Page 98 of Her Greatest Adventure

“You’re so stubborn,” he grumbles.

“I know.”

My next inhale gets lodged in my throat when he grips the paint roller from where he set it on the can and drags it over the wall, his eyes holding mine the entire time. The hint of a smile tugs at his mouth as I watch him use the leftover paint to leave a pink line down the wall.

“Oops. Would you look at that,” he says.

“If you’re doing this because you think you have to, I need you to drop the roller.”

His gaze grows more intense as he grips the roller tighter. “I’m doing this because it will make you happy, and when you’re happy, so am I.”

“Even if it means pink walls?”

“Fucking hell, Addie. I would paint myself pink if it made you smile,” he states.

My brows jump, and then I smirk. “Really?”

“Really.”

He watches me intently as I start walking toward him. I hold my breath, waiting for him to stiffen like he did earlier, but he stays relaxed. Breathing out in relief, I stop moving when the paint can is directly between us.

“Prove it,” I mutter before dipping my hand in the can and spraying him with a palmful of paint. It hits his face with a splat as he recoils. I laugh loudly, eyes crinkling at the corners as I stare at him. “What was it you said? Oops?”

He shuts his eyes as he uses his thumb to wipe a splatter from his cupid’s bow. When he opens them again, they’re wild, bright with both excitement and the promise of revenge.

Oh, fuck.

I spin on my heels and take off. My blood thumps in my ears, even as I laugh and run through the house, unsure where to hide. The psychopath is whistling as he follows me, and that only makes me laugh harder.

“Come on, love. You want to play with paint? Why don’t you let me have a turn?” he taunts me.

“No way!” I squeal, turning into the laundry room.

Stopping just past the doorway, I come to the sudden realization that there’s nowhere to hide here. Footsteps sound down the hall, and I make a ballsy decision to try my luck somewhere else.

“I’ll do a good job. I promise,” he says.

I bite my tongue and peek my head out the doorway.All clear.Moving into the hall, I take soft, quiet steps toward the kitchen. A proud grin starts to tug at my mouth when a pair of arms wrap around me from behind and pull. My scream dies in my throat when warm lips brush the tip of my ear.

Looking down at the hands gripping my front, I find them stained pink. “You did not!” I gasp.

Those pink hands begin to move. They drift over my chest, and then one slides up the column on my throat before they both squeeze.

“I did. You are my world, Adalyn. I need you to get that through this beautiful head of yours.”

The backs of my eyes begin to burn. Not because of the feel of his hand on my throat, the soft pressure cutting off some of my oxygen, but because of how that declaration affects me and how badly I needed to hear it without truly knowing I did.

He doesn’t stop there, though. God help me, he continues to flay me open.

“You are my home, and this house should be yours. This isn’t temporary for me. Not you and me, and not you living here.”

I cover the hand he has on my throat with mine, drifting my fingers over his knuckles. “You’re my home too,” I whisper.

There’s a question right there on my tongue, but I can’t get myself to speak it out loud.Why won’t you tell me you love me?I see it in everything he does and the words he speaks. Or at least, I think I do. Would he say it back if I said it first?

A flick of his thumb over my pulse as he asks, “Will you help me get our room ready now?”

“I guess,” I whisper.

---