Once Upon a Rose(78)

So…he did.



It was going to be a tough day. Having to deal with rough men, and machines, and his grandfather, and probably his cousins, with all his shields torn wide open like that, so that anyone could see all his vulnerable spots at the slightest glance. Matt had to dig his hands into his back pockets to keep from folding his arms over those vulnerable spots so that he could at least cover them with something.

“I’ve got to go,” he told Layla. “I need to get the crews started.”

She nodded, dipping her Nutella-spread baguette in her milk and nibbling on it, a little chocolate smear on her upper lip.

“Are you coming down later?”

“I think I’ll go see Tante Colette,” she said, maybe adopting the use of “aunt” because she didn’t know quite what else she should be calling her adoptive great-grandmother. “I’d like to get to know her better.”

A smile eased his mouth involuntarily, and all his exposed insides felt just a little safer to be revealed like that. She really was just a profoundly nice, decent person, wasn’t she? Interested in and respectful of her elders and kind to rough men who growled at her.

“Don’t lock up,” he said. And, in case that needed further explanation: “It’s, ah, my valley.”

Her smile lit her eyes and the whole kitchen, making those slate counters shine. “Nobody would dare steal from you?”

His fingers flexed against his back pockets. “Well. Except for you.”

Her eyes laughed at him. It wasn’t so bad having your heart all exposed with that kind of shimmering laughter falling down over it. That laughter felt so soft and sparkly it was like it belonged in some other life, some magic fairy tale life. It felt soft as rose petals. “You did manage to get me out of that house, didn’t you? First step toward getting it back?”

Oh. She’d misunderstood what he thought she’d stolen. “You’re, ah…welcome to stay here.” I…I might not mind so much letting you have a piece of my heart, if you’ll take care of it.

She gave him a searching look and then looked back at her baguette and Nutella, and…was she blushing a little bit?

God, it would help so much to fold his arms across his chest right now. But it would shut her out. He dug into his back pockets hard and offered her solid reasons. The things he was good at. “Here, I mean. In this house. My place is a lot more comfortable than Tante Colette’s old house. Fully equipped. Everything works well.”

A little smile on her face and a mischievous sideways glance that skimmed over his torso and lingered on his—crotch?—as if she almost made a joke, but she bit it back, whatever it was, and took a sip of milk.

His arms were going to break in two if he couldn’t fold them across his chest soon. No, he snapped at himself. I’m not going to do it. I’m not growling her away.

Is this all a joke to her? All a game? Did she not understand what I just offered? Or did it just not have that much value to her? She wouldn’t be the first woman who hadn’t valued who he actually was. “Okay, I’ve got to go.”

She got up suddenly from the stool and crossed to wrap her arms around his middle and press her face against his chest.

His own arms wrapped around her automatically in response.

Oh. Now that felt perfect. His arms folded, his heart shielded, but her shielded with it. Soft and sweet, this cushion of female body and curly hair. He stared down at those honey-brown curls.

“Can I tell you something?” she whispered.

A man had to be careful about what a woman might say to him, when she’d snuck her way into such a vulnerable spot close to his heart. But he couldn’t say no, so he made a low sound that passed as yes.

“Promise you won’t tell anybody,” she whispered. “Please?”

“I won’t tell.” He petted a heavy hand over her hair.

She stood on tiptoe still, to bring her mouth closer to his ear, just to make sure no one else in this empty room could catch the breath of words. “I think I’m falling really hard for you.”

He fell—just this strange, internal trip of his soul right over a rock it hadn’t expected and then, flip, sailing, falling, down toward this great, great space that opened out below.

He didn’t fall really hard, that was the strange thing. So big and so used to the solid hardness of the earth—he fell like floating.





Chapter 17


“Maybe I need therapy,” Layla said, letting a few notes float from her fingers questioningly into the kitchen in which Colette Delatour, Allegra, and a previously unknown woman, Jolie, had gathered. It was nuts how much she felt like playing her guitar today. As if she had so many notes vibrating inside her, they’d drive her crazy with their buzzing if she didn’t let them leak out.