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If anything, maybe I’ll lay eyes on a little blue-eyed devil and leave her a note just like she left me.
“I swear, it wasn’t me! I deleted the photo of us, and I let the entire thing go. I just came here to let you know that I didn’t start any more rum—” Emory steps forward, and his hands wrap around my waist. My back hits the side of his car, and suddenly, I forget my own name.
I’ve gotta admit, this is probably the most romantic way anyone has ever asked a woman to marry them. A forced lap dance in a strip club, with a prenup, NDA, and a contract waiting to be signed in my car. What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.
“You don’t own her.” Russ looks at me over his shoulder before Emory chuckles and finishes his sentence. “I do.”
“It’s Mrs. Olson,” Emory corrects him, as calm as ever. His fingers tighten against my biceps, and my heart does a weird flip. “I don’t want to hear you threaten my wife again.”
I angle my chin, and he slowly grins. “Too afraid you’ll like my mouth on yours, Rogue?”
“It’s my bill. Not yours.” I snort. “You’re on my plan now, baby. So, it is my bill.”
I’m not a cat person. I’m not even a dog person. Truthfully, I don’t think I’m a people person either.
My new wife is watching. I might as well play a damn good game.
Instead of stress flowing off her shoulders like it’s her entire personality, she’s airy. Like a fucking ray of sunshine in the middle of a dark club.
“I have my ways of punishing you that have nothing to do with violating the contract,” I rasp.
“You’re tempting me to prove a point.” His answer snaps me out of my thoughts. “What point?” “That you’re mine.”
I wait until my heartbeat settles and I regain the ability to speak again before I glance over at him and say, “You’re not buying me a new car.”
He scoffs. “You’re impossible.”
I shrug and settle back into the seat. “Y...
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“If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me now. Otherwise, I won’t be able to stop.” His hand freezes, and I almost pout. “I’m a man, and you’re in my bed, wearing my shirt without any panties on, looking at me with those blue eyes full of want.”
You can run, Scottie, but you can’t hide. I look down at my boner. Apparently, neither can he.
“Yes, I’m looking for a red dress. Something that would pair well with a woman who has a streak of defiance in her.”
Not that she would be impressed by that. Scottie isn’t that type of woman. She isn’t charmed by money—not in the way one would want to charm her, at least. If I had to guess, she’s more captivated by small gestures, like a fresh biscotti waiting for her in the morning.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s different!” She looks around at the growing number of shoppers before coming in close and whispering, “I’m giving that back.” The hell she is. The room shifts with the shocking thought.
I don’t care what she calls it. With her looking at me like I can hang the moon, I’d do just about anything she asked of me.
“Tell me what you want.” My nose skims her neck, and I breathe her in like she’s my lifeline.
The smell of fresh ice is usually my comfort, but lately, I’m starting to worry that it’s her.
She looks like an angel, but the noise she just made came right from the devil.
She feels so good against my fingers that I want to make her mine. I’ll play make-believe every single day of my life if this is how good it is. I think my fake wife just became my vice.
“You’re beautiful when you’re at my mercy.” She gasps, and her entire body shakes.
The kiss is deep and so fucking hot I can hardly stand.
“I won’t touch you.” I hate what I just promised. “But my wife is not sleeping on the fucking floor.”
I want to reach out and grab her in the worst way, but I promised I wouldn’t touch her, so instead, I remain unmoving.
Blue lights flicker against her high cheekbones as she sits up a little taller in bed. Her shoulders relax, and there’s a tiny smile on her lips. I forcefully swallow. God, she’s…perfect.
I never want to leave this bed with her in it. Her eyes widen when the Hawks score. She’s engrossed in the game, and I’m engrossed in her. Which is a huge fucking predicament.
“Emory.” “Yes, wife?” I’m breathless. She tightens against my finger. Fuck me. “You were telling the truth. You do like it when I call you wife.”
Making her mine feels an awful lot like I’ve won the Stanley Cup.
“Well, go ahead, then,” she whispers, lying there for the taking. “Treat me like your wife.”
I want to make him buckle at the knees like he does to me, even if he’s more willing to admit it than I am.
“You on your knees for me is the highlight of our marriage. Fucking hell.” His hips move faster and deeper, and I take every bit of what he’s giving me. “Quit looking at me like that.”
“You…” He pulls out for a second, and my lips feel wet and swollen. “You look so innocent, but you’re so into this, aren’t you?”
“I like seeing you in my jersey,” I whisper. “Almost as much as I like seeing that ring on your finger.”
Acting like I’m in love with Scottie is becoming easier and easier, and with the way my heart beats through my chest until I see her settle in between my parents again with Rhodes’s daughter sitting on her lap, I’m pretty certain the acting part is nonexistent.
I feel content, and that feeling drives even deeper when I slip my ring back onto my finger and turn to head home to my mouthy, beautiful wife who is teaching me more about myself than I ever knew.
There’s a hushed voice in the back of my head that I can’t seem to hide from, and although it’s hard for me to wrap my head around, I listen to it.
I’ll wait forever for Scottie.
I told her before this whole thing started that I wouldn’t lose. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that statement had a double meaning: I don’t want to lose h...
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When he touches me, I lose my footing. When he kisses me, I’m his.
I’m obsessed with the thought of him needing to touch me. Like he can’t breathe without it.
“Stop holding back,” he whispers, grabbing the side of my face. His calloused hand scratches my cheek, and when his fingers bury themselves in my hair, I do as he says. For the first time, I initiate the kiss. I’m immediately swept away.
“Show me that you want me as badly as I want you,” he says, giving my other breast attention.
“Do you want me so badly you can’t think straight? Because that’s how I feel when it comes to you.” He kisses me hard and fast, like he’s afraid I’m going to deny it.
I can’t. Not like this. “Yes,” I say without any hesitation. I want you so much that I’m terrified.
“Let me make you mine.” His plea grazes my lips. “Right here. Just like this.”
