Page 80 of Neighbor from Hell
I can clearly see his passion for me now. The fear in his eyes for me that night. You can’t pretend that. The way he ran through flames, risking everything. Suddenly, I can’t hold back, can’t guard my heart any longer. Tears spill, hot and unstoppable as I throw my arms around him, my voice breaking.
“I tried to keep my walls up, Hugh, tried to protect myself, but I can’t. I love you. I’ve been denying it, but I’m done fighting it. I’m in love with you, and I’m so sorry for doubting you.”
My words hang in the air, raw, honest, as I hold onto him, not willing to let go. I don't care if he doesn't feel the same way, but for once, at least, I need to let him know. I've missed him so incredibly much, and I relish the strength and feel of his body, the warmth and safety. It is the sweetest feeling in the world to be in his arms. His hands tighten around my arms, and I have a moment of panic. Is he going to push me away?
He doesn’t push me away, but he pulls back. For a moment, I don’t look up. Not willing to face him in light of my confession, but I have no choice, so I finally do.
He stares at me with wide, stunned eyes. “Say it again,” he orders in a strained, strange voice.
“I’m in love with you,” I say slowly.
Like a man possessed, he swoops down and kisses me, and I am in shock at how desperate it is, at how deep and urgent. His tongue slides into my mouth, warm, claiming, possessive. My hands fist against his jacket, and my body melts into his. This is where I belong. Here. Right here. Eventually, he pulls back, his forehead against mine, his voice low, trembling.
“I never thought I could feel this way about a woman. You’ve made me weaker than I’ve ever been, but I don’t want to feel any other way. I love you, Lauren. So much it hurts like a fucking knife in my chest. I’d never have run into that fire for anyone else, didn’t even think, and I don’t regret it. I’d run through a thousand fires for you.”
We cry, tears mingling, then we kiss again, deep, desperate, hugging each other tight, his arms a haven, his warmth erasing the cold of my doubt.
I laugh shakily and say, “I met your mom, by the way.”
He chuckles, his breath warm on my cheek. “I’m sure that must have been interesting.”
“Very interesting,” I say, smiling, my fingers tracing his jaw. “I’m looking forward to meeting her more. I hope I can.” My voice is soft, hopeful, because I want him, want us.
“You will,” he says, his eyes bright, certain.
I turn to the cottage. “The house is coming along fast,” I say, my voice light. “I reckon I’ll be able to move back in soon.”
He finds my hand, his fingers linking with mine, warm, steady, and says, “How about you don’t move in there? How about you move into the manor with me?” I stare, my breath catching, my mind reeling, and he grins, mischievous. “
You’re spending all this money renovating,” I say, my voice teasing, but my heart’s pounding. “But you don’t want me to live here?”
He laughs, squeezing my hand. “Our children will have a granny annexe instead of a treehouse. And sometimes we can put my nosy mother in there too. For the nights we want to scream our heads off and fuck to our heart’s content, she’ll need a place to stay.”
I gasp, laughing, my cheeks flushing. “Oh, you are bad. Our childrenwillrequire a treehouse. And your mother won’t hear a thing if we move to the North wing while she’s around. I was thinking maybe Annabel can live in the cottage. If she doesn’t have to pay rent, she can afford to buy a car so she can drive to work and back every day.”
He continues, his voice warm, earnest. “Why not? She was good to you, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine, but my point was that I want you to move in with me. I want us to spend every moment together, fall even deeper in love.”
I’m crying again, tears of joy and disbelief at how lucky I am. He wipes the tears away, his thumb gentle, his eyes soft.
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing through the tears. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional.”
He kisses me, deep, lingering, and says, “I love you, Lauren Hutton.”
“And I love you, Hugh Montrose, the twelfth Duke of Beauclerk.” I pause, a grin tugging my lips. “Wait, I’ve always wondered… what does the G in your name stand for?”
“Gustauvaus.”
“Gustauvaus? No wonder you hide it?” I tease.
He smirks. “And now you’ll have to hide it too.”
“No, no, no,” I say and giggle.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, pulling me close. “Everything that is mine has just become yours too.”
Epilogue
LAUREN
