“Thank you,” she said, looking into his deep brown eyes. He gazed at her with such love, such tenderness, that she nearly burst from all the feelings that had worked their way inside her, that inhabited her heart, her mind, and her body. All of her belonged to all of him. “Thank you for being with me.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “No. Thank you for being mine.”

  She helped him take off his soaked clothes, stripping him down to nothing, marveling at his beautiful nudity. “I’m the only one who ever gets to see you like this,” she whispered, feeling lucky once more.

  “You are.”

  Ten minutes later, she was dried off, lotioned up and naked, nestled in bed. He joined her, sliding under the covers and wrapping his arm around her waist.

  “Clay?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you mind terribly if I just wanted you to hold me right now?”

  “I wouldn’t mind that one bit,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice that she loved wafting over her and settling into her heart where he’d already staked his permanent claim.

  “By the way, how did you get into that room?” she asked, curious even as she closed her eyes.

  He laughed. “It’s kind of a funny story, but I used a Purple Snow Globe.”

  It was her turn to laugh. “How on earth did you use a Purple Snow Globe?”

  “I bought you a necklace with a purple drink on it, and I was going to give it to you today. Brent had it with him. In fact, that was Brent calling me earlier, not Gino. He was bringing me the necklace so I could give it to you as a surprise and I happened to have it in my pocket when I heard you scream.”

  “Wow. You saved me with a Purple Snow Globe,” she said, amazement laced in her voice.

  “Well, it was the clasp.”

  “Oh no. Whenever we tell that story, we’re saying you picked the lock with a Purple Snow Globe.”

  “Hey, Julia. Have I ever told you about the time I picked the lock with a Purple Snow Globe to rescue the love of my life?”

  “It sounds like a great bedtime story. Tell it to me now.”

  “Once upon a time . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Saturday, 7:25 p.m., Las Vegas

  Dusk settled over the city of sin. The sun drifted far below the spectacular vista of monstrous hotels and massive buildings that dotted the skyline as Clay floated out of dreamland. He stretched and scooted closer to Julia, her naked skin warm against his as neon flickered through the window, the nighttime waking up. The twilight hour danced over the sky, tugging Vegas from the bright, heavy desert sun of the day to the glitter of its neon nights.

  He ran a hand over her hip, unable to resist the call of her soft, sweet skin. She murmured in her sleep, an alluring invitation to him. His damn hand had a mind of its own, and he traced his fingertips across the flesh of her stomach, soon drifting below her belly button. She shifted in her sleep, or maybe she was starting to wake up too, as she moved her bottom closer to him. He was spooning her, and his dick was at full attention now, nestled against the soft globes of her ass.

  He brushed a kiss on her shoulder, and she shuddered, the soft exhalation sending a wave of desire through his bones, igniting the embers in him. He traveled lower still on her body, his fingertips in hot pursuit. She responded to his moves, parting her legs slightly, making room for his hand. He sought her out in seconds, his fingers slipping between her thighs. His breath hitched at that first intoxicating touch of her. He could feel the hint of her arousal already, her flesh damp against his fingertips.

  “Hi,” she whispered, in a sleepy voice.

  “Hi.”

  “You looking for this?” she asked, as she shifted onto her back and opened her legs for him.

  He didn’t move for a second. He was flooded with so much desire all at once that it paralyzed his brain and his body, as if all his neurons and synapses had gone into overdrive, momentarily freezing his gears.

  He recovered the power of speech and action as he drew his fingers over her sweet pussy, now wet and slick. “Yes,” he growled, finally answering her. “I’m looking for you.”

  “You found me,” she said, drawing up her knees and letting them fall open.

  He inhaled sharply, the deep breath filling him, spreading heat to the far corners of his body. He dropped a hand to the inside of her thigh, lust jolting through him as he opened her legs more. But it wasn’t just lust; it was deep and abiding love. It was the intersection of desire and forever. To be deeply, madly, desperately in love with the woman you wanted to fuck was the greatest rush, the most lasting high.

  “You are ready,” he said, low and husky, as he moved between her legs, and rubbed his erection through her wetness. She gasped, her eyes floating closed, her lips parting, as he touched her. Her response fueled him—she felt the passion too, she felt the same way he did. There was no other choice, there was no other way but for them both to be cocooned in this cocktail of love and lust. It was only them; they were all there was in the whole world, and she was all he could ever want.

  “Please,” she whispered, and he didn’t have it in him to tease her or taunt her right now. Nor was he going to be rough or tie her up. Right now, he knew—without her saying it—that he needed to make love to her. She needed pure vanilla sex after the day she’d had, so he entered her, savoring the delicious feel of her warmth gripping him.

  “So unusual to see you in this position,” he whispered, his arms pinned on either side of her as he moved slowly in her.

  “Sometimes I just need my man to be on top of me,” she said, her eyes looking into his.

  “You’ll get whatever you need from me,” he told her as he thrust into her, and she moaned deeply as she took him in. She wrapped her legs around his hips, opening herself more so he could fill her.

  “Come closer,” she whispered, looping her arms tighter around his neck, and tugging him near, so his chest was against hers. “I want to be as close to you as I possibly can.”

  “You are, Julia. You are,” he said, as he licked a path along her neck up to her ear, drawing out a heady moan from her as his mouth mapped the column of her neck, then her collarbone, then her shoulder. “I can’t stop kissing you.”

  “Don’t stop kissing me,” she said, gripping him tighter with her strong thighs as she rocked her hips against him, thrusting back, matching his moves.

  He pumped deep into her as bolts of pure pleasure tore through his body, the intensity of being inside her obliterating the world. He rained more kisses down on her skin as he made love to her, wanting, needing—terribly needing—to be as close to her as he possibly could. He needed it for himself, and he needed it for her. He wanted her to feel safe with him always, and to know that what they shared was so very different from how others had touched her body. When he touched her, whether rough or soft, it was always with love, with reverence, and with respect.

  “Clay,” she whispered, her voice rising in a question, as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

  “Yes?”

  He rose up on his arms to look at her.

  “You called me your fiancée when you came into that room,” she said, and it wasn’t a question now. It was a statement of pure and utter truth. He hadn’t put the ring on her, but she was, for all intents and purposes, his.

  “I did, didn’t I,” he said, pulling her up and shifting their bodies into a new position, so they were both sitting up, and her legs were wrapped around him. He rocked into her, running a hand along her back. “Did you like it when I called you my fiancée?”

  “I did. I liked it a lot.”

  “I feel that way about you,” he said, threading his fingers softly through her lush red hair. He wasn’t nervous telling her this. Not one bit.

  “I feel that way about you,” she answered.

  “I’m glad,” he said, his eyes locked on her gaze as he moved in her. “I want you to be my fiancée, Julia.”

  “I want that so much,” she answered immediately, no hesitation.

  Her swiftness emboldened him. He was fearless in their love, certain in how he felt, not just in the moment as he made love to her, but in his heart for all time. “I want you to be my wife.”

  “I feel like your wife,” she said, closing her eyes as he moved in her.

  “I feel like I’m making love to you right now as my wife,” he said, the words coming out in a heady rush.

  “You are. I’m your wife in bed for you.”

  “I’m going to make love to you like this now, and a year from now, and in ten years, and twenty,” he said, raking his fingers through her hair, holding her tight in his hands. Their chests touched, their bodies melded, their thrusts matched as he bared his heart and soul. “I only want you, I always want you; I want you to be my wife, Julia. God, how I want you to be my wife.”

  “I want you to be my husband,” she said, gasping the last word as her body clenched around him.

  “I’m your husband, and I’m with you right now as your husband.”

  “I can feel it, Clay,” she cried out as he pulled her closer, never ever able to get enough of this woman. “I can feel you making love to me as my husband,” she said in broken breaths.

  He felt the build in the base of his spine, his climax starting to annihilate him, to smother his brain in never-ending bliss. “Julia,” he rasped out, as pleasure pulsed through him, taking over his mind, his mouth, his words. “Marry me.”

  “Yes,” she cried.

  “Marry me,” he said again, grasping her tighter in his arms, feeling her heat rush over him.

  “Yes.”

  “Marry me,” he said, unable to stop asking as he chased her over the brink, her one word response echoing like music to his ears. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  * * *

  What the hell? Was he such a horny ass that he’d proposed to her in the sack? What the fuck had come over him? He wanted to propose to her properly, like a man who had control, who knew how to plan, who knew how to romance a woman, not like a sex-crazed teenager saying whatever the hell he wanted to in the bedroom.

  Jesus. He smacked his forehead in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth. He spat out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth and then gave himself the finger. “You’re an ass,” he said to his reflection under his breath. He buttoned his shirt and smoothed out his pants, thoroughly disgusted with himself as he ran his hands through his hair to comb it before they went out to dinner.

  Great. Dinner. He’d already ruined the surprise factor by not just blurting it out, but telling her over and over. Well, at least the ring itself would be a surprise. He’d tucked it into his computer bag when they switched hotels, and he’d slipped it into his pocket when he’d gotten dressed a few minutes ago. A few minutes after . . . proposing? In bed. Inside her. He needed to think with his brain, not his dick.

  Time for a redo. He was going to have to start this one over. He needed to fix this mess he’d made, and fix it fast.

  He opened the door to the bathroom to rejoin her in the suite. He nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw her staring out the window, her back to him, enticingly on display in the black dress he’d bought for her that she’d worn briefly on the plane. He should be used to it by now, the sight of her. But he wasn’t and he didn’t ever want to grow accustomed to her beauty. He wanted to be blindsided always, like he was now.

  She wore black heels and her legs were bare. The silk of the dress hugged her curves, hinting at what lay beneath. She turned around, noticing him.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You look stunning,” he said.

  “So do you.” She walked over to him and took his hand, threading her fingers through his. “So where are you taking me, handsome?”

  “To the best restaurant in Vegas. Blue Ribbon in the Cosmopolitan Hotel just up the street. It’s called a sushi citadel. The food is said to be as close to heaven as you can get.”

  She raised an eyebrow and smiled. Sushi was her favorite food. “I’m sold. Take me there.”

  “It’s a ten-minute walk up the street. Or we can take a car.”

  “I’m a New Yorker now. Let’s walk.”

  She gestured to the door. He was about to head out, but then he stopped, placing his free hand on her arm. He didn’t want her to think that was his official proposal, so he’d have to backtrack. He wanted to do right by her, and get down on one knee tonight as he’d planned. “Hey, Julia. I’m sorry for what I said in bed.”

  She narrowed her eyes, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I just got a little carried away. That’s all.”

  Tilting her head, she shot him a quizzical stare, as if he no longer made sense to her. He didn’t make sense to himself. Maybe the whole day had thrown him off his game. “Carried away?” she said, repeating his words.

  “Yeah. That’s all. Carried away,” he repeated, but as he spoke he had a sinking feeling he might be saying something even stupider than what he’d said when he was inside her.

  Why did men have to be such idiots sometimes? But men were, and he was a card-carrying member of that persuasion that often put its foot in its mouth, and there was nothing he could do to yank it out until they reached their destination.

  Julia let go of his hand. “Almost forgot my purse,” she said crisply, and moved around the bed to grab it from the nightstand. But when she returned to his side, she kept both hands on the purse.

  That’s where she kept them the whole ride down in the elevator. She barely spoke to him as they walked out of the Bellagio, past the fountains that were lit up against the night, and down the street.

  “Are you looking forward to dinner?” he asked, never having felt more awkward in his life. He and Julia didn’t talk like this. They didn’t make stupid small-talk. They laughed, they had fun, and they talked about what mattered. Was he going to ask her what laundry detergent she preferred next? Discuss the price of bread ten years ago? But hell, he didn’t know how to right this ship without spitting out the one thing he wanted to keep secret, so he could barely string together words in any sort of intelligent order.

  When they stopped to cross the street, she fidgeted with the clasp on her purse, clicking it open and closed, open and closed. He wanted to say something to make this better.

  “The food is supposed to be amazing,” he said when the light changed and they crossed the street. The sound of silence was too much. Or maybe it was the sound of having hurt her feelings that sucked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Saturday, 8:29 p.m., Las Vegas

  She gritted her teeth. The more she focused on keeping her jaw clenched as they walked, the less chance there was that she’d cry. And she was not going to shed a tear over this. Let him think she was pissed. That was better than the alternative—him knowing the truth.

  The truth hurt like a cruel jester doing a jig on her chest, mocking her.

  Because she’d meant every single syllable of her yeses. She’d meant every word she said in bed. Maybe that made her foolish, but she’d thought—she’d actually fucking thought—he’d meant it when he said he wanted her to be his wife. That he felt like her husband. How could he feel any other way? After all they’d been through, and how far they’d come? She felt married. She acted married, and so did he. What were all those always and only ones from him about, then? Had he gotten carried away those times too?

  A tear stung the back of her eye, but she sucked it in. She refused to cry twice in a day. Hell, she rarely cried once a week. She was more of a once-a-monther. So she wasn’t double dipping in the salty tear-well today. This afternoon had been justifiable. But to cry over a proposal taken back? No way. Not gonna happen.

  She should have known better. She wished she could blast out a warning to all the women of the world—don’t believe what your man says when he has his dick inside you.

  They neared the two high-rise towers of the sleek luxury resort, cars slogging through Saturday night traffic on the Strip alongside them.

  He tipped his forehead to the stalled line of vehicles that were puffing out fumes into the night. “Good thing we walked, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said through tight lips, her heels clicking against the sidewalk, punctuating every awkward, uncomfortable moment between them.

  Once inside the hotel, Julia looked around for signs for the Blue Ribbon. Like every other hotel on the Strip this was mammoth, and the casino threatened to ensnare you. She’d already been ensnared by one today, thank you very much. She’d like to stay away from the cha-ching of slots and the slap-slap-slap of the cards on the tables.

  Fortunately this hotel was all about its ambiance. The lobby screamed ultramodern with its cool black and silver design, geometric patterns, and light displays. Mirrored walls, and columns in cubic styles with funky, silhouetted art added to the flare.

  “This way,” Clay said, pointing to the right.

  She walked alongside him, scanning the surroundings—the glitter and too-cool-for-school feel of this place reminded her of the hipster bar she’d run in San Francisco.

  The sexy, sleek, sensory feel of this hotel had some strange calming effect on her. Or maybe it was a blotting out. She needed to let go of her self-pity party. So he hadn’t meant it when he’d asked her to marry him while they fucked. So what? He’d rescued her from a mobster with a marble loose earlier in the day.

  A red neon light flashed at her from around the corner, and when she reached it, she stopped to look. A metal heart hung high on the black wall. In the middle of the heart were the words I promise to love you in red neon.

  Her damn heart fluttered against her better judgment. The heart really was a wonderful invention, and a thoroughly dumb beast too. She felt him brush his fingers lightly through the ends of her hair. “That’s how I feel for you,” he said, and rather than be frustrated that he wasn’t ready to marry her, she chose to be grateful for the sentiment.