathers, he thought. They’d taken Garrett to watch a rock concert.
Neither had returned.
The reminder made his stomach twist and turn until he thought he’d puke.
He wanted to discuss Florida, take back control, make her promise she would stay and settle this here and now. But he didn’t feel like he was in control of all five senses anymore; he’d drained the second glass already, which brought tonight’s drink count to almost a dozen, so perhaps he could save this for another day.
Setting down the empty glass on the tray, he said, “All right, Kate. Sleep tight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Garrett.” Her voice stopped him, and he turned from the terrace door. There was regret in her eyes, and he worried she’d see the truth of his torment in his. Then she sadly shook her head. “Happy birthday.”
“You know what I want from you for my birthday, don’t you?” he asked, his voice so low she’d probably barely heard it.
For a long, charged moment, their gazes held. The wind rustled the bottom of her dress and pulled tendrils of hair out of her bun. Watching the way the breeze caressed her, he felt unraveled on the inside with crazy thoughts about tucking that hair behind her ear, feeling the material of her silky dress under his fingers.
“What?” she asked, sounding breathless. “What is it that you want for your birthday?”
Her eyes had glazed over. Now her chest heaved as though his answer made her nervous and, at the same time, excited, and for a moment, Garrett felt equally nervous, and equally excited. For that fraction of a second, he just wanted to say one word, just one word, that would change their lives unequivocally in some way. But he forced himself to say the rest.
“You,” he whispered, barely able to continue when he noticed the way her cheeks flushed, the way she licked her lips. “Here. I want you here on my next birthday. I want you here every day of the year. That’s all I want, Kate.”
* * *
You...
Kate felt strangely melancholy, lying in her old bed, in her old room, with its decorations still left over from her childhood. She didn’t want to think that this was the last time she’d be sleeping here, a door away from Garrett. She didn’t want to think it’d be the last birthday she spent with him and that some other guy she’d meet in Florida, a cabana boy or whatever, would be the one she’d settle down with.
She’d been barely seven when she buried her dad, and in that strange reflective moment when a grieving child gains the maturity of an old person, Kate had realized that her chance to be loved, to belong to something and someone, was now buried six feet under, in a smooth wood coffin.
She’d never blamed Garrett for anything, at least not at first.
She hadn’t been told what had happened in the beginning. She’d only learned that two men had been murdered and the killers had been caught and would spend their lives behind bars. Which had seemed like such an easy punishment, compared
