Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
As she stood across the space that divided them, the look on his face make the blood rush to her head, making her dizzy. She swallowed and locked her knees. Something was about to happen. Was he about to lay down an ultimatum about her moving in with him?
He ran his fingers through his hair and she saw his hand shake. Her stomach knotted up with a mirroring sensation. His eyes dropped to her bare legs and then lifted again. Tension filled his muscles and his voice when it came out didn't hold its usual commanding strength. "I can't keep on like this, Angie. It's driving me insane. I know you think it's probably too soon, but I seriously cannot live without you."
A sharp, fierce hit of joy held her in its grip as she waited.
He pushed off the counter and tracked toward her. Reaching down, he lifted her chin. "I'm about to do something that's scaring me shitless." He clenched his jaw. "If you blow me off, if you say 'no', I'm going to die. I just want you to know that." His thumb slid across her bottom lip and his voice gentled a bit as a half-smile crossed his features. "But no pressure, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered and tried to breathe so she wouldn't pass out. Holy. Shit. Holy shit . . . Holy shit.
He slid his thumb back and forth over her bottom lip and abruptly, a kind of peace settled over his features. "I love you."
She bit her lip and sudden tears washed her eyes. "I love you, too."
"So much, baby," he whispered, his thumbs reaching out to brush her tears away.
They continued to stare at each other, the emotional connection strong between them, and then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small, square box. Angie looked down and gasped and the tears started flowing more freely.
He dropped to one knee and took her left hand in his. She stared down in shaken joy as he opened the box and showed her the ring inside. A large, brilliant, square-cut diamond sat in a blaze of glory on a bed of dark blue velvet. Her heart stalled before beginning a cadence in triple time. He picked the ring out of the box and held it poised over her left ring finger.
He looked back up and his eyes blazed into hers. "Angie. I love you," he repeated.
She was beyond speech and she nodded her head.
Studying her intently, he asked, "Will you be my wife?"
Joy rushed over her as she began nodding her head frantically. Relief, sharp and forceful, took over his features as he pushed the ring onto her finger. He held her hand tightly in his and then leaned down and sealed a kiss over the finger that held his ring.
As she tried to get her tears under control, he stood back up to his full height and enclosed her within a strong embrace. He rocked her gently, to and fro and then stopped and tipped her face to his. "Is it what you want?" he asked with just a trace of a worried frown.
"Oh, God, yes," she said.
He smiled and kissed her forehead and told her the same thing he'd been telling her all along, "It's going to be good, baby."
Epilogue
The intercom on Damian's desk buzzed and he felt mildly irritated at the interruption, which was immediately mitigated with subtle anticipation when his imagination supplied him with a picture of Angie. Would his little witch come today?
The coolly enunciated voice of his secretary filled the room. "Mr. Rule, your wife is here to see you."
The words sent a direct hit to Damian's groin. "Send her in."
He set his pen down and stood to his feet in a fluid motion. Striding around his desk, he leaned against it and waited. His pulse hammered loudly in his ears as the promise of what awaited him filled his blood with heat.
The door clicked open and Angie peeked into the room before walking just inside and shutting the door behind her. Turning to face him, she leaned back against the solid wood panel and waited, a placid, neutral expression on her face that Damian knew was costing her to maintain.
As he ran his eyes down the beige, nondescript trench coat she wore, which landed a few inches above stiletto heels, Damian experienced a sharp, piercing arrow of arousal that mixed with appalled consternation. She remained silent and he narrowed his eyes as he tried not to let the censure or the lust bleed into his voice. "Lock the door."
With hands that shook, she fumbled behind her and slid the bolt into place.
A savage hit of primitive hunger clawed in his gut and blended with the maddening displeasure gripping him by the throat. "We've got a problem, baby."