Page 132 of Bad Enough

She took his breath away. The clothes weren’t even revealing most of the time. It was just something about the whole situation. The sound of her arrival. The scent of her perfume. The sight of all that innocence, sass, and sexiness all wrapped up in one. The anticipation of meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. Her on the bottom step, him flat on the floor, and looking into her eyes. He didn’t think it could ever get old because every time that damn stair creaked from her stepping on it, he’d be transported back to these moments of wonder and anticipation.

He met her at the bottom step. He still had to look down at her, but tonight was a little less than usual. She wore the black coat dress like a steampunk goddess. It was all form-fitted sleeves and bodice, but once the waistline hit, all bets were off. The skirt flared out, with flounced layers underneath, and the buttons down the front stopped functioning just below the juncture where her legs met, revealing a creamy expanse of thigh until black velvet over-the-knee boots that were her standard five-inch heel. Added bonus? She had these fake tinted eyeglasses, small and round in shape, making her look like a scientist and a librarian all in one. Smart woman that she was, she knew his weakness and exploited that by piling her red hair high on her head in some sort of creative top knot and leaving stray strands down and curling around her face. He’d be playing with one or more of those curls all night long, and she knew it.

“You look gorgeous, princess,” he told her as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You make a very suitable steampunk librarian for Tripoli’s theme night at the grand re-opening of The Library.”

Her hands went to his chest and rested there. “You’re not so bad yourself. But you are not exactly in keeping with the theme,” she chastised as she gestured to his everyday outfit of a black dress shirt, black jeans, and black cowboy boots.

He grunted. “Not big into dress up. At least, not for myself.”

“Mmm. That’s all right. I’ve always been partial to your bad wolf persona,” she teased, reaching out to smooth down his shirt collar. Her attention was caught by his newest tattoo on the side of his neck—a red wolf with emerald-green eyes.

His hand reached up to take her hand in his, which he brought to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. He caught the scent of roses on her wrist, where she had dabbed her favorite perfume.

He breathed her in, then he pulled her close, hugging her tightly to him, wishing he could wrap up this moment like he was wrapping her up in his arms. They stood there, just holding one another in the quiet of the house.

“I have something for you,” he said as he pulled away.

He turned and walked over to the dining room table, where a black gift bag sat. From out of the bag, he pulled a jewelry box from the store Midas had researched and given to him on the day they rescued Flame. It clearly held some type of necklace. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the box in his hand translating into a grip tightening around his lungs.

Will she understand what it means?

Slowly, he turned to face her. She stood where he’d left her, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top front teeth.

She’s nervous because she can tell that you’re nervous. Relax!

The space between them was less than twenty feet, but it felt like they were at two ends of a black tunnel. One that was closing in on them with each step he took back toward her.

Once back in front of her, he held out the box to her.

She looked at him, confused.

“Open it.” Technically, it may have been a command, but his voice was soft and filled with trepidation.

Cautiously, she reached for the box and opened the hinged lid. She couldn’t help but give a soft gasp at what was inside, and her eyes opened wider. She put her hand out to touch it but then pulled back at the last second, grabbing her throat with that same hand.

Inside the velvet box was a strand of twelve teardrop gems attached to a chainmail collar. And in the center of the collar was a silver wolf’s head inside the O-ring, its head thrown back in a howl for its mate. At the back was a small silver lock with a key inside it.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. She looked closer. “Are… are those diamonds?”

He shrugged. His nerves were jangling.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll wear it for me. Please.”

She looked at him, her eyes shining. “You’ve never said ‘please’ before.”

“This is important.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “This isn’t just a collar for nights out at The Library.”

“No, it’s not,” he confirmed. “This is permanent. This is something you’d give someone for a collaring ceremony.” He sighed. “I’m not doing this right.”

“There’s no right or wrong way, TB. It’s just your way. Think of it like when you ask me to spell out my limits bluntly. I need your words clearly on this so that I know where your head is. You’re not exactly Mr. Expressive. And we definitely don’t want misconceptions on this.”

He smiled. “No. No, we do not.”

“So, just tell me. No frills or fancy speeches. Just say what you need to say.”

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