“Maggie. You’re really cramping my style here.”

I looked up into the ice-blue eyes of the man I’d married almost two years ago to find him gazing down at me with a twisted, amused smirk on his face. Which was when I realized how tightly I was holding his hand.

“Oh. Uh… sorry.” I released my death grip. I also realized I’d been leaning heavily on his arm, flinching in sympathy pain, the little stool I was sitting on pressed tight up against the chair where he was sitting while he got tattooed.

“Shit, you’re strong,” he muttered, flexing his newly-freed hand and wiggling his fingers. “Not sure the blood’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Oops.”

I’d sworn to him this morning that if he let me come along with him to the tattoo parlor today while he got his tattoo, I wasn’t gonna freak out. Just because I’d almost fainted when I saw Jude getting a tattoo once didn’t mean I was gonna be a freak about this.

Or so I’d hoped.

It wasn’t like I’d ever seen Zane get a tattoo before, though. How did I know for sure how I’d react to watching him get tortured?

Until today, Zane didn’t have any tattoos. Jude had a ton of them, Brody had several, and Jesse had one big one on his forearm, but for a bunch of rock stars, the members of Dirty weren’t all that into tattoos. Zane himself had claimed aloud, more than once, that he didn’t want to “desecrate” the work of art God had made—i.e., his body—by putting ink on it.

I was pretty sure that comment was aimed at Jesse, since Jesse’s tattoo was pretty damn sexy and girls were always wanting to touch it.

When I asked Zane this morning, seriously, why he’d never gotten a tattoo before and why he suddenly felt the need to get this one, he told me, Just feels right.

He was getting a Viking ship, one of those cool dragon boat things, on his right shoulder. Except that the dragon part of the boat turned into this giant serpent that wrapped around the boat. He had it all sketched out by a tattoo artist; he’d been conversing with this guy Jude had connected him with for a couple of weeks already, and had made an appointment to see him while we were here in Nashville.

When I’d asked Zane the meaning behind the tattoo, he’d asked me in return, What are Vikings famous for?

When I’d answered, Uh, raping and pillaging? he’d given me a mildly dirty look and said, Boats, Maggie. They were seafarers, explorers. Feel like I’m conquering new ground here, that’s all.

Later, I’d heard him tell the guys, It’s to commemorate some big shit in my life. I’m fucking serious about staying clean, and marring the beauty of this God-given body of mine? Serious as it gets.

Then he’d winked at me, and I knew that last part was kind of a joke. Except that it also really wasn’t.

He was serious as hell about staying clean.

Then he’d explained to me privately that the serpent symbolized his addiction, that it would always be with him, but he wasn’t going to let it take him down.

I’d almost cried when he told me that, I was so proud of him… But I’d managed to keep my cool.

Right now, I was totally losing it.

“Maggs,” he said, “why don’t you go get some air, stretch your legs? You know, take a walk around the block and chill out.”

“Oh…” I glanced nervously at that buzzing needle scraping at his flesh and shivered. “I can stay with you though, you know, for moral support.”

“Sweetheart,” the tattoo artist drawled, “that’s his polite way of asking you to get gone.”

I looked at Zane and he just smiled.

“You want me to go?”

“Why don’t you go find somewhere for us to eat? And I’ll take you for lunch after this.”

“Oh. Okay.” I got up and retrieved my purse, taking a final glance at the ink that was permanently marking him. The tattoo artist glanced up at me and smirked. I gave him a narrow eye, then told Zane, “Text me when you’re done.”

Then I went to find someplace yummy for us to eat… even though the thought of eating right now was making me feel a little queasy.

I pushed through the door of the tattoo parlor to be greeted by sunshine and crisp spring air, and Shady, who was leaning against a lamp post. I waved at him and took a deep breath, trying to relax my nerves.

Apparently, I had a major aversion to seeing Zane in physical pain, and watching him get inked made me want to stab that tattoo guy in the eye with his tattoo gun.

But other than that… it was a pretty good day.

For the last five weeks, I’d been enjoying my life as assistant manager to Dirty again—a hell of a lot—and working literally side-by-side with Zane.

Actually, I’d been spending every possible moment with him.

I’d even started accompanying him to his interviews and appearances. He’d started doing them again, at a much gentler pace than usual, and so far, so good.

I hadn’t gone to a single interview on this tour before Zane got clean. I could have. I worked closely with our publicity teams and was the main point of contact for all of them—we had a main publicist in Vancouver, a company we worked with out of L.A., and another one in Europe—and I probably would’ve gone along with the band members more often for their day-to-day promo stuff on this tour, if it didn’t mean I’d have to see Zane so much.

Now, it was like my priorities had totally flipped upside-down.

Instead of me spending my days holed away in my hotel room or the Lady Bus or some random cafe, where I hoped I wouldn’t run into Zane, I found myself materializing outside his hotel room or his bus, or in the hotel lobby, waiting to spend the day with him.

He didn’t complain.

The first time it happened was a couple days after we’d flown back from Vancouver together, while we were in Chicago. Bright and early, I was waiting in front of the hotel with a Rolls-Royce Phantom stretch limo, laptop and coffee in hand, ready to start the day—with Zane—when the band members started rolling out of the hotel.

To everyone’s surprise, the car, which was a step up from your standard luxury sedan, was for Zane and Zane only. Well, and me and Shady. Zane had been clean for just over three weeks, and by three weeks, the doctors had expected the worst of his withdrawal symptoms to subside.

Subside, they had.

It was a major accomplishment, and I thought we could celebrate. I was proud of him and I wanted him to know it.

That day, I’d accompanied the band to a photo shoot, and all of us had lunch together.

From that day on, I went pretty much everywhere with Zane.

I’d hang out behind the scenes or at a nearby café, working on my laptop and phone while he did his thing, or I’d run errands, and when he was done we’d meet up. We’d eat meals together or with the rest of the band or with Shady.

We even hit the gym together sometimes. I’d do a yoga class while he lifted weights with Dylan or Jesse and Jude, and Shady smoked outside; big and burly as he was, Shady wasn’t much for working out.

Or we’d sit in the back of the car or in his tour bus together and work, side-by-side. He’d write lyrics in his notebook. I’d make phone calls.

Sometimes we’d enjoy long silences.

Sometimes we’d talk.

And when we did… we talked about a lot of shit.

He told me, at length, about a ton of shit he’d done over the years that he wasn’t proud of. A whole laundry list of his self-proclaimed faults and fuck-ups, that he wanted me to know.

I listened, but honestly, it didn’t make me think any less of him. Partly because I pretty much knew all that shit about him already, and partly because I thought it was incredibly brave of him to tell me. That instead of chasing me down and trying to win me over, he was just being real. He was opening up to me in a way he never really had before.

I already knew most of his dark shit, but not because he’d actually talked to me about it.

More because I’d been a reluctant witness.

I figured he was scared that it all might scare me away. But actually, it just made me feel closer to him—that he chose to trust me with all these things he felt so bad about.

He also told me how hard it had been giving up pot, that it wasn’t as easy as he’d probably made it look. That he still craved it, that he still had some difficult nights and moments he wanted to break right down and smoke up.

Just like he sometimes still wanted to take a drink.

It was pretty brave of him to tell me this, too, because I was pretty sure it scared the shit out of him to admit it to me.

Zane had never wanted me to see his weaknesses; I knew that about him by now. He didn’t want me to decide that he was a failure; that he was going to fail at this, that he couldn’t do it—and give up on him.

So we talked about that, too.

We talked about pretty much everything.

Everything except our relationship.

It wasn’t a point of contention between us. It was a nonissue, actually; something we’d finally been able to call a bit of a truce on and put aside, for now.

We didn’t need to fight about it or even discuss it. We knew it was there, waiting to be dealt with, when we were both ready.

For now, we were getting along. Things were good between us. We weren’t together, but we were copacetic.

For fucking once in our lives.

And he still wasn’t trying to get in my pants. He never tried to touch me for anything more intimate than a hug.

But all the while… he looked at me like a man who loved me.

He spoke to me like a man who loved me.

By my side, he felt like a man who loved me.

The man.

He never once put pressure on me to discuss our relationship or to further our relationship. I never asked him to further our relationship, because I’d realized it was pretty damn sweet as it was, and maybe it should just stay this way for a while; respectful, peaceful, mutually comfortable.

Platonic; at least on the surface.

When I walked back into the tattoo parlor this afternoon, though, that all changed.

* * *

“What do you think?” Zane asked me. He’d gotten up out of the chair and stood before me, his T-shirt sleeve rolled up over his newly-tattooed right shoulder, which was turned to me.

The tattoo wasn’t massive or crazy-elaborate, but it covered most of his shoulder. The skin looked tender, which still made me cringe, but the tattoo was gorgeous. Both the boat and the serpent were pretty detailed, outlined beautifully in crisp black.

He’d already told me the tattoo artist had a friend in New York that he was going to see in a few weeks, to have the colors inked in.

“It’s beautiful, Zane,” I told him honestly. “Are you happy with it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s exactly what I wanted. But… I think this one is my favorite.”

Then he showed me his left hand. I had to blink at it several times before it really sank in.

Those ring tattoos some people got around their ring finger when they got married? Like in lieu of or in addition to an actual wedding ring…

Zane now had one.

In very delicate, tiny, gorgeous script, the name Maggie was now inked on his ring finger, right where a wedding ring would go.

Permanently inked.

My jaw dropped.

When he turned his hand over to show me the other side, it said May.

“Oh my God… Zane.” I looked up at him. My vision was blurring. “You didn’t.” I blinked furiously, looking at his hand again… but there it was. I grabbed his hand and pulled it toward me.

“Easy,” he said, eying me. “It’s tender, babe.”

“Sorry.” I gentled my touch, lifting his ring finger and turning his hand, back and forth, reading the little script-ring.

Maggie May

“You hate it.”

I looked up into his blue eyes, startled. The look he gave me back was guarded, his eyelids lowered.

“No. No, I don’t hate it, Zane. I’m just a little… stunned. I mean… it’s so…” I swallowed. “Permanent.”

“Yeah?” Now there was a spark of challenge in his eyes that I knew all too well. “Well, so were my vows to you. Even if you divorce me, right the fuck now, what I said at that altar stands. The fact that I married you stands. Even if we aren’t together, all that shit is real and it’s forever. At least, it is for me.”

I couldn’t even speak. I was stunned and speechless.

I glanced back down at the ring tattoo. My name on his finger, forever.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna cover it with a ring,” he told me. “I’ll just throw one of my regular rings over it. You know, I wear a lot of them. No one’s gonna think anything of it if I wear a skull ring or whatever on that finger. No one has to see it except—”

“I want one,” I blurted.

The words came out fast and certain, surprising us both. His eyes widened, and I knew I was staring at him like a crazy person, but I meant it.

I turned to the tattoo artist before he could say anything. “Can I have one? Just like his. A tiny little script ring—it shouldn’t take long, right?”

The guy eyed me up and down. “You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” I scowled a little. “I’m sure. I want it on my finger. Right now. Please.”

“I just meant it’s gonna hurt,” he informed me. “Tattoos on the fingers… painful.”

“Yeah, well. If he can do it, I can do it.” I dropped my purse and plopped my ass down in the chair. “Hell, if my dad can do it, I can do it.” I shot Zane a look, and while he raised his eyebrows at that, he wasn’t gonna argue. My dad had a ton of tattoos, and no way was he braver than me.

The tattoo artist just shrugged and started prepping to do my tattoo. At which point it really sank into me that this was gonna hurt, and I sank my fingernails into the leather arms of the chair.

Zane dropped onto the rolling stool and rolled over next to me.

“You sure about this, Maggie…? It’s forever, right?”

“We already went over that,” I said, giving him a quick glance. I tried not to focus on the tattoo gun, but I really wanted to watch what the guy was doing. “I want Zane on the outside,” I informed him. “And Adrian on the inside. And I’m going to spell it out so you can write it down first. I’ve seen photos on the internet of people with misspelled tattoos, and I’m telling you right now, I’m gonna throw a shit fit if his name is spelled wrong. Just thought I should tell you that upfront, to be fair.”

“Fair enough,” the dude said, with an amused glance at Zane. Then he turned to get a pen and paper.

I looked at Zane. He looked back at me. He didn’t say anything, but he definitely looked worried that maybe I’d lost my mind and would hate him for this tomorrow.

It was impulsive, yes, but so what? I’d done impulsive shit before.

Like marrying him in Vegas.

Because let’s just be honest. There was a part of me—a big, huge part—that just kept wanting me to attach myself to Zane Traynor in every way I could.

You know… the part of me that just wanted to love him and forget about everything else.

“I’ll cover it,” I told him, “with the wedding band you gave me at the chapel.”

“And when people notice you’re wearing a wedding ring?”

“I’ll tell them to mind their own damn business.”

He continued to stare at me as I spelled out his name for the tattoo artist. Zane Adrian. “I want something really fancy for the Z,” I told him, thinking on the fly. “Like, can you embellish it a bit?”

“Sure,” he said. “I can do it the same style as his and add some little curls on the ends of the Z, but still keep it the same height as the other letters. Sound good?”

“Uh, can I see what the Z looks like in that font? Like, can you show me an example? So we can make it perfect…? I want it to be perfect.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” He reached for his notebook again, with another glance at Zane that seemed to say, And you married this chick, because…?

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Zane said, just staring at me.

“Yeah, well.” I nodded at the tattoo guy. “Opinions on that may vary.”

Zane smiled, slowly.

I smiled back.

* * *

We were barely in the door of the hotel room when Zane reached to take my hand in his. He tugged me close to him as the door shut behind us and slipped my purse off my shoulder, placing it gently aside.

It was his hotel room, and it smelled faintly of him; the smell of his bodywash from his morning shower.

We were alone, completely alone, for the first time in a long time.

Even when we’d worked in the lounge of his tour bus, we’d left the door unlocked and Shady had drifted in and out.

The door was definitely locked now.

When he’d asked me to come back to the hotel with him after we had our lunch, I’d said yes without hesitation. I didn’t ask why, but I didn’t need to. We both wanted to be alone together and we both knew what it meant.

We hadn’t been alone like this in his hotel room or mine since the night of his disappearance into the desert.

I’d told him when he’d followed me home to Vancouver that we could get through this together; that I’d be here for him as his friend, or more—when he was ready. Since that night five weeks ago, I’d been telling myself I could be Zane’s friend, indefinitely, without more between us, because that’s what was best for both of us.

It was what was best for him as he struggled to stay clean.

It was what was best for our relationship.

But it wasn’t easy.

As Zane slipped his fingers into my hair and cupped my face, tingles skittered through my body. Fire ignited as he skimmed his thumb across my cheek. Warmth swelled through me; the anticipation of more of his touch. My nipples tightened and butterflies stirred in my stomach. My clit pulsed. The restless need for him was already building between my legs. My heart was pounding and that back-of-knee-sweat thing? Yup.

As I slipped my hands under his leather jacket, onto his waist, they were kinda shaking.

Because Zane Traynor would always be so much more to me than a friend.

Right now, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted him… and I hoped to God he was ready.

I’d had a lot of restless nights lately, and as much as I told myself it was all for the best and the greater good… I’d missed Zane like this. The intimacy of his face this close to mine, the feel of his breath on my skin and the warmth of his hands on my body. The look in his ice-blue eyes, his pupils dilating as he looked at me.

This lust-charged space between us. The bone-deep—no; soul-deep magnetic pull.

We’d been sucked into each other’s orbits the day we met, and we were still going around and around.

Would we ever stop?

No. I couldn’t imagine that ever happening.

I’d only been able to stuff my desire for him down—just barely—and focus on work because, frankly, I knew how to do that. And because I knew it would be incredibly unfair to jump on him and shove sex in his face when I’d given him so much flack over the years about staying sober, giving up pot and retiring his manslut ways.

When he’d finally done all I’d ever asked of him, and told me he needed some time without being involved with anyone, including me… how could I disrespect his efforts to stay clean by trying to lure him right back into bed?

It wouldn’t be fair, it wouldn’t be respectful, and it definitely wouldn’t be love. And the fact was I loved this man. I’d just gotten his name tattooed on my body, for fuck’s sake.

Love.

I loved him more right now, in this moment, than I probably ever had, and I’d do anything to support him staying clean and living a long, healthy and happy life… Even if it meant I couldn’t be with him.

I’d sworn that to myself.

That if Zane decided he didn’t want to be with me once he got clean and stayed that way, I wasn’t going to fuck up his life by chasing after him and complicating things for him.

One thing I knew: Zane Traynor was a man who knew what he wanted.

If he wanted me, he’d make it known.

If he didn’t… there was nothing I could do to change his mind.

I was just going to let him go, so to speak, and wait for him to come back to me.

However… I was still human, I was horny as hell, and he hadn’t touched me in a long, long time. And I wanted him so fucking bad it hurt.

I’d never been a dude, so I really had no way to compare, but I was pretty sure blue balls had nothing on this.

“Do you still want me?” I blurted out as his thumb traced over my cheek for what felt like the dozenth time. It was like he was in some kind of trance, staring at my mouth. But my words seemed to stir him out of it.

“Want you?” His eyes met mine and he blinked, like he was struggling to make sense of the question.

“Yeah. We haven’t… You haven’t tried to touch me in a long time, and I just wondered—”

“Wondered?”

“If it was the same between us. If maybe… you feel differently.”

“Differently…” he repeated. “Jesus, Maggie, are you serious? I just got a ring tattoo with your name on it.”

“I know. I know, but… I just meant, you know, is other stuff still the same?”

“Stuff?” His gaze drifted down to my mouth again, and he swiped his tongue over his lip. “You mean, stuff like this?” He moved my hand to his crotch, pressing it down against the erection in his jeans.

I swallowed, heat thrilling through my core as the relief hit me.

“I just wondered…” I said breathlessly.

“The only reason I’ve managed not to touch you,” he pretty much growled out, “is because I’ve been rubbing myself raw thinking about you every fucking day.”

“You did that for me?” I swallowed again. “Alone?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me so much, but yeah, it kinda did. Like, I knew a man with a sex drive like Zane’s had probably jerked off thinking about me a few times. But… this man was a rock star.

A drop-dead gorgeous rock star with a very public reputation for having a huge dick and the skills to go along with it; he could’ve had a woman take care of his needs anytime, anywhere.

For some reason it was still hard for me to think of him hanging out alone in his hotel room, keeping his legendary dick to himself, when he could’ve been picking up chicks.

God, but my dad had jaded me.

Zane laughed shortly, but the sound was cut off and strangled as it ended in a low groan. He was still holding my hand, grinding my palm against his hard shaft.

“What am I, a fucking animal?” he said, his voice low. “I can be faithful, Maggie. Jerking off is nothing compared to the satisfaction I get with you, but neither is being with another woman. And besides… I never want to hurt you like that again.”

He rolled my palm over the plump head of his cock, pressing down on it in a way that I would’ve thought would be painful… but he didn’t look like he was in pain.

“You fucking feel me on that, Maggie?” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Yeah. I feel you…”

“Plus… my dick has a distinct preference.” His gaze wandered down my body. “I start bringing around second-rate pussy, it’s not gonna be happy.”

I rolled my eyes but kinda had to smile. “I really don’t think you should do that,” I offered, starting to rub him up-and-down myself. “Your dick deserves better…” I bit my lip and he bit back a growl as he backed me up against the wall.

“My dick agrees with you.” His face was so close to mine, we could easily have kissed. “That feels good,” he muttered, but he made no move to kiss me.

“Yeah…”

“I want you. I never stopped wanting you, Maggie. You stop wanting me?”

“No.”

“You’re in my room.”

“I am.”

“You just got my name tattooed on your finger…”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “So did you.”

“Then I guess we are in this together.”

“I guess so.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth. “You gonna let me kiss you?”

“I’m not gonna stop you, Zane.”

I didn’t. His lips met mine and it was like all the air was instantly sucked from the room. My breath caught; I didn’t even need to breathe.

I just needed him.

My hands went to his neck and gripped him, holding him close as I kissed him over and over, my tongue lapping against his. Then we were moving; he was drawing me with him into the bedroom and then he was peeling off my clothes, and all I wanted was to be naked with him. I needed him against my skin.

I started undressing him, too, and by the time we were both naked, all I could do was press myself up against him, wanting all his warmth, wanting every part of his body touching every part of mine as we kissed, deeper and deeper. It was like we were trying to climb into each other… Like we could make the rest of the world just go away.

Like all we needed was one another.

Not air, not food… not anything or anyone else.

By the time we ended up in a horizontal position, entwined with each other, I hardly knew where we were…

The floor. We were on the floor, laid out on top of one of the hotel robes, which he’d somehow spread out beneath me, because my man was considerate like that.

“Condom?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“No. We can just… I just had my period. We won’t get pregnant.”

He stared at me. “And if we do?”

I didn’t answer that.

He didn’t ask again.

My legs were spread around his waist and I was gripping him tight, my thighs squeezing him, my fingernails digging into his back… and he pushed into me. He did it slow, and warmth radiated through me. My core clenched, my pussy squeezing him as he pushed deeper.

And oh God, I’d missed this.

I savored the sounds of his labored breathing, the low groans in his throat as he kissed me, his chest expanding against mine.

He filled me and withdrew and filled me again… and there was no way I could ever get enough of this.

Some sex was just sex.

This sex was… life-altering.

Every time Zane fucked me, something between us changed.

Deepened.

We grew more complicated and more entwined, and I became more unable to imagine any kind of life without him.

The feel of Zane inside me? Pure ecstasy… far beyond any mere sexual pleasure I’d ever experienced.

I felt him everywhere.

I wanted him everywhere.

And I wanted him to feel everything I was feeling.

“Harder,” I breathed. “Fuck me harder, Zane. Hard… hard…”

I urged him deeper with my hips, urged him to fuck me harder with my ragged pleas. I yanked him against me, taking his full weight as he grasped my hands, lacing his fingers through mine. He pinned my hands on either side of my head as he fucked me and I begged him as I kissed him, “I need you… I need you to fuck me for hours… We can’t leave. We can never leave this room. I need you to fuck me like this forever.”

“We can’t,” he breathed. “I’m useless with you. Can’t last for two fucking seconds, Maggs…”

“Fuck that…” I gripped his hands tight and bucked up against him, meeting every thrust as I rolled my hips, my focus shifting completely at his words. “Just come. I want to feel you come.”

“You first…”

“Fuck. No… I want you to come. Right now. Just come, baby…”

“Maggie…”

“Yeah…”

He panted heavily as he picked up speed. His hips slammed roughly against mine and I fucking loved it. I crossed my feet behind his back, locking them at the ankles, squeezing him in a vice grip. I gripped his hands as tightly as I had at the tattoo parlor, probably cutting off blood.

And I felt it, everywhere, when he started to come… The familiar feelings as his body started to lock up, muscles flexing. The hitch in his rough breaths. The way his cock seemed to swell and stiffen, right before the orgasm peaked.

And when it did… I felt him pulse inside me several times.

And fuck, that feeling…

He groaned into my neck, lost in pleasure as my body gripped his, savoring his release… and I felt my own climax building. I was on the edge, my body raw with desire, every nerve humming and striving for that peak…

I rubbed myself against him, trembling, and the slight movement was enough to set me off. I cried out, biting his shoulder as the pleasure soared through my body and my head spun.

When we’d both panted through our release and started kissing again, making out even as we fought to catch our breath… wrapped in one another’s arms, our bodies still locked together… I felt it. I felt how different this was.

I didn’t want to avoid this.

I wanted to stay right here in Zane’s arms and feel this.

I wanted to feel his love for me.

I wanted to love him, and I didn’t even feel scared. In this moment… there was so much love and I was so full of it… there was no room for fear.

I knew we’d end up here, naked together, eventually. Sooner or later… we’d be here again.

But this time… the sex was different. Instead of some desperate, anger-fueled frenzy or some brutal tug-of-war, it was like jumping off a cliff—together.

Like plummeting into a space where nothing existed except us.

It was like falling… deep. Deep into something I’d never be able to understand until I was in it.

It wasn’t just what I felt for Zane or what he felt for me.

It wasn’t just being in love.

It was what we became together.

It was what we were to each other and what we became in one another’s arms. Something we could never be without each other and something that didn’t exist outside this space. Something that just had to be, that maybe was meant to be; something that was so right, I couldn’t have launched any kind of battle against it if I’d tried.

It was me and Zane together, and there was nothing like it in the world.

There was a part of me that always knew this would happen… That if I ever really let Zane in, I’d fall for him so fucking hard and so deep I’d never get out.

It was like he said at the tattoo parlor…

This was forever.

No matter what we let happen between us or didn’t, how long we stayed together, how much we fought it or fucked it up… this thing between us, it was a forever thing.

Eventually, Zane rolled over, taking me with him and arranging us on our sides more comfortably, wedging me in under his arm with his bicep as my pillow. It was his left arm, and is it wrapped around me, his hand resting on my arm, I could see his ring finger.

“Please tell me,” I whispered, “that you’ll never regret it. That you’re never gonna look at that tattoo on your finger and regret it.”

“It’s just ink on my skin, Maggie,” he said, without even opening his eyes. “You’re already in here.” He laid his other hand over his heart.

And if I’d never been sure that I loved Zane Traynor before this moment, I would’ve fallen in love with him right now.

Thing was, I’d loved Zane forever.

“You gonna regret it?” he asked me.

“No,” I said. “You were right. This thing between us… it’s forever, Zane.”

He opened his blue eyes and looked deep into mine. “For real,” he asked, “what happens when people see it? You gonna flip out…? Run away?”

“No. I meant what I said. I’ll wear the wedding band over it. I have it with me anyway.”

“You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised about that.

“Yeah. I carry it and the engagement ring you gave me everywhere. I might not wear them, but they mean a lot to me, Zane.”

“Maggie…” He put his hand on the side of my face, lightly, and drifted his thumb over my bottom lip. “Jesus… you still surprise me.”

I smiled. He surprised me too, in incredible ways.

We’d just gotten tattooed together. I’d never seen that one coming.

“I’ll wear the wedding band,” I promised him, “and a lot of people probably won’t notice it. I’ll wear the ruby ring my mom gave me, too. I wear that a lot. And if anyone has the balls to ask… Our friends have already been told we’re married but not together. If they notice the ring, I’m sure it’ll imply that there’s more going on than they’ve been told. But we’re all adults here. I think my friends can respect that I don’t want to talk about it just yet. Hell, if they can’t respect that, what kind of friends are they anyway?”

I wasn’t sure what he thought of that; he didn’t say anything.

“And people who don’t know me…” I went on. “They have no reason to think there’s any connection between you and me.”

“Other than the fact you’re with me all the time.”

“As Dirty’s assistant manager.”

“Maggie. You start wearing a wedding band and showing up everywhere with me, the media is gonna sniff it out sooner or later.”

“Let them sniff. They’ve got no proof of anything.”

“You know we could just make this easier on ourselves and tell them, right? Tell everyone.”

“Yeah. I know. And one day we will. But let’s just give this some time to be real. Just the two of us.” I gazed up at him, wanting that more than anything. To just be with him without any external pressure and enjoy it for a while. Without worrying what other people would think, or dealing with women hating on me or the media swarming. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, with surprisingly little resistance. His eyes searched my face. “Just tell me you’re happy, okay?”

He’d never asked me that before. I only realized that now, because it stood out. Honestly, from the day Zane had married me, he’d never asked me that.

He’d asked me to be his wife, yes. He’d asked me to love him and to try to make our marriage work.

But he’d never asked me if any of it would make me happy. He’d never asked me if I thought he could make me happy, or if I was happy.

I looked at my tattoo. It was wild and impulsive. It was so like Zane, but it really didn’t seem like me.

The thing was, it felt like me in a way I wasn’t sure how to explain to him or to anyone.

It felt right, just like lying here with him did.

“That’s hard for me to answer,” I told him, honestly. “I’m definitely not unhappy. But this is all so new. I don’t mean our relationship, even though it’s definitely changed some in the last several weeks. It’s grown, and it feels good. But I mean, I’m kind of new.”

I looked at him, wondering if he understood what I meant by that. If he’d noticed the subtle changes in me, even while he was going through more dramatic changes of his own.

“I’m different with you, Zane Traynor. I think when I’m with you, I’m more of the person I would’ve wanted to be if my whole relationship with my father hadn’t left me so starving for security and control.” I shook my head. “You know, I never thought I was a fearful person. But the fact is I’ve let fear pretty much rule my whole relationship with you. I always thought I was strong because I was in control of my life. The truth was, I was desperate to be in control because I was so scared. Being around you always scared me because the things I feel for you make me question everything about the way I’ve been living my life.”

His fingers stroked lightly up-and-down my arm as he took that in. “The thought of being my wife still scares you?”

“Actually,” I confessed. “It doesn’t. It’s curious and thrilling and… I don’t know… delicious? I don’t know any other word to describe this feeling. The feeling of lying here in your arms and knowing this thing between us isn’t going anywhere.” I looked up into his eyes. “It’s delicious, and I want more of it.”

“You know you’re just making me fall more in love with you, right?”

I smiled. “Am I?”

“Yeah. But it’s not your fault. I pretty much fall in love with you more every day, no matter what you do. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous.”

“I think I know what you mean…”

He kissed me, softly. Then he told me, “I love you, Maggie.”

And for the first time hearing those words from his lips, I truly believed him.

“I’ve never loved before like I love you,” I told him, and I think he believed me, too. “This kind of love… it’s a once-in-a-lifetime love, Zane.”