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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.
“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.”
“If you don’t want me to cross lines, stop drawing them, because you’re tempting me, and I’m a man who saves all his restraint for the ice.”
“I like seeing you in my jersey,” I whisper. “Almost as much as I like seeing that ring on your finger.”
I turn, and my stomach drops to the floor. I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I see is her. God damn. She’s mine. The room seems to revolve around her, and the closer I get, the more my pulse races. Her hand is wrapped around my heart, and she’s squeezing with every flutter of her eyelashes.
