Page 102 of Lace 'em Up

I don’t stop there, though.

I keep going.

I tell King everything that I’ve ever hidden away like a deep, dark secret.

I give him more than I’ve ever given anyone.

Because I’m in too deep.

And I have no hope of pulling back.

Twenty-Nine

King

I listen.

And I rage.

That she went through so much.

That she had so little.

And when she finally finishes telling me about how Jean-Michel recognized her talent (not a surprise from the shrewd businessman) and all that the grumpy fairy godfather has done for her over the years, my respect for the man has grown.

He sees Rory, all that soft and sweet and bright inside her.

And he’s looked out for her, protected that gentle core.

I need to find a way to thank him.

But what does one do for a grumpy billionaire fairy godfather who has everything he can possibly want?

“And then—” Her words are interrupted by a giant yawn, so I table the thought and smooth back her hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. She smiles…

And promptly yawns again.

“I think it’s time for sleep, princess,” I say softly, rubbing my hand slowly up and down her back, loving that my touch has her slumping against me, that it garners yet another yawn as sleep tries to steal her under.

“Prickle Princess,” she corrects.

“I thought you hated that name.”

“It comes from you”—her lips brush over my throat—“and I don’t think I could ever hate any part of you.”

I freeze, her words striking with the impact of a nuke.

But luckily sleep takes her before she realizes what she’s done to me, her breathing going slow and steady.

And I’m left lying there in the dark, thinking that I’m playing with fire and that…

She’s perfect.

And that’s…

Well, that’s the fucking problem.

My phone buzzes, and I manage to peel open my eyes to see that sun is pouring through the windows.

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