She cleared her throat. “How are things?”
“Good, busy but I’ll be wrapping it up tomorrow and on my way home.”
Thank god.
“Any recent developments?”
“I got another flower, a single red rose.”
“What does it mean?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek.
“Juliette.” His voice sliced like a knife. Sharp and bordering on angry, it was a demand for the truth.
“Mourning.”
“The fuck?” Shooter growled.
“I know. I couldn’t figure it out either.” She cleared her throat and rubbed at her eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the darkness in the room.
“I want you to stay at my place until I get home.”
“No place I’d rather be.”
“I like hearing you say that, baby.” His voice gentled and she smiled. He didn’t talk to anyone else that way. Her earlier reservations rushed to the surface. Does this mean he feels the same way?
“Careful, you might come home and find all my things moved in. Tampons under the sink and pink razors might cramp your style.”
“I could give a fuck less about what others think. I want you with me. If you moved all your shit in, I’d be ecstatic.”
“You don’t think it’s too soon?” she whispered.
“When is time? I know how I feel.”
“How is that?” Her voice shook. The time for clarification had arrived.
“I’ve been up-front with you from the start, Juliette. Why do you think I warned you away? I’m trying to move at the pace you need, but I’m already there.”
“I’m there too.” She couldn’t say I love you out loud, not yet.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve a woman like you, but I’m never letting you go. You’re mine now Juliette Moore. When I come home I’ll remind you of that.”
Her throat went dry and the witty comment she had planned fell by the wayside.
“Cat got your tongue, baby?”
Smug bastard.
“More like a Shooter.”
A husky chuckle came through the phone.
“Get some sleep, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night, Shooter.”
“Night, Juliette.”