He was planning on it.Ī colossal tug-of-war began inside me. If he had seamstresses standing by plus flowers and a best man on the way, he wasn't just serious about wanting to get married tonight. "Flowers are on the way, as is my best man, three seamstresses are ready to make any dress you desire, and I'll have the corpses taken down," he replied without missing a beat. I don't have a dress, you don't have a best man, and instead of flowers, we have corpses on poles decorating the front of the house." With that knowledge, my inner antebellum Southern belle burst to the surface.Īfter an outburst that even Scarlett O'Hara would scorn, I tried to explain in a more articulate manner. Not a hint of humor colored the question. My lips twitched but this was too serious to joke about. When I began unbuttoning his shirt again, he drew away, his lips curled into a sensually cruel smile. For a blistering few moments, he complied, kissing me with such intensity that my knees buckled. It was a promise.Īs I spoke, I rubbed against him, craving more than his hands on me.
"I am yours," I whispered, and it wasn't only a statement. I could still see his through the shield of my lids. He was so close his features were a blur, yet his eyes had never gleamed brighter.
"As if I'd settle for anything less than making you completely mine, as soon as possible." Then his laughter faded away and he leaned down until his mouth was millimeters from mine. "What did you think would happen when you made me realize I'd fallen in love with you? I'd want to date more? Get engaged to be engaged?"Īnother laugh that made gooseflesh ripple over me despite the heat from his body. It was something new, and if I had to label it, I'd say it had You're in for it now written all over it. He laughed, which stopped me mid-sentence because it wasn't his sensual chuckle or even his disdainful, I-mock-you-with-my-superiority laugh.
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