“What the hell?” I squint through the dark and blink when I see a For Sale sign planted in Dillon’s yard, close to the road. “You put your house up for sale?” I turn my body and eyes toward him.

“Yep,” is all he says as we park out front of his house, near the obnoxious fountain in the middle of the driveway. Shutting down the car, he gets out, slamming the door, then jogs around to my side, taking my hand and helping me out.

“You didn’t tell me you were putting your house on the market,” I accuse as he takes my hand and leads me up the steps toward the front door.

“You hate this house. Why would I keep it?” He frowns, shoving the realtor key box on the door handle out of the way so he can punch in the code for the lock.

He is going to make me nuts, totally nuts! I think as he pulls me into the house along with him and shuts the door behind us.

“You said this house reminded you of your grandparents’ house.”

“It does,” he agrees, and I follow behind him up one of the staircases and across the second floor landing toward his bedroom.

“I don’t get it.” I rub the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Then why are you selling it?”

“Why would I keep it?” he grumbles, walking through the door to his room.

Following, I stop in the middle of the room, planting my hands on my hips.

“Because you love it!” I practically shout.

“You don’t want to move in here, Ashlyn. There is no point in me keeping it!” he shouts back from the bathroom, where he disappeared, and I immediately feel like shit. I did tell him I hated it, but that was before I knew why he bought it to begin with.

Coming out of the bathroom, he tosses some stuff on the chaise lounge near the bed then heads for the closet, turning on the light in there.

“Take it off the market,” I say, sternly, when he walks out with a handful of clothes on hangers, laying them across the back of the chaise.

“Why?”

“Because you are not going to sell it just because I don’t want to live here.”

“We’re married. I’m not going to live in a separate house from you.”

God, why do I hate it so much that those reasons are not words of love? Like, “I’m selling it, because I love you and I can’t imagine not living the rest of my life with you,” or “I love you, and I want us to find a house that we are both happy in.”

“You are so frustrating,” I growl, feeling a headache coming on, and I squeeze my eyes closed, putting the palms of my hands against my face.

“It’s for the best.” His arms wrap around me and he pulls me flush against him.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I stare into his handsome face. “I don’t want you to get rid of this house because of me.”

“I’m getting rid of this house, because I want to,” he states, looking sincere, but I’m not sure I believe him. I saw his face when he was talking about the house his grandparents owned. He loved their house; he wanted to raise a family in one like theirs. “Stop stressing about this. It’s just a house.” He bends down, nuzzling my neck, and my arms slide around his shoulders as his hands move down to my ass and he hoists me up.

“What are you doing?” I question as he puts his knees onto the bed behind me and settles me under him.

“I really do love this dress.” He smiles, running his fingers along the edge of lace near my breast.

“I thought you hated it.”

“No, I hate that other men get to see so much of you.” He places a kiss against my mouth then leans back.

“You’ve never liked my choice of clothing,” I grumble, and he slides his fingers over my temple and into my hair.

“Because I’ve always considered you mine.” He nips the underside of my jaw, and my heart starts to beat wildly against my ribcage. Since almost the first moment we met, he’s told me I need to cover more skin. I thought he was just being a dick, but now… now I’m not so sure, and I’m not brave enough to ask him the questions I really need to ask him.

“Dillon,” I pant as his fingers slide up the inside of my thigh and over the center of my panties.

“Hmm?”

I don’t get to say more. His mouth covers mine, and before I know it, we’re both naked using our mouths for better things than talking.

Waking with my heart pounding, I blink my eyes open, finding it completely dark. Grumbling something I can’t make out, Dillon pulls me closer and shoves his face in my hair. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, looking around, realizing we are still in his room at his house.

“Breathe, Ashlyn, it was just a bad dream,” I whisper, holding the palm of my hand to my chest and feeling my heart beating hard. I can’t recall what happened exactly in my dream, but I remember Isla, Dillon’s ex, was there, and I remember feeling raw, powerful fear.

Lifting Dillon’s arm from my waist, I get up from the bed quietly, grab his button-down shirt that he wore to dinner off the floor, and head for the bathroom while putting it on. Closing the door silently, I turn on the light and take care of business then head for the closest sink to wash my hands. Turning the water to cold, I splash some on my face letting it wash away the last of the dream.

Feeling better, I turn the light back off and head for the bed, stopping in the middle of the room when I notice the light under the door in the closet. My heart rate speeds right back up as I walk toward the door and place my palm on the handle, opening slowly. Peeking in, I find it empty, except for Dillon’s clothes and shoes. Without thinking, I walk in, closing the door behind me, and start snooping around. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I’m on a mission as I open and close drawers.