Page 12 of The Worst Man

Hank reached for my hand, and his thumb brushed over my knuckles, lingering for a few seconds on the gold band. “That’s entirely up to you. I realize we were drunk last night, but I knew what I was doing. If you want a divorce or an annulment or whatever, I’ll give you one. No questions asked.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked, needing to hear the words he’d whispered as he claimed my body. Needing to see if they made my heart dive and flip the way they did in my memories.

“No, that’s not what I want,” he finally said.

I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I honestly hadn’t known how he was going to answer the question. More than that, I hadn’t known how I wanted him to answer until I heard him speak the words aloud.

“Last night … before this—” I raised my hand and waggled my fingers, the gold band glinting in the sunbeam that streamed into the room “—you mentioned that you had feelings for me for awhile. I’d like to understand what changed.”

“Do you remember Gwen?”

“Your six foot tall girlfriend who was also a swimsuit model? Yes, I remember her. I also remember that she hated me probably more than you did.”

“Yes, well. Whenever she didn’t get her way or I did something she didn’t approve of, she’d accuse me of being secretly in love with you to deflect attention away from her. It used to drive me up the fucking wall because it felt like she blamed me for her bad behavior. As if how I felt about you had anything at all to do with her taking my credit card and running up a two thousand dollar bill at La Perla.”

I cocked my head to the side. “La Perla?”

“Lingerie. Lots of bows and lace.”

My face heated at the mention of Gwen’s unmentionables. I could only imagine how the statuesque beauty must have looked in her fancy french doodads. Meanwhile, I was more a Hanes plain white cotton kind of gal myself.

“Oh shit,” I said, bringing my hand to my mouth. “You saw my underwear.”

Hank’s lips quirked to the side. “I did.”

“And it’s ugly.”

“It’s …” He fought the chuckle that threatened to bloom into a full fledged guffaw.

“It’s not at all sexy,” I answered for him.

“I wasn’t looking at your underwear, Miranda. I was too busy trying to get to what was hidden underneath.”

My gaze darted away, suddenly shy. Hank had quite obviously seen me naked last night—I still had the lingering soreness to prove it—and then again this morning, but the idea that he’d also seen my underwear was what truly embarrassed me. Because I’d never be the woman who trussed herself up in silk and lace. The type of woman that men oohed and awed over. The type who billion dollar marketing campaigns called an angel. In theory, I could understand the desire to wear the stuff, but in actuality, I hated even the most comfortable bra. As soon as I walked through the door in the evening, it was the first thing I removed. Which was probably why my boobs now hung quite a bit lower than they once had. I’ given them too much freedom and now they were heading south.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for my chin and bringing my face back around to him. “I mean it, I don’t care two shits about what kind of lingerie you wear. Hell, you could wear none, and … no, never mind. I rather like the idea of that.” He smiled at me, and I felt my cheeks lifting in return. It was weird, but nice, to smile at Hank for once instead of scowl. It would probably take some getting used to though … now that he was my husband and all.

“You never answered my question,” he said, bringing the conversation back around to where it had started. “Do you want a divorce?”

My eyes skated over his dark, patrician features, and I let my heart take the lead. There was no denying that Hank was intelligent, much as it might have pained me in the past to admit it. And as evidenced by the way he’d stood up for Beatrice and Gloria, he was compassionate and generous. And when I revealed my greatest shame, he’d been both gentle and understanding. And I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t a damn fine kisser too. From the way my body felt well loved this morning, I had more than an inkling that he was also a terrific lover.

By all accounts, he was exactly the type of man I would have wanted if I’d ever let myself want. He encapsulated all the characteristics I would have advised any friend to seek in a partner.

But maybe most importantly, despite how prickly I could be, he wanted me. Against all reason and logic, he’d decided that I was the person he wanted by his side. He’d willingly pledged his heart to mine, and now he was asking me to do the same.

I pulled a deep breath into my lungs and then released it on a long, slow gust. My eyes found his, and I linked our hands together. “No, I don’t want a divorce.”

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