13

It had been a week since her visit to his cabin. She had stayed over with him twice more, and Bobby had managed three nights in town with her. Two nights they’d spent apart. The last two. Two long and lonely nights.

The cards (some with gifts) were the highlight of her day. And expecting them hadn’t detracted from the thrill of receiving them as she had feared. The mistletoe number fourteen card arrived yesterday with a gift.

I treasure our times together – past and present.

Darla ran her finger over the glass protecting the collage of photos capturing her and Bobby from their Gulf Coast trip years ago. She placed the frame back on top of the filing cabinet behind her desk.

Right beside the ceramic bowl bursting with yellow mums delivered on the eleventh with a card displaying a Christmas lollipop.

You are the sunshine of my life.

So far, she had received nothing today, but they had a date (an actual go out and eat date!) this evening. Bobby refused to tell her where they were going, just to pack an overnight bag, dress up, and be ready to leave at six.

Her office door flew open.

Startled, Darla looked up.

Her heart sank.

“I did not raise my daughter to be a trollop,” her mother exploded, marching across the floor.

Darla shot to her feet. “I am not—”

Her mother cut her off. “It is all over town.”

She squared her shoulders, waiting for the remainder of the rant. Her mother ranted the way she preached — delivering sound bites with loaded intervals.

“That you are fornicating with that man .”

The last two words were spoken with such vitriol Darla recoiled.

“Three nights in a row his truck has been parked outside—”

“Enough!” Darla snapped.

“Do not interrupt me, Darla.”

“This is my place of work, Momma.” Darla rounded her desk and stretched her arm to the open door. “Keep your preaching to your place of work.”

“You are my daughter. I will talk—”

“I love you, Momma, truly, I do, but you need to leave before we both cross a line.”

“I will not stand by and watch my baby’s heart get broken again.”

Darla dropped her arm at her mother’s whispered words. “Oh, Momma.”

“He made you cry , baby girl,” she added, still whispering.

“It’s different this time.”

Her mother folded her arms. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because there are no secrets between us now.”

“ Humph. Just because he’s got some fancy title now doesn’t make him worthy of my daughter.”

“He’s wooing me, Momma,” she said, giving her mom a synopsis of Bobby’s notes and gifts.

It took a beat for her mom to reply. “In my day, courting boys didn’t stay the night,” she snipped.

“Hmm .” A smile tugged at Darla’s lips. “Guess Will was born premature.”

Norma Miller’s chin lifted. “Your father and I were already engaged before we shared a bed.”

“Bed? I heard it was the back of Pop’s Ford Fairlane?”

“Darla!” Her mom looked around. “Do not speak of such things. People will hear.”

Darla lifted her brows. “Yet you came in here, ranting about—”

Lifting her left arm, her mom said, “Look at the time. I have a meeting.” She marched past Darla, chin in the air.

“Momma,” Darla called out, and her mom turned in the doorway. “Thanks for caring, but it is different this time.”

“We’ll see.” The woman gave a disdainful sniff. “Just make sure he gives you a big diamond,” she added before disappearing out the door.

*

Everyday Darla was gorgeous. Gussied-up Darla … spectacular. Her hair was pulled back off her face and her makeup more dramatic than usual — not that Darla needed to cover up any blemishes because she had none. She wore a long-sleeved dress in a rich burgundy with a draped neckline and tucked pleats hugging her torso. It was demure in style but looked breathtaking on her. The hem skimmed her knees and high-heeled gold shoes added several inches to her height.

“Wow,” Bobby managed to utter, absorbing the sheer beauty of the woman before him.

A smile curved her full mouth, and she fluttered the extra-long lashes at him. “And you clean up well, Sir Robert,” she purred, running a finger — the manicured tip matched her dress — down the lapel of his blue herringbone suit jacket.

He felt that light touch all the way to his dick, and caught her hand with one of his, lifting it to his mouth. “I aim to please, ma’am,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her knuckles. He’d love to push her back into the apartment, peel away that dress, and please her in an entirely different manner.

But he had plans for the evening, and their ride was waiting. With great reluctance he dropped her hand and pointed to the bulging duffle bag. “That your luggage?”

“Yep.”

She reached for her coat, and he took it from her and held it open. She slipped an arm in, and he moved closer, offering the second sleeve. It was a mistake, her perfume enveloping him in a cloud of vanilla and something flowery.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply. “You smell divine, love.”

She slipped an arm around his neck, pressing her body closer, teasing the short hair in his nape. “Hmm. We don’t have to go out,” she murmured, her breath gusting against his ear. Her free hand wormed its way between their bodies, and then …

Fuck. Give him strength. She rubbed her palm down his bulging erection, her fingers teasing as it strained against the confines of the material. He gathered every ounce of willpower and pulled back. “After you,” he muttered.

Darla walked — sashayed! — out the door, taking her alluring scent with her. He followed, extremely grateful for the long jacket covering her figure.

But he bumped into her when she came to a sudden halt. “What the hell, Bobby?”

“Our ride.” He wrapped a steadying hand around her waist and grinned, peering over her head at the Lincoln town car waiting to whisk them away.

“Ms. Miller,” their middle-aged driver murmured, doffing his cap.

Darla returned the man’s greeting, and after handing off her luggage, Bobby helped her into the back of the vehicle. She pounced before the door even closed, grabbing his arm, turning frantic eyes on him. “Please tell me this is not a prelude to a proposal,” she hissed.

The vehemence in her voice startled him. “This is not a prelude to a proposal,” he replied evenly, despite the dismay filling him.

And the relief that flooded her face deepened his concern. He’d really thought that they had turned a corner in their relationship this last week. And while he agreed it was way too soon for a proposal, marrying Darla was his end goal. He reached over and shut the door with a solid thunk, the whirr of seatbelts the only noise in the ensuing silence. He snapped the buckle with a bit more force than necessary as a flash of annoyance zipped through him.

“Bobby …,” she started, but stopped, heaving a deep sigh.

“This is just an evening out. The limousine a dash of luxury. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

The driver’s door opened, and the driver slid in behind the wheel. “Our trip will take approximately an hour and ten minutes, Mr. Bellerose,” he said.

“Thank you,” Bobby replied and pressed the button to slide the divider in place.

*

Darla wanted to kick herself for speaking without thought. That she had hurt him was obvious, and he was likely regretting going to such trouble to make this a special evening. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t’ve jumped to conclusions. It’s just …” She trailed off, looking at the luxurious interior, tastefully illuminated by strips of recessed lighting. Dark butter-soft leather and polished wood and loads of space. It wasn’t a stretch limo, but there was plenty of leg room between them and the gleaming panel of compartments from which the privacy screen had risen. She waved her arm about. “This is a lot.”

“And your first thought was a proposal.”

“Yeah.” She huffed. “Blame my mother,” she muttered and looked out the window. Unfortunately, it was dark outside and only her reflection stared back at her.

“How come?” Bobby face joined hers in the window, and he leaned closer.

“She paid me a visit today.”

He frowned. “Okay?”

She twisted to look at him head on. “Her parting comment was about you and diamonds, and then I spent the afternoon thinking about you and diamonds. More specifically about you and engagement rings and” — she sucked in a breath — “I am so not ready for that .”

A slow smile twisted his face into a satisfied smirk. “And then I arrive on your doorstep in a limousine.”

She flung herself back into her seat and her arms in the air. “And then you arrive in a freaking limousine.”

“I’m not proposing tonight, Darla.”

“Good.” Then his odd tone hit home. She shot him a side-eye. “But?”

“But diamonds are involved,” he added, opening a compartment on the side panel closest to him. Her eyes widened as he extracted a flat, black rectangle box adorned with an elaborate gold bow.

She bolted upright. “Robert?” she squawked, recognizing the logo of the local jeweler.

He didn’t offer it to her, just pulled the bow loose and lifted the lid.

“Oh.” She placed a hand to her mouth, staring in utter fascination at the glittering object nestling against the black velvet.

Diamonds were involved.

It was a pendant, shaped like a heartbeat displayed on an EKG monitor, covered in the glittering stones. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, staring at it in wonder.

There was a card wedged in the lid. That was what she reached for first, but she withdrew her hand at the last minute. “You’re not going to go all Pretty Woman on me, are you?”

Bobby frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Right. You’re not a rom com fan. But hello, we’re talking Pretty Woman here.”

He merely blinked.

She huffed. “The movie? Pretty Woman ? Richard Gere. Julia Roberts. It’s a classic.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

She rolled her eyes at his dry tone. “In the movie Edward, that’s Richard Gere’s character, presents Vivian, that’s Julia Robert’s character, with a jewelry box. When she reaches for the diamonds, he snaps the lid closed, almost catching her fingers. Ugh . You have to see it to appreciate the moment.”

“No lid snapping. Promise,” he added with a wink.

She snatched the card (a snowscape with trees and a small cabin and the number fifteen) and scanned the short sentence.

You’re my heartbeat.

“You don’t play fair, Robert,” she whispered, blinking rapidly, cupping his face. His scent enveloped her in a haze of soap and citrus and spice.

“There’s a lot at stake here, Darla,” he returned, his expression serious.

“Will you put it on me?”

“Of course.” He lifted the delicate chain, and she twisted, giving him access to her neck. His fingers brushed her skin as he threaded the cool gold beneath her hair and hooked the catch. He adjusted the chain, and it settled against her skin just above her neckline. She turned to her reflection in the window. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied, He lifted his head, and their gazes met and held in the window. “I love you, Darla Joyce Miller.” He took hold of her hand and placed the back of it against his chest. She felt the hard thump of his life-giving organ through the fine cotton of his shirt. “With every beat of my heart. And I promise to spend the rest of my days proving to you how deep and wide and endless that love is.”