Page 68 of The Temptation

“You picked this yourself? For me?”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, trying not to show how uncomfortable I am in this situation. “Figured you wouldn’t want anything too fussy.”

She doesn’t say anything right away, just brushes her fingers over the fabric again, slow and thoughtful.

For a second, I let myself picture her in it. Her hair pinned up, bare shoulders, that no-nonsense look in her eyes. Eyes that softened just enough for me to know she’s mine.

“It’s beautiful,” she eventually says.

“I got you shoes to match.”

Her eyes widen further. “You did?”

“I did,” I say, handing her another box.

The high heels are also white, but not plain like the dress, not even close. The satin finish gives them a soft, luminous sheen, and they’re covered in just the right amount of sparkle. Tiny crystals catch the light with every movement.

“They are so pretty, and the right size. How did you know my shoe size?”

“I had a sneaky peek in the wardrobe before I left.”

My admission makes her gasp. “So, you’re allowed in my room, but I’m not allowed in yours? That’s a little one-sided.”

“It was for a good cause.”

“And grinding myself against yoursalsiccia grossa(Big thick sausage) was for a good cause also.”

I clear my throat and pray she didn’t notice my dick just jump in my pants. Being married to this woman will be one thing—that’s if she agrees, of course—but not being able to touch her or bury my cock deep inside her is going to be a special kind of hell.

Shoving my hands deep into my trouser pockets, my eyes lock with hers. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” she admits. “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to wear them, though.”

“About that,” I say, shifting my stance. My palms are sweating. Fucking hell, I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” she replies, and I don’t miss the hopefulness I hear in her voice.

“I have an idea,” I say, stalling because I have no clue how to approach this. Randomly suggesting marriage to a woman I’m not even dating was not on my bingo card in this lifetime.

I don’t do relationships for a reason. Because if a woman willingly wanted to bind herself to me long-term, she’s either got no idea what she’s signing up for or broken enough to think I’m safe.

“Okay,” she says again. This time, slower and a little warier.

I drag a hand out of my pocket, running it through my thick, dark hair. “I was thinking we should get married.”

“What?” Her voice cracks like a whip. “Are you having a stroke? Because that’s the only explanation I can think of right now.”

I wince. That’s a fair call, I deserve that. “Okay, I know how it sounds?—”

“Hold on a minute,” she says, holding out her hand in front of her. “You want to marry … me?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

Her eyes narrow sceptically. “I know we kissed earlier, but marriage? That’s a little quick even for me. It gives a whole new meaning to a shotgun wedding.”

I nod, flinching. “Yeah, I’m aware. Trust me, this is not how I usually operate.”

She snorts. “That’s reassuring. I’d hate to think this wasyour go-to move on a first date. Coffee, kiss … marriage proposal.”