“Um, Gabe?”

I look over at him as he drives me to my childhood home. He’s downright gorgeous. He hasn’t shaved since the day we were ambushed on that remote road in Nicaragua. I’m well acquainted with his whiskers at this point and so is my left breast. Our time in the private jet was beyond … well, hot.

Amazing.

Out of this world.

But then after?

I’m pretty sure only Gabriel Blackburn could hold me in his lap with my top half-off and his hand up my dress while I’m wearing no panties and it be so sweet, I’d never want it to end.

I could have sat there forever. And, I did, for most of the flight.

He throws me a glance and sexy smirk that reminds me of every moment on the plane. “What, baby?”

“Turn left up here,” I rattle off, my heart starting to speed. “I, well, should’ve taken the time on the flight to explain some things.”

He reaches over and takes my hand as he steers our rental around the corner with the other. “I wouldn’t change our time on the plane for anything. Tell me now.”

I let him hold my hand and squeeze him tight. “My family … they have some issues.”

He doesn’t look at me when he mutters, “Just wait until I tell you about my Great Aunt Libby.”

“Who?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. Tell me how odd your family is to make me feel better about mine.”

“I’m not sure if odd is the right word.” I take a deep breath. Vindictive and selfish come to mind. Think Mean Girls but switch it up with middle-aged adults who play in high society circles. “Take the next right. I told you how much my Gran means to me. How wonderful she is and how I grew up in her house, right?”

“You told me all this.”

I turn to look out my window. “My parents … they’re not so wonderful. Last drive on the left. We’re almost there.”

“We’re here to see your grandmother and she’s being treated by hospice. How bad can they be?” He gives my hand a squeeze as my grandmother’s estate comes into view. “Shit, Lillian. You didn’t tell me you grew up on a plantation.”

I exhale, worried about my Gran, nervous about my mother, and still feel a little off without panties. Gabe drives up the long drive framed by century-old trees. When he pulls around the circle and comes to a stop at the front door of the three-story southern plantation that’s been in my grandfather’s family for generations, I turn to him. “Please, just drop me off. You can drive right back to the airport and catch a flight to Indy. You can be home and at work by tomorrow. Just think,” I try to sweeten the deal, “you can even sleep in your own bed.”

He throws the SUV into park and turns to me. “I plan on sleeping in your bed. I’ve decided your snoring is cute as opposed to annoying and my hand has become fond of your naked ass. I can’t leave you while you’re naked under that dress. My hand would slap myself for the breach of my manhood. By the way, do you have extra clothes here?”

“Yes.”

He raises a brow. “Panties?”

I try not to smirk. “Yes.”

He gives my hand a squeeze and shakes his head. “Damn.”

At any other time or place, that would make me smile, but not today and not here. “Gabe. Please. I don’t want to put you through this.”

He leans into me and puts the same hand that loves my rear so much on my cheek and dips into my hair. His blue eyes soften on me when he asks, “If your parents are the asswipes you’ve let on, who’s going to hold your hand when you see your grandmother?”

I have to close my eyes so I don’t start crying.

“Lillian.” He gives my hair a little pull and I open my eyes to look at him. “I’ll be the one holding your hand.”

I don’t answer.

“Okay,” he answers for me and then leans in to press his lips to mine. “Let’s do this.”

Oh, my. He has no idea.

“What is that horrendous thing you’re wearing?”

“You were supposed to be here yesterday and now you show up unannounced and looking like that? We could have had guests.”

“Did you glance in a mirror before you decided it would be a good idea to waltz out your door … in that?”

“Oh my God, Lillian. If your hair isn’t bad enough, you’re covered in bug bites. Why would you subject yourself to that? You’re going to get the Zika virus.”

“Who is he and why did you bring a stranger here? He’s wearing shorts.”

Well, fuck me.

I only want to know one thing—how did these douchewads produce my sweet Lillian?

Her father, the one who apparently doesn’t wear shorts, is fully gray and would be glaring down his nose at me through his beady little glasses if he didn’t have to look up to meet my gaze. I’m not even sure he’s looking through the glasses. My guess is they’re an odd accessory.

And her mother, the germaphobe, is taller than her husband and sports a short, bleached-blond do. She must be a football fan since her hair is shaped sort of dome-like and resembles a helmet the size of an NFL linebacker’s.

Meanwhile, Lillian is standing next to me, speechless and pantyless. The latter, I cannot stop thinking about.

She glances up at me and, while I feel like I’ve experienced a great deal of her expressions over the past week, this one is nothing but pure dread mixed with embarrassment. She knew this would happen and didn’t want me to experience it.

She winces before turning to Mr. and Mrs. Doom and Gloom, stepping forward like a robot fresh out of the Stick Up Your Ass Finishing School. “Mother, Daddy, I’d like to introduce Gabriel Blackburn. He’s my—”

“Boyfriend,” I interrupt, stepping forward and wrapping my arm around Lillian to stake my claim. I try not to wince as the word tumbles out of my mouth. I’m thirty-five. Do thirty-five-year-olds refer to themselves as a boyfriend? I sure as hell never thought I would. “Man. Courter. Whatever you want to call me, I’m not picky. I’m with Lillian.”

“Ooooh, my,” Lillian whispers from my side.

“Lillian!” Mrs. Helmet Head exclaims. “Tell me this isn’t so.”

Her father intensifies his glare and, if the sun were out, he might be able to start a fire with those damn glasses. “I’d like to speak with my daughter alone, young man.”

Again, I’m thirty-fucking-five. There’s no young man in the room.

I shake my head. “You both must be blind because Lillian looks beautiful, especially after having a rough few days. We had some issues while traveling and lost our luggage. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Lillian wants to see her grandmother.” I look down at Lillian who’s standing like a statue, her front pressed to my side. Her eyes are wide and she looks like she might faint. “Where’s your Gran, baby?”

“Baby?” Lillian’s big-headed mother actually tsks me. If we don’t get out of here soon, I might lose my shit on these Gone with the Wind uppity assholes.

I give Lillian another squeeze.

She winces. “The library.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

“Wait just one second,” Mr. Beady Eyes tries again.

“Lillian!” her mother calls after us.

Lillian stops and turns back to the people who, from the looks of it, gave her life but that’s about it. “I don’t want to see you and I don’t want to talk to you. I’m going to sit with Gran until she leaves this earth … while all you’re doing is waiting for this to be yours,” she flips her hand in a circle, “not caring about her one bit. Don’t show your face in the library and ruin my last moments with the woman I love more than anything."

My sweet Lillian. She snores, she can traipse through a jungle, be brave when taken hostage, melt in my arms, and still show her backbone to her asshole parents.

And I can’t wait to taste her brownies among other sweet things she has to offer.

I’m never letting her go.