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“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 have a fully furnished guest room, courtesy of my mother, but I act like I don’t just to spite my new wife and the horror on her face at the thought of sleeping beside me.
“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.
“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.”
There’s nowhere like home, even if I’m sharing it with a little blonde-haired devil. My bed is calling my name, and I better not find fucking cat hair in it.
“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.”
I’ll wait forever for Scottie.
“I want you to look at me while I praise you, because it’s what you need.”
